At 8:30 that night they knocked on his door. Put him in handcuffs, put him into a car downstairs. He sat in the back seat, pinned in between them. End of June. A hot day. At Grand Central he saw two policemen on a side street shooting water pistols at each other and laughing loudly; he could hear the laughter over the sound of the traffic. It wasn’t just him who was arrested that night but all of them, thirty-three agents.

The next morning dust floats through the shafts of light as both Argentinians put their hats on and say goodbye. They make it clear somehow that, next time, he should pay.

Restaurant ABC is pinned between two tall buildings at 545 Lavalle. Tiny, with a red-tiled roof, it looks like it’s made of gingerbread. Over the waist-high curtains in the windows he sees crumpled cloth napkins and little cups of cortado. It’s late afternoon. He nods to the waiter as he walks inside, cranes his neck to make clear that he’s looking for someone, sees as far as the giant painting on the back wall, a mountain landscape with a castle. He doesn’t see anyone he knows seated between the wood-paneled walls. But a young man squeezes his way between tables and heads right for him, as if he knew more about him than Josef did himself. “You’re looking for someone?”

Josef hesitates. On the other hand, he has nothing to lose, and so he mentions Schmuederrich’s name. Schmuederrich won’t be here until tomorrow night. Is he new here? Josef nods.

“No place to stay?”

He can barely bring himself to nod a second time.

“I know a boarding house—there might be a room available. I’ll call them. One second.” The young man notices Josef’s hesitation and smiles. “Don’t worry. It’s a German couple from the Saarland, the Griebels.”

The Pension Aleman is just a few blocks away. They walk up a long flight of stairs. Josef feels lines of sweat running down his neck. The door opens—that must be Frau Griebel, and behind her, on the shelf against the wall, the Führer. A bust. So that’s what was meant by “Don’t worry.”

“Did you have a taxing journey, Herr Klein? Did everything go all right?”

“Yes, it’s only here that it’s been difficult.”

“No, now you’re safe. It’s good that you’ve made it. You won’t lack for a thing here!”

“Pardon me, but how much are you asking for the room? I’m a bit hard up, don’t have a job either.”

“You’ll find a good job in no time, I’m sure. You can pay at the end of the month.”

Upstairs a strong smell of oil. The corner room that she gives him was just repainted, she says. It’s clean and bright, with a table and two chairs.