He heated the ends of the wires with the soldering iron. Then he took the tweezers, let a few tiny crumbs of resin melt onto the contacts, and quickly added soldering tin. It melted immediately, coated the leads, and connected them. He had never done it so well. It didn’t matter. He would throw the radio in the river tomorrow morning. He imagined Max’s and Ludwig’s faces when he told them.

He tested the durability by tugging on the ends, then he trimmed the tubing and pulled it over the spot. This was his favorite moment: held above a tiny flame, the melting rubber collapsed in on itself and closed around the wires. Would he fight against the Germans if they invaded America? Yes. Would he also fight against the Germans on German soil?

He put on Fats Waller. Lauren had given him the record.

Yes, your feet’s too big.

They had laughed like mad and danced together.

Don’t want ya ’cause ya feet’s too big.

He danced a few steps, now holding an imaginary Lauren in his arms, found his way back to the kitchen with a fresh glass of Old Musket, sang, “I’ll throw it out the window, no, in the river, tomorrow morning.” He knew he would need an explanation for Max. He would think of something. From below someone knocked on the ceiling with a broom handle; it was already two o’clock. He turned the music down, then he got busy soldering more wires together. On he went, casually soldering and screwing like the brilliantly lackadaisical piano playing of Avery Parrish until the first light of dawn came in through the window.

He was dreaming of a foxhole when he awoke. Now he lay on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, a haze of smoke in the air, but only from the soldering and all the cigarettes.

At noon Lindbergh came on the radio at the print shop. Suddenly the men were making less noise. They even turned the machines off so they could better hear the world-famous aviator warning the US not to enter the war. Lindbergh was a member of a committee that called itself America First.

Josef kept working, even though today he felt like he couldn’t do anything right, not even brushing his teeth in the morning. It was nothing but half measures; he did it all in a haze. He kept looking for ways to take a break—a smoke break and a piss break and a coffee break. America should not try to police the world, Lindbergh said. The men applauded. Someone called out, “Sieg Heil!” Laughter. He looked over at Arthur, who also stood applauding. Arthur finally looked back and shrugged his shoulders.