“Come on,” said Silbermann encouragingly. “I much preferred that nice optimism you had before. Don’t give up on yourself like that! I’m sure you lived through far more dangerous situations in the war. And there you were lucky and came out of it safe and sound. Maybe in eight days you’ll have already found work abroad, and then all of this will be behind you. Just don’t give in, my friend! Don’t break down. Keep your eye on the goal, and you’ll be sure to reach it! Weltschmerz isn’t something you can afford! That can come later, when you’re digesting a good meal—then you’re allowed to be melancholic.”

“You’re right,” said Lilienfeld, noticeably brighter. “If you want we can go again!”

How great is the power of words, Silbermann marveled, not at all feeling the same encouragement he had talked his companion into.

“No, no,” he said. “Let’s leave it. You aren’t completely wrong, either. A waiter is likely to show up soon, and if not we’ll share a cup of coffee at the next station.”

“I wonder if I’ll make it,” asked Lilienfeld, once again very downcast.

“Make what?”

“I mean, if I’ll make it over the border. If I won’t get caught. I could just as easily run right into the guards on the other side and get sent back. In which case I’d do myself in.”

“Man!” said Silbermann with feigned jauntiness. “Stop all that shilly-shallying! And don’t even think such crazy thoughts. If it doesn’t work out the first time, then it will the second. I don’t understand you!”

“Aren’t you at all afraid?” Lilienfeld defended himself.

“I am. Of course. But I refuse to give in to my fear!” said Silbermann, nice and firmly.

FIVE

Inside the post office, Silbermann paced uneasily back and forth, waiting to be told the telephone call he had requested was being put through. So as not to arouse suspicion, he went out of his way to look relaxed and cheerful.

He’d arrived in Aachen an hour earlier and left his suitcase at the baggage check, while holding on to his valuable briefcase, which he was now carrying under his arm. After Silbermann had seen Lilienfeld off in Dortmund, accompanied by his strongest words of encouragement, he’d had time to write a long, detailed letter to his wife as well as another one to his sister that communicated only what was most essential. He’d also sent Elfriede a reassuring telegram.

If nothing else, I’ve put my affairs in some degree of order, he thought as he paced. He found it was pleasant and calming at least to have addressed things in writing, even if none of his problems had actually been solved.