Silbermann’s coat pockets were bulging out from all the bills, so he went to a shop to buy a briefcase. After making the purchase he realized it was already 6:55, so he dashed to the nearest post office, where he took a form from the telegraph counter and sent a local telegram to his wife. Because he was worried about returning to his apartment, he asked her to meet him in a café closer to home.

When he left the post office he wondered what he should do with the forty-one thousand five hundred marks he had recovered. He decided not to dwell on the matter of Becker and how deeply his former friend had disappointed him, although that did little to stave off his painful, depressing reflections.

He took a streetcar to the place where he was expecting Elfriede. For some strange reason he was convinced that she would come. Once inside, he set his hat on a chair and went to the men’s room to transfer the money to his briefcase. On his way back to his table he noticed that the place was full of men in uniform, and he instinctively hugged his briefcase close to his body. Half an hour passed. By then Silbermann had drunk his third cup of coffee and was becoming increasingly nervous.

Hopefully the telegram was delivered right away, he thought. How long does that usually take? I should have asked. If she had received it, she could be here in five minutes. Assuming she was at home. After all, she had to go back to the apartment sooner or later. I’m sure I’ve been waiting here at least an hour, he thought, but a glance at the clock told him it had been only thirty-five minutes.

Mulling over his situation, he wondered: what am I supposed to do now? Because they’re still going after Jews. I can’t stay a single night in my apartment—not with forty-one thousand marks!

We have to leave Germany, but no place will let us in. I have enough money to start a new life, but how to get it out of the country? I don’t have the nerve to try to smuggle it across. Should I stay or go? What to do?

Should I risk ten years in prison for a currency offense? But what other choice is there? Without money I’d starve out there. Every road leads to ruin, every single one. How am I supposed to fight against the state?

“Waiter, please bring me a glass of water.”