But ever since he’d taken time off from the print shop, he had plenty of days off, and almost always had afternoons off, since by then it was already nighttime in Germany. He was drinking strong Italian coffee. Everything he did, he did with a feeling of timelessness. Maybe this was what other people did on vacation. He wasn’t sure—he had never taken a vacation.

He had so much time that he did things he felt would meet with Lauren’s approval. He went to the New York Historical Society. There he learned a lot about Harlem. About the Dutch settlers in the last century. And on a map of Manhattan he saw that the island was already completely developed by the nineteenth century. But the churches didn’t yet have other buildings towering over them like they did today.

He had also gone to Macy’s and had his measurements taken in the men’s department. He stayed over an hour, indulged in seeking advice and being attended to like a prince. Whenever some question of detail came up, he always chose the most expensive option. In no respect should his suit be inferior to Herr Dr. Ritter’s. The suit would be ready next week.

He paged through the New York Times and looked for news about Germany.

Arthur took a seat across the table from him.

“Hitler is now having his own beer brewed in Bavaria, with just one percent alcohol,” Josef read aloud to him. “And Berlin is flirting with Moscow.”

“For purely economic reasons. The Bolsheviks are still the enemy, don’t you worry. My business is safe!”

“Good for you,” said Josef.

“And how’s your work going?” asked Arthur.

“I’m afraid you were right. They don’t let a guy off the hook so easily. Plus on top of that these people have zero technical talent.”

Arthur slowly shook his head. “Who knows, maybe that’s not entirely by accident.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. But I can tell when something’s fishy. Do you really think they don’t have any better people?”

Josef was silent. He glanced at the faces of the people around them. No one was looking at them.

“What is it you’re up to, anyway?”

“Operation Sonnenstaub. Solar dust. That’s all I know.”

“Operation Sonnenstaub.”

“I heard it in Max’s headphones once. They usually just confirm receipt of the transmission. But once they sent back a demand from Hamburg: ‘More Sonnenstaub.’”

Which probably meant Put a little more effort into it, boys.

They usually stayed for three or four hours. They filled his apartment with smoke. Ella Fitzgerald sang. April came, then May. The treetops swayed outside his window, their leaves fanned out like divas.