“I accept,” said Silbermann. “But I will never understand how you”—here he corrected himself and switched to the formal Sie—“how you could do something like this. In stealing from me you are dirtying yourself. Disgusting!”

Becker was visibly on edge. “Would you finally shut up with all your dumb talk,” he muttered gruffly. “Don’t take me for such a sentimental fool. Money has no smell,” he quipped. “Because if it smelled like you, I wouldn’t take it at all.”

Becker placed his briefcase on the table and Silbermann looked on without interrupting as he drafted a deed of partition. Now and then he glanced in his notebook, which led Silbermann to believe that Becker had previously had his lawyer spell out the various points, and had therefore been entertaining the idea for some time.

“Actually your portion would amount to only forty-one thousand marks,” Becker said after a while, “since you only have forty-nine percent of the shares.”

“Yes, and you have fifty-one, for which you didn’t pay a penny. Which you are supposed to administer as trustee, according to our agreement.”

Becker testily put down his pen. “Is there anything else you’d like to say?” he asked sharply.

“The only legally valid agreement is the partnership! As you are undoubtedly aware. Or would you like to declare in a court of law that the agreement was a fiction?”

“Stop talking this nonsense, you! Or else I might feel forced to…”

“To what?” asked Silbermann. “If it came to a trial, you would lose miserably. You can be sure of that. After all, there is our written correspondence. I still have your letter in which you affirm our oral agreement. I even have it … wait a moment … yes—I even have it on me.”

Becker tossed down his pen. “It’s good you’re bringing this up now,” he said. “That’s fine with me. Let’s take the matter to court. If you were to win—assuming that you really would win—what would that bring you? First you’d already be a guest in a concentration camp, you can bet your life on that. And as for your money? Everything would be in a blocked account, and by the time the matter made its way through the courts all Jewish property would have long been seized. And then there’s the billion-mark atonement levy. So be my guest, let’s take this to trial.” He stood up once again.

“Idiot,” Silbermann said, with disdain. “On top of everything else, you expect me to cheer you on, is that it?”

Becker sat down again. “What you should do is shut up,” he said. Then he continued writing and muttered, “I won’t put up with your taunting. You … you are far too common, too coarse for my taste!”

Despite his indignation and distress, Silbermann couldn’t help laughing.

Becker finished his draft and handed it to Silbermann to look over.