“Oh,” he said, in a way that was both chummy and respectful, “just a little Jew-hunt.”

“Ah,” said Silbermann, with apparent disinterest. Then he walked on, casually raising his arm in the official greeting. Once more he was not stopped. When he reached the street he paused for a moment to take everything in. What’s happening upstairs? he worried. If only I knew. Surely they won’t … Yes they will. But Findler is there.

Suddenly he felt very afraid. The thugs could come down any minute and leave the building, or one of their lookouts might suddenly get suspicious and decide to stop him after all. So he again set off, quickening his pace.

It’s strange, he mused, as he crossed the street, thinking he’d be safer on the other side. Ten minutes ago it was my house that was at stake, my property. Now it’s my neck. Everything’s happening so quickly. They have declared war on me, on me personally. That’s what it is. War has just been declared on me once and for all and right now I’m completely on my own—in enemy territory.

If only Becker were here. Hopefully the business won’t go to pieces. That’s all I need. I absolutely have to have that money in easy reach. Hopefully Becker isn’t gambling it away. Oh well, he’s the only one I can count on after all. And what if he does lose a few hundred marks at cards, what does that matter? More important things are at stake.

But I do need that money. Money means life, especially in wartime. A Jew in Germany without money is like an unfed animal in a cage, something utterly hopeless.

He passed a phone booth, then turned around and went back. I’ll just make a call, he thought, and then I’ll know what’s going on.

The idea cheered him up, but the phone was occupied, and he had to wait awhile. The lady’s voice was too loud to be contained by the booth, and Silbermann learned all about a fur coat that needed mending, about the film Love in the South, and about some man named Hans who had a sore throat.

Silbermann paced nervously up and down. Finally he tapped on the glass pane to signal he was waiting. The lady turned her face toward him, and that made such an impression that he granted her another five minutes’ conversation before deciding to give the glass another tap.

Finally the phone was free and he hastily dialed his apartment. No one answered. He tried twice more to connect, but without success.

Findler must be still dealing with them, he reassured himself, and hung up. Those boys are hard to get rid of. Calling was a dumb idea anyway, because as long as those people are there nobody can say anything to me. Silbermann then dialed his lawyer.