“I played poorly,” Silbermann lied, aware of the arrogance implied by this self-belittlement. The hostile remark further humiliated the defeated man, who could at least claim to have made Silbermann exert himself.

The man shuffled about uncomfortably on the seat cushion, looked at his fingernails, then at the chess set next to him, and finally said, “All good things come in threes. Don’t you want to beat me a third time?”

“I’m not at all that confident in my ability,” Silbermann said by way of restraint, and so they began their third match.

I’m going to be reasonable, Silbermann decided. I’m going to lose. But he won once again. They played a fourth and fifth match, and as the train pulled into Hamburg the man with the party badge had just lost his sixth. His regard for Silbermann was now practically boundless.

“I must see you again,” he requested as they said good-bye. “It’s been a long time since I encountered a player as good as you.” He gave Silbermann his calling card.

Silbermann read: Hermann Turner, chief engineer, Kleiststraße 14, and glanced at the telephone number.

“I just might give you a ring in the near future,” he said, good-humoredly.

“Yes, please do,” the other said, with all the humility of a mediocre player trying to entice a grandmaster to a game.

They shook hands and parted company.

A real human being, Silbermann thought happily. That was a real human being despite his party badge. Maybe things aren’t all that bad. People with whom you can play chess, and who can lose without being offended or insolent, are hardly robbers and killers.

His chess victories had given him quite a boost, and when he left the station, he no longer had the feeling he was fleeing, that he was weak and all alone. He had proven that he could still win. He wondered whether he should take a taxi, but then decided to go on foot, since the hotel wasn’t all that far away. Few people were on the streets, and there were almost no cars. When he came to the Jungfernstieg, he looked out over the Alster and spent a while staring at the gray water. He studied the reflections of the streetlamps on the dark flowing surface and inhaled deeply the refreshing, moist, cool air.

“What actually is the matter?” he asked himself. Things are hard, and there’s harassment, that’s certain. But sooner or later they’ll leave us alone again, and I’ll just emigrate. Things aren’t all that bad, when it comes down to it. Despite everything, I’m still alive.

THREE