That’s all just a backdrop, he thought. The only thing that’s real is the hunting and the fleeing.

He leaned back in his seat.

Why did I get there too late? he asked himself, turning sad. I could have been a human being again. He pictured her face, her eyes. I have to see her again, he thought, and resolved to locate her address as soon as he was in Berlin and then look her up.

Back in Berlin, as he was leaving the station, he heard someone calling his name. “Silbermann,” said a familiar voice. “You’re still alive?”

He turned around. “Ah, it’s you, Lustiger,” he said, not exactly pleased.

They shook hands.

Herr Lustiger was around sixty years old. He was hard of hearing and always held his head cocked a little to the side, which gave a compassionate if also overeager impression. He had very Jewish features and had already been attacked on the street: a member of the Hitler youth had punched him for not raising his arm when some marchers carrying the party banner had paraded by. Lustiger had fought back and wound up losing both of his two remaining front teeth. Since that time he was easily spooked, and his crooked face now bore a very obliging expression. He clutched Silbermann’s arm.

“If I live to be a hundred, God forbid,” he said, “this is a joy I won’t forget.”

“What joy?” asked Silbermann.

“Running into you. You look like a goy, you know. Being with you is safe. Come, Silbermann, let’s have a cup of coffee together. Incidentally, they arrested Heinz.”

“Which Heinz?”

“My son!”

“Oh! Well, they’ll have to let him go soon.”

“That’s what you think! I’m not so sure.”

They left the station hall and Silbermann spotted an SA man staring at Lustiger. “Keep your voice down,” he requested.

But Herr Lustiger was hard of hearing. “What did you say?” he asked, in the same loud tone. “So, how are you getting along? You seem to have been lucky! Most of the others have … well, I’m sure you know! Tell me, where do you plan on going?”

They entered a café, where many eyes turned to Lustiger. After they sat down he scooted his chair very close to Silbermann’s and said, as quietly as he was able: “That bit of fun cost me two thousand marks.”

“What bit of fun?”

“When they stopped me on the street, of course. What I haven’t been through! Yesterday I was in Duisburg, then in Essen, the day before I was in Munich. They also arrested my brother-in-law. My heavens. And for that I get to live to sixty! For that.”

“How’s your business doing?”

“Business? Business? There’s no such thing anymore. I don’t dare set foot in the bank to get money. What will happen if the people call the police?” He turned to the waiter: “Coffee with milk for me. Do you have any newspapers here? Perhaps the Frankfurter Zeitung?”