They really did need him. That’s what he had wanted to know.

The next time he served them drinks, claiming, since it was still early in the day, that it was his birthday and he wanted to celebrate. Max went with beer; Ludwig had whiskey. He made sure to keep refilling their glasses. With Ludwig he had to pour often—he could handle a lot—but with Max, however, he slowly began to notice him growing gentle and sleepy and finally starting to hum along to Billie Holiday.

“It’s not a textile company. Right?”

“What else is it supposed to be, Josef?”

“It’s for the Germans. For Germany.”

The two of them looked at each other and laughed quietly, as if he were a child who had said something funny.

“You sure catch on quick,” said Max.

“And what is it we’re sending?”

“Industry and military figures. Not to worry. A lot of it is completely legal, from trade publications—anyone can access it.”

Max’s hands were in his pockets; Josef could see they were balled up into fists. He tapped his foot nervously, and not along to the music.

Ludwig sank deep into his chair.

“They send people to prison for this.”

“We have to know the state of America’s military so that we’re not at a disadvantage. Every country acts this way. What’s the problem?”

He went on. Josef shouldn’t believe everything the Americans said about the Germans. Like that Germany was preparing for war—that was propaganda. The world just couldn’t handle the fact that Germany had gotten so strong.

“Theft does come into play, though,” Ludwig interjected.

“Thanks to the people who work in the factories, we now have the Norden bombsight. And that’s a good thing, Josef, isn’t it? The Norden bombsight can hit a pickle jar from a height of six thousand meters! With it you can avoid an inferno like Guernica.”

He looked at the two of them wearily.

After they’d put on their coats and hats and were headed out the door, Ludwig turned back to look at him. He was completely plastered. “Sorry, Josef. You’re a good guy.”

He opened Thoreau and encountered lines that made him angry, that all of a sudden seemed to him as lofty as skyscrapers:

Disobedience is the true foundation of liberty. The obedient must be slaves.

Because he didn’t know what else to do, he went to see Schmuederrich. He walked right past the secretary and her shout of “Stop!” with an assertiveness that he possessed only when he was furious.

Schmuederrich got up from behind his desk.

“Figured you’d be coming. Max called me before you got here.”

“You could have just asked me.”

“Be glad you’re getting paid. We could also offer you an autograph from Hitler. No joke. There’s a few true patriots here who want nothing else.”