Max had warned him about Yorkville. The GIs had started to set their sights on the neighborhood, he said. It had to do with that movie. Confessions of a Nazi Spy had started playing at the Strand Theatre on Broadway a short while back. Josef had read an article about it. The wind had shifted: Before, he read, Hollywood had been careful not to run afoul of the German market; they had even removed Jewish names from the credits. But now that the situation in Germany had worsened and war was in the air, Hollywood was choosing confrontation for the first time. The film was based on a true story: a German spy ring in New York had been uncovered last year.

He felt like he’d been living on the far side of the moon.

He had put an exclamation point next to the showtimes, torn the page out, and taken it home with him.

He wore his new suit and felt a confidence that seemed to pass directly from the expensive material to his skin. On a bench sat a young woman pushing a stroller back and forth, in her free hand a cigarette. He took a deep breath and waited. Ships sailed past, leaving long bright trails of wake behind them like the train of a wedding gown. Every time he saw ships he thought of Europe, thought of home, a home that didn’t exist anymore, was only preserved in his dreams.

“Hello, W4, I’ve tracked down your coordinates!”

He turned around. Lauren was walking toward him, beaming. She wore a dark dress with white polka dots, espadrille pumps. This time her blond hair flowed down in an Olympia roll under the small hat that she wore cocked sharply to one side. She had just rubbed moisturizer on her hands; he felt a greasy moist layer on his. In her small handbag was a New York travel guide. He tapped it with his finger. “Who was Carl Schurz?” he asked in a mock teacher’s voice.

She laughed. “A German revolutionary. Came to New York in the middle of the last century, campaigned for Lincoln, and became the first German senator. His wife founded the first kindergarten in America.”

“Excellent, Miss W2.”