She grabbed a broom leaning against the house next to the door and tried to sweep the dogs away. “Get lost, you hellhounds,” she yelled, which didn’t impress the dogs. She hammered on the door with her fist.

A window on the second floor opened and Palm looked out.

“Call off your dogs and let your son be. And if you touch Luisa one more time I’m going to poison your goddamn mutts, I swear.”

Palm grinned and shouted, “I can’t hear you, the dogs are too loud.”

Selma slung the broom at the dogs. It hit one on the leg. The dog tripped, yelped, and scrambled back up. “Leave my dogs alone,” Palm roared. I closed my eyes tight and buried my face in Selma’s shirt. Her chest rose as she took a deep breath.

“Listen to me, Palm,” she said more calmly. “Luisa’s afraid you’ll do something to Martin.”

“Do something,” Palm mimicked her. He reached to the right and pulled Martin to the window. “Did I do anything to you?” Palm asked.

As usual, one strand was standing up on Martin’s always well-combed head. You could flatten it as often as you’d like, it would be standing on end again after a few minutes, as if it wanted to point out something overhead.

Martin cleared his throat. “No,” he said.

The dogs bayed. “Listen to me, Martin. I’ve got my eye on your father. We’ve all got our eyes on your father.”

Friedhelm came waltzing down the street, his arms spread as if he were dancing with someone we couldn’t see, singing, Oh, you lovely Westerwald.

The shutters came rattling down on the house across the street. Palm laughed.

“If I were you, I’d get lost, Selma,” he shouted. “Those chains have seen better days.” Then he closed the window.

We turned to face the dogs. Selma pulled off a shoe, threw it into the pack, and hit one of the dogs on the head. It fell, yelped, and scrambled back up. Selma’s shoe was lost. The dogs crowded around it as if it were a slain rabbit. “I’m watching you, Palm,” Selma shouted, and threw her other shoe at the dogs. We went home, Selma barefoot.

It was five o’clock in the evening. Ten more hours, I thought, and wanted to count them off just to make sure, but Selma took my hand, with its fingers spread for counting, closed it into a fist, and held it in her own until we got home.