He had turned his back on the man again, his hand on the railing, the knuckles tense and white.

Now he looks nervously around the kitchen, trying, as he sets the table, to forget the words. He serves Edith gnocchi with tomato sauce: “Buon appetito, dear sister-in-law.”

“It looks appetizing,” she says and tastes carefully.

“Well, how do you like it?”

“It’s a nice thing to eat.”

“It’s a nice thing to eat?”

She smiles. “Carl wouldn’t like it.”

I believe it, he thinks.

“Carl punishes Paul often, doesn’t he?”

Why won’t she say anything? Edith knows how to get through to her son. Sometimes she puts her hand on his shoulder. Then even his nervous blinking stops.

And so he goes on: “I wouldn’t want to be Carl’s child. I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets it in his head to punish me next.”

“He’s a good man, Josef. And don’t forget, you weren’t here. It was a difficult time in Germany.”

“What I’m actually trying to say, Edith, is that Carl makes you unhappy.”

She lets go of her fork.

“You deserve a better life,” he hears himself saying softly. “Edith, don’t put up with so much. Try to find more enjoyment in your life.”

“Who do you think you are, Josef?”

She hasn’t had much practice in shouting, unlike Carl. She jumps up. He also gets up, reaches for her hand—why? Because he’s already lost, he can at least touch her hand just once. To his surprise she doesn’t resist. They stand silently across from each other. As if suddenly, despite it all, she understands everything. Everything, everything. Or is she just frozen with shock? Don’t kiss her, he tells himself. If you kiss her now, you won’t just ruin her life but your own too. And you’re world champion at that.

He lets go of her slender hand.

“Sorry, Edith. I shouldn’t intrude. Please forgive me.”

They spend the rest of the meal in silence, and when he offers to help her wash up, she sends him outside, like the kids. Go off and play somewhere—he can almost hear her saying it.

16

New York, April 1939

HE TRIED HARD NOT TO GIVE ANYTHING AWAY. HE HAD DISCONNECTED an important copper wire from the transmitter; for the time being the radio was dead. He fumbled around in the back while they looked on, and as he did so noted that when it came to technical matters they were both completely clueless. Max stood around helplessly and kept asking, “Will you be able to fix it?” Finally, when they’d already missed both transmitting windows, he took the soldering iron and resealed the clipped connection so that everything worked again.

When the two of them had left he felt like a wrung-out sponge, unable to resume its old shape.