“What time is it?” he asked his companion, who had also not yet fallen asleep and who’d been watching Silbermann with his big brown eyes, following every movement with drowsy interest.

“Six thirty,” said Lilienfeld.

“I’m dead tired but I can’t fall asleep,” Silbermann explained. “I feel a sense of looming catastrophe in my stomach.”

“That’s because you haven’t had any coffee yet,” Lilienfeld said, and turned around to go back to sleep.

Silbermann continued looking out the window. I’ve passed this way before, he thought. On our honeymoon. To distract himself, he tried recalling the time and circumstances. He’d just been promoted to corporal and had received eight days’ leave to get married. Five days were taken up with wedding preparations, and they hadn’t been able to leave until the evening of the sixth day. He still remembered all the details fairly exactly, down to what his wife was wearing and how she looked. Elfriede had been very excited. Never again did he see her laugh and cry as much as she had on that trip. They had held on to each other in a way that now seemed to him more clenching than clinging. But the conditions hadn’t been favorable for a simple, innocent honeymoon, because the country was at war.

And then there were the fantastic plans she’d concocted! She suggested they flee to Switzerland because she didn’t want to let him return to the front. Deep down she probably realized this was impossible, but she refused to accept that and had to be consoled. He promised her that the war wouldn’t last much longer, and then she sighed and said: yes it will. Which prompted him to explain why the enemies of Germany were on the verge of collapse and how life in a dugout was relatively safe.

In the end she believed him, and then everything was wonderful once more, although the fear of separation gnawed away at every happy minute. Finally, as if by mutual agreement, they only spoke about the two days they had left, about what they had planned to do but wound up not doing because the wedding had been more important than the honeymoon.

We were so happy and so unhappy at the same time that we couldn’t even tell the difference, Silbermann reflected—that was how jumbled all their feelings and sensations had become.

Of course the last day had been a terrible ordeal, and ultimately all they ended up doing was waiting for the moment when they had to part. Looking back, Silbermann didn’t think it was all that bad, since they’d been young and could believe in the future, and despite everything they’d been able to live in the moment.

How happy I was, Silbermann thought, with a quiet feeling of self-envy.

He stepped out of the compartment and walked down the corridor, then came back, sat down, and observed the cabinetmaker, who had fallen asleep and was shifting fretfully as Silbermann watched until he finally woke up. Before he opened his eyes, he felt for his breast pocket, where he’d hidden the money and most likely his passport as well.