How am I supposed to cope with all of this, he despaired. Reason dictates I should kill myself. But I want to live. Despite everything, I want to live! And that requires all the wits I have, but they aren’t enough, because the same reasoning is pitting me against myself. It negates my existence. So where does that leave me? It’s because I understand, he thought unhappily, that I despair. If only I could misunderstand. But that’s something I’m no longer able to do. And the only thing I have left in life is the list of all my losses. Apart from that I have nothing, absolutely nothing.

“Nothing left!” he said so loudly that the few people in the pub turned toward him. “Nothing left, absolutely nothing,” Silbermann said again, out loud.

A waiter brought his beer. He got up and paid.

I’ll go get arrested, he thought. I’ll go back to the police station. Have them detain me. The state has murdered me so it ought to bury me as well.

He went back out to the street and waved a cab over. “The nearest police station,” he said. But no sooner had he climbed in than he regretted his decision.

Maybe, he thought, just maybe … You never know … Shouldn’t I give it a go with Löwenstein after all? He rapped on the pane and gave the driver the lawyer’s address. He’s probably already gone, Silbermann then thought.

When the car stopped, the driver had to wake him because Silbermann had succumbed to his fatigue and had fallen asleep. He took the elevator back upstairs.

I’m sure he’s left by now, he thought, as he pressed the doorbell.

Löwenstein answered just moments later. He was dressed for travel and carrying a small suitcase.

“Did you reconsider?” he asked Silbermann, as he stepped out of the apartment and locked the door behind him. “I was delayed. You’re lucky. Come on!”

They went into the elevator and rode downstairs.

“I took far too much time,” the lawyer explained on the way, annoyed.

“What will become of your things? Your money?”

“Gone is gone,” Löwenstein answered very calmly.

Silbermann couldn’t help but admire such an attitude. When they reached the ground floor, they noticed two men waiting by the elevator. Silbermann was the first to step out into the hall. He passed the men and walked on five or six steps, assuming that Löwenstein would follow. Then all of a sudden he heard the word “arrest.” He quickly turned around.

Just at that moment one of the two men was putting handcuffs on the lawyer, whose face had gone completely pale. With his eyes he signaled to Silbermann to go on.

Silbermann stayed where he was. “What’s this about?” he asked quietly.

One of the men grabbed him by the arm. “You know this man?”

“Of course. He was my lawyer.”