They passed a large construction fence behind which a building was being torn down to make room for a taller one, then a bookstore that boasted of carrying books that were banned in Germany. On the corner of Park Avenue was the genteel Amalfi. He held the door open for Lauren. “Here?” she asked, astounded, and he nodded quite casually. Inside, it smelled of lobster, of cocktails and perfume. The air hit his face like a spray. White-tiled walls, chandeliers, and real silver. He saw with equal parts terror and triumphant bliss that only the wealthy upper crust dined here.

A white-gloved waiter blocked their way. “Good evening. What name, please?”

“What name?” Josef repeated the question, trying to win time, like he used to do when he didn’t understand something.

“Do you not have a reservation?”

“Reservation?”

“You need a reservation.”

“But there are a few empty tables over there.”

“They’re reserved.”

Now he could feel Lauren’s hand on his arm. The hand was pulling him away.

“There are so many restaurants around here, Joe. We’ll find something,” she said when they were back outside. Her eyes were already scanning the different signs with dishes advertised in chalk: Schnitzel, Kalbsbraten, Klöße, and Rotkohl. “I’d much rather eat German food anyway,” she said as a waiter in knee-length lederhosen stepped outside a restaurant.

Why he didn’t want to go to the first restaurant she pointed out, and no, not to the Old Heidelberg or the Berlin Bar either, this he couldn’t explain to Lauren, who by now had gone quiet in a mix of disappointment and unease. He said no to every place, acting as though he was very concerned about quality. Finally he pulled Lauren into a pastry shop. There he bought a small bag of Windbeutel—cream puffs.

“So this is my dinner?”

He laughed. The golden dough crumbled onto her dress. At this moment the sun was shining red in the street. A look of relief spread across Lauren’s face, a relief that he also felt the moment he tasted the cream filling.

“Now I’m full.”

“Then I guess this evening was a bargain for me,” he said.

The next moment she grabbed his arm and tried to pull him away.

“What’s wrong, Lauren?”

“Ignore it, please.”

Now he heard it. “Kraut!” The shout was coming from behind them. “Hey, you Nazi! Stop right there!”

He turned around. Thank God Schmuederrich wasn’t wearing the Bund’s military uniform today. “I know that guy. He’s just someone I know who likes to mess with me.” Schmuederrich caught up with them. Now here he stood before them in all his girth and with his mouth open.

“I find such jokes tasteless,” Lauren told Schmuederrich.

“Thank you for bringing that to my attention, miss. I’ll make a note of it.”