“Listen,” said Silbermann, somewhat taken aback by the other man’s change of mood. “Do you really believe that at the moment I feel like making any kind of deal? Clearly my constitution isn’t as hardy as yours, my friend.”

“Let’s just say it doesn’t need to be. For months now bankruptcy has been circling over me like a vulture crowing ‘seizure of assets.’ I truly feel sorry for my creditors. Their things were all smashed up in my wife’s apartment, as if it all still belonged to me.”

After briefly pacing back and forth, they stopped in front of a shop window.

“I admire you,” Silbermann said thoughtfully. “You’re a brave fellow. If I had more of your optimism I wouldn’t be so apprehensive.” He laughed. “You’ll even manage to make money off the rope they hang you with.”

“I should hope so,” Stein hurried to answer very cheerfully. “Otherwise how would my wife be able to pay for her widow’s veil?”

“Are things really that bad, or are you just joking? You shouldn’t do that.”

“I’m not—I mean every word in earnest,” said Stein. “As you know, I sold my business, and now the buyer isn’t paying. What am I supposed to do? I have to chase up a living somehow. But to get to the point, if you’re willing to risk putting up thirty thousand marks…”

“No, stop,” Silbermann responded. “Forget about that. Right now I really do have other worries.”

“I wish I were in your shoes,” Stein answered slowly. “You’re just unhappy. Whereas on top of everything else, I don’t have anything to eat.”

Silbermann looked at him in surprise, then took out his billfold.

“Would fifty marks be of help?” he asked. “Sadly, I don’t have much on me.”

“Of course it would be of help. I’ll take it. I’ll pay you back next week. Every now and then the man who took over my business gives me a small partial payment, but naturally that depends on his mood.” He stashed the money in his pocket. “What are we going to do?” he asked again, and looked around, eager to do something.

“I have to call Becker. Unfortunately he’s gone to Hamburg.”

“And how are you coming along with your house? You better hurry and sell, if you want my advice.”

Silbermann described the negotiations. Stein nodded his head at every sentence, as if he had expected that everything would turn out the way it did.

“I wish I were in your shoes,” he finally said again, with that quiet note of envy that counts as a compliment for the person envied. “You look so Aryan. At least people aren’t afraid of you, the way they are of me. There’s no place to turn, and people avoid me as if I had the plague. I keep saying: people are afraid I might infect them with my Jewish nose.” He gave an unhappy laugh.

“Admittedly I have two Aryan friends left,” said Silbermann. “Becker and Theo Findler.”