“Spontaneity and authenticity are the alpha and the omega,” I said, and realized too late that I should have chosen two words that were easy to pronounce even after hazelnut liqueur.

Then I got out of the car and mailed the letter.

At seven o’clock the next morning, I was standing next to the mailbox. The mailman opened the emptying flap and attached his mailbag under it.

“Please give me my letter back,” I said.

The old mailman had retired the year before. The new one was one of the twins from the upper village.

“Nah,” he said.

I had already waited a half hour next to the mailbox. I was cold and had a headache. I imagined how nice it would be to have Palm’s rifle at hand. “Hand it over, jackass,” I’d say, pointing the gun at him, “I’m the one who calls the shots.”

“Please,” I said.

The mailman grinned. Little puffs of mist came from his mouth. “What’s in it for me?”

“Everything I have.”

“And that is?”

I pulled out my wallet. “Ten marks.”

The mailman plucked the bill from my hand and shoved it in his pocket. He opened the bag and held it out. “Help yourself.”

I bent over the bag. It was much too large and much too deep for the few letters it held. I rummaged in it with clammy fingers.

“Happy New Year, Luisy,” the mailman said.

The next morning, there was a letter from Frederik in my mailbox. It was a blue airmail envelope. I held it up to the hall lamp. This time the letter was written on thicker paper and you couldn’t make out any of the writing. The words were blurred like the letters on the display panel in the airport when the flights are updating.