Schmuederrich threw everything into a bag—it was made of thin fabric; the parts made bulges and sharp outlines in the material—and off he went toward the door, just like that, like a character in the propaganda movie.

“Stay,” whispered Josef. The dog had politely started following Schmuederrich to the door.

“Not a word to anybody.”

“Of course not, Hans.”

“Including that girlfriend of yours. And by the way, we know where your brother lives.”

“You’re trying to scare me, is that it?”

“You just leave his letters lying around out in the open,” said Schmuederrich angrily.

After Schmuederrich had left, he washed the river water from his body, then he left the apartment and headed for the print shop. On the way he imagined telling Arthur everything immediately, relieved that it was over, and outraged that Schmuederrich would threaten him.

But when he arrived, he just nodded to Arthur and got right to work. The clatter of the machines in his ears was more pleasant than ever, the familiar hand motions calmed him down, as if time had been turned back, as if he’d woken up from a nightmare. They were gone. He would write Lauren a postcard; he would apologize and send flowers. Flowers were good.

26

New York, July 1939

LAUREN WAS LATE. “SORRY, THE SUBWAY, THE MISERABLE packed subway on a rainy day!” she said, but it sounded like she was blaming him. He helped her out of her coat; it was heavy with rain. “That’s actually his job,” she said with a glance at the waiter, who was running back and forth between patrons, visibly overwhelmed, his face glowing red.

“But I’m happy to do it,” he said quietly.

He led her to their table by the window, which he had asked for specifically on account of the view, but the glass was fogged up; you could only see the blurry glow of headlights and neon signs.

“It’s rather warm and loud in here.”

“I’m very happy that you’re here, Lauren,” he said stiffly.

She nodded mercifully. With a touch of self-pity she looked over at some more people who were just coming in. “Now it’s going to get even louder in here!”

“Should we go someplace else, Lauren? You did say you wanted to go to Amalfi, since we couldn’t get a table last time.”

“That’s true.” She looked him in the eye, for the first time since she’d arrived.

He had written her a card:

Sorry for the disagreement the other day. Please let me take you out to dinner to make up for it.

“Thank you for the card,” she had said on the phone. Nothing about the flowers. Clearly the words weren’t enough, not these words.

Lauren’s gaze followed a newly arrived couple as if they were criminal intruders.

“Is something bothering you?”

“What do you mean?”

He gave up and signaled the waiter.