He got up and went into the kitchen. His voice still echoed in his ear. He poured himself some more whiskey and came back just as she was saying something about Isadore Greenbaum. He immediately saw the suit pants pulled down around his ankles, and the article in the New York Times two days later. “A hero!”

He muttered agreement and felt the back of his neck getting hot, as if he were blushing with shame. The feeling spread down his back. He’d been there, after all. He had seen Greenbaum with his own eyes. And he himself had been as far from jumping up and protesting as could be.

Without thinking he pushed the standing lamp away so that the light wasn’t shining on him. Lauren slid a bit closer; she had misunderstood him. The lamp now shone on the QSL cards on the wall. X1AY, a man with a sombrero who lived somewhere in Mexico. Josef squinted; his tongue followed, forming the words: Avenida Ixtaccihuatl 27.

“It’s getting pretty late,” said Lauren quietly.

“You’re right. I’ll walk you to the subway.”

The wind blew a smattering of raindrops out on the street; maybe that’s why Lauren walked so quickly. At the top of the stairs of the subway station on Lexington she assured him that he could leave her alone now, it wasn’t dangerous.

“But what about all the beatings and assaults all over New York?”

She looked at him with surprise, searched his eyes.

“Sorry, Lauren, that was a dumb joke.”

Suddenly he wasn’t sure if their date on Sunday was going to happen. But he would be there.

20

Neuss, July 1949

DÖRSAM ANSWERS THE PHONE SAYING HIS NAME IS MEERBUSCH. Josef recognizes his voice right away.

He says his own name, “Josef Klein,” then adds, “Joe,” then, “from the old days at the Old Heidelberg,” and is about to say Ellis Island when finally Dörsam interrupts him.

“Right, I know who you are.” Josef, his heart beating in his throat, makes an effort to hear goodwill in the voice. But then Dörsam asks cuttingly, “Where did you get my number?”

“From Schmuederrich.”

“Oh, him.”

“Can we meet?”

There’s a pause. Dörsam seems to be thinking.

“Tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock in Cologne. Can you manage that?”

“Of course,” says Josef. He’ll find some way to manage it.

“Come to the Kunibert monastery, behind the train station. Stand by the entrance and wait.”

He hears the click of the receiver landing back on the hook.

* * *