“No,” said the waiter. Silbermann had the impression the man was eyeing Lustiger in amazement.

“What may I bring you?” the waiter asked Silbermann, his tone noticeably friendlier.

“I’ll have a cold platter.”

“I’ll have one, too,” Lustiger interjected. “So tell me, Silbermann, what are you doing now?” he asked. “Are they leaving you alone?”

“I took off and haven’t stopped traveling since…”

“You know something? Let’s stick with each other. We can travel together. I feel safe with you. Besides, I’m not as limber as I used to be. This was the last thing I needed. Imagine turning sixty just to have some rascal knock your teeth out? My heavens. I should have had myself buried a long time ago. I missed the right moment. Rosa, now there was a smart woman, she died in good time. You were there at the funeral, autumn of thirty-four. Do you remember? Since then I’ve had nothing but troubles. In any case, she hasn’t missed anything. Still, I always say”—Lustiger was again speaking too loudly—“that I’m happy I’m already an old man. The young people these days, I feel sorry for them, whereas at least I’ve had…”

“I know what you mean,” Silbermann cut him off, somewhat testily. “Excuse me a moment, I have to make a quick call.”

He stood up.

“The fact that I ran into you!” Lustiger said again. “Finally I have a chance to speak my mind. But go on.”

Silbermann hurried to get to the phone booth. He found the encounter with Lustiger increasingly irksome. He’s attracting everybody’s attention and that means they’re also looking at me, he thought, and on top of that there’s all this tired, bland prattle. My mood’s already gloomy enough without having to listen to that.

He opened the phone book and looked under the letter A. “Dr. Hermann Angelhof, Attorney and Notary,” he read. That’s her husband, he thought. I can hardly call him to ask for her address. Silbermann asked for a postal directory at the buffet counter, but they didn’t have one. He was annoyed that old Lustiger was keeping him from getting on with his research.

When Lustiger saw him coming back, he called out across several tables: “Silbermann, see if you can’t dig up a newspaper somewhere.”

Silbermann didn’t react to that. With a pinched expression he returned to the table and took his seat.

Lustiger put down the bread he was holding. “What’s the matter?” he asked, his head more crooked than usual. “Is there a problem?”

Then he slapped his forehead. “I shouldn’t have called out your name,” he said out loud. “I keep thinking things are like they were, meaning that I’m always forgetting how things are now. I’m an old man. The goose leg is excellent, by the way. They really know how to do that here. I’ll give them that much.”

Silbermann ate with subdued appetite.