He was working full-time for Arthur again, but the pay was less, because there were fewer jobs. Arthur had sent the Hitlerites packing. “If I don’t the FBI will shut me down.” Mrs. Dollings was outraged over Hitler, the prince of peace, and had resigned as head of the Park Avenue Patriots.

The Bund had quieted down; its leader, Fritz Kuhn, was behind bars for tax evasion. When he was arrested he was falling-down drunk.

His deal with Lauren was that he would go to the FBI immediately as soon as his old friends tried to contact him. She was certain they would try to contact him. The war was on, and they needed him.

Down a narrow side street they saw a bright strip of yellow sand and above it the ink-blue Atlantic. The boardwalk was almost empty—just a few doormen out walking dogs. Seagulls hovered over the ocean, wings outspread. In the distance a tight group of structures soared into the sky: the roller coaster, its track twisting through the air like a spinal column; the large Ferris wheel rising up out of the yellow-blue emptiness. Everything was closed for the winter. He carefully put his arm around Lauren. She could react indignantly at times, try to shake his arm off, but here on the beach she allowed it.

He had been on the Ferris wheel with his girlfriends a few times. They all wanted to get married and have kids. Because of this he never said things like “I love you”; he had always been afraid of seeming invested. He acted casually, and when the women left, their leaving was just as casual, no fuss, no ceremony.

Lauren sat down on the wooden steps leading down to the beach. He sat down beside her. They watched the layers of surf rolling one on top of the other. White foam at the edges, armies of white bubbles crawling forward, churning. A hiss and roar, and farther out to sea a crash and thunder. A rug of glass, many feet wide, was rolled out and then pulled back, again and again, leaving crinkled patches on the hard, smooth sand.

“Europe’s over there,” she said.

“You can’t see it.”

“But it’s still there.”

“I love you, Lauren.”

She gave him a kiss. He didn’t know if that was supposed to mean the same thing.

29

Neuss–Buenos Aires,

September–October 1949

THE HEADLIGHTS OF AN ONCOMING CAR BOUNCE UP AND down, like a friendly nod. The road is bumpy. Gravel knocks against metal.

Fields and small groups of trees along the length of the road. In the distance a dark strip rising on the horizon. The country road takes a sharp turn. Carl keeps an even distance from the edge of the wood as he drives, his eyes searching.

“Anywhere,” says Josef.

They stop. He gets out, slaps the hood. “Carl, drive!”