NINE

Silbermann made his way through the cars, stopping for a moment to listen to two soldiers playing accordion in a third-class compartment.

This train should be in Dresden a little before noon, he thought. If I hurry I can make the connection to Leipzig. But why hurry? What’s there for me to do in Leipzig? Ride back to Berlin, then on to Hamburg, and from Hamburg … So why rack my brain about that now? Maybe I’ll change trains en route. The more often I switch, the safer I’ll be. I should have bought a pass for the whole network. As it is I’ve practically become a permanent fixture of the German Reichsbahn.

There was a man on board whose bearing and general demeanor reminded Silbermann of the fat police spy in the train from Dortmund to Aachen. Silbermann had already run into him three times, and when he saw the man once more heading his way, he opened the door to the compartment with the soldiers and took a seat.

“Keeping spirits up I see, eh?” he said in a lively voice.

The two soldiers smiled awkwardly and paused their playing. The man Silbermann wanted to avoid stopped in the corridor, so that Silbermann could see his back through the compartment window.

“That’s right,” Silbermann exclaimed excitedly. “Life in the army. There’s still something wonderful about it.”

He glanced at the man’s back.

“When I was a soldier—you were probably just born—I saw all sorts of things. I was there at Verdun. You have no idea what that was like. Drumfire, that’s something else I tell you!” He laughed.

The two soldiers looked at him, embarrassed. They didn’t know what to make of him or how they should respond.

Silbermann kept his eye on the man’s back.

“Of course in those days you were still infants,” he said fiercely. “Infants, and now it’s your generation that’s in control. Let me tell you something”—he continued his rather disjointed speech—“you may very well have a chance to experience a war someday … and you have every right to. Just make sure you enjoy yourselves now because afterward it’s too late. Ha ha … In our company there were four of us friends, two are still alive … Becker and myself … But it was an experience all right … the war was an experience … it’s definitely an experience … as long as you don’t drop dead. You’ll see … You’ll see. It will either make real men out of you … or else corpses. An experience, no doubt about it … I was at Cambrai, too, fighting the tanks. A tank like that’s a lot more sturdy … than a hallway mirror for instance … You’ll see for yourselves! I’d like to join you … I’d like to go along once more, just to see how you take things … ha ha … Because it’s not as simple as you think, ramming a bayonet into another man’s stomach … especially when the other guy has one, too. There are two types of bullets, you see … the ones you shoot and the ones that come back … like I was saying … maybe you’ll experience that … the returns … but I won’t. But why did you stop playing? Go on and play … we always had music in my company, always! Becker had a harmonica … He could play that thing to where you completely forgot there was a war on … so keep playing, men, go on and play!”

The train slowed down, and the man’s back was no longer to be seen.

“I have to get off,” Silbermann said. “A pity … there was so much I could have told you … I was there … also in Russia. The 1914 advance. Trenches. Foxholes … Twice wounded, badly … well, but I have to change here … I have to change quite often … Ha.”

He dashed out of the compartment, ran down the corridor, and jumped off the train before it came to a stop. Clinging tightly to his briefcase, he hurried across the platform.

“The train to Leipzig?” he asked a porter as he ran. The porter pointed the way.

Nice fellows, Silbermann thought back to the soldiers. What was I saying, anyway? It doesn’t matter. I’m sure they didn’t understand a word. I’m thinking of going to Leipzig, but I could just as well go back to Berlin. Why Leipzig of all places! Especially considering I never found the Saxons all that agreeable.

He stopped another porter. “The train to Berlin?” he asked.

“It leaves in twenty minutes.”

Silbermann thanked him almost exuberantly, ran down the stairs, hurried to the ticket counter, and purchased a ticket to Berlin. Then he stepped out of the station for a bit of fresh air. Dresden, he thought. I’ve been here so many times. Isn’t this where Solm & Co. have their headquarters? Good clients. I could drop in and say hello. Better not, though. And they’re not very good when it comes to paying on time, either. Always insisting on bills of exchange. Just thinking about what happened to Fanter & Son makes me dizzy. Sixteen thousand marks they lost in one blow. What could they have been thinking? Such a solid old firm and then all of a sudden …

He went back inside the station. Out of habit he approached the ticket counter. Then he remembered that he’d already bought a ticket. He pulled it out of his pocket along with a jumble of banknotes. The Reichsbahn really ought to give me a discount, he thought. All of a sudden he felt ill, and the station hall began spinning around him. He saw trains arriving and departing, heard horns honking, bells ringing, wheels rattling, words close by and far away, loud and quiet …

He fell to the floor.

A woman screamed. Officials came running and people pressed close to see what had happened. One man bent over him, opened Silbermann’s coat, jacket, vest, and shirt and placed his ear to Silbermann’s chest.

“His heart’s fine,” he said calmly. “It’s just a passing weak spell.”

Then some medics arrived and picked him up and took him to an ambulance.

When Silbermann came to, he was puzzled to find himself in a hospital room. He sat up, looked around, stroked his forehead, felt a dull pain, and wondered where he might be.

I was traveling, he remembered. I had been in Munich … no, I went back to Berlin … then I was in Dresden … then … no, I must still be in Dresden.

As if reassured by that supposition, he let himself slide back into the pillows. Apart from the fact that my head hurts, I’m fine, he was somewhat pleased to note. Then he gave a start.

“Where’s my briefcase?” he asked loudly.

He noticed a call bell hanging by his bed. He pressed the button two, three times. An older nurse came in.

“Nurse, where is my briefcase?” Silbermann asked immediately, as he sat up in the bed.

“Calm down,” she answered, holding her palms out.

“I want to know where my briefcase is!” Silbermann demanded.

“I’m sure they have it in safekeeping.”

“Nurse, I want to point out that there are approximately thirty-five thousand marks in that briefcase!”

“You don’t mean it!” she said, surprised.

“Yes I do,” he bellowed, excitedly. “Thirty-five thousand marks. And don’t think for a minute I’m going to let that—”

“Don’t make such a racket!”

“I demand to speak with the director immediately!”

“What director? Do you mean the doctor?”

“I don’t care who it is. I want my briefcase back! Besides, I’m healthy and what’s more…” He stuck his legs out of the bed. “I’m not staying here,” he declared.

The nurse clapped her hands together. “Now, now,” she said reproachfully.

“I demand my briefcase!” Silbermann repeated sharply.

“If you have a briefcase here, I’m sure you’ll get it back.”

“And my suit,” he added. “I want to leave. But before I do perhaps you could have them make something for me to eat. I simply forgot to eat, that’s all. I can pay, too!”

“Please lie back down in your bed,” the nurse requested in a commanding tone of voice.

He obeyed.

“Nevertheless I would like to speak to the doctor right away,” he said. “I’m completely healthy. And I don’t have any more time. I have meetings, important meetings! Please have him see me at once!”

“You’re in a hospital, not a hotel! And please stop shouting. Show some consideration for the other patients.”

“No one shows me any consideration,” Silbermann countered, already noticeably quieter.

“If you had a briefcase when you were admitted,” the nurse continued, “then you’ll get it back. You’re acting as though you’ve fallen into a robbers’ den. No one’s holding you here against your will.”

“Please have them make something for me to eat,” Silbermann repeated, “and I’d like a bottle of red wine, too. I always cure myself with red wine.” His voice was now completely calm.

“You’ll probably have to stay here another few days, though,” the nurse said.

“Have to?” he asked, once again more agitated. “Have to? They can’t force me. After all, I’m not that helpless! In any case I want my briefcase back at once!”

The nurse put her hands on her hips. “Now you listen to me,” she retorted angrily. “Some people saved your life, or at least they came to your aid. They didn’t bring you here to rob you but to help you, and you’re acting as though…”

Silbermann jumped out of the bed. “I don’t want any help!” he called out and glared at her. “I don’t want anything at all! All I want is to leave! I refuse your—help!” He hurled the word at her as though it were an insult.

She left the room and he lay back down in bed.

Calm down! he commanded to himself. I absolutely have to act more calmly. He felt his pulse and touched his forehead. I don’t have a fever, he established. I simply should have eaten something. I’ve been eating too little and far too irregularly. And on top of that there’s all the commotion of the past few days.

He pulled the covers up to his chin.

Actually it’s nice just lying here, he thought. I really should stay a couple of days. Once again he examined the room. Nice and clean, he determined. I really ought to stay. No! No! It’s a prison. Or the prelude to prison! They nurse you here so they can thrash you there!

The nurse came back. She was carrying a large sheet of paper and a pencil. Silbermann looked at her mistrustfully.

“Your briefcase is here, of course, along with your money,” she said. “Here’s the list of all your personal belongings. Please look it over and let me know right away if there’s anything missing.”

Silbermann took the list and studied it without much interest, since he knew his essential possessions had been found.

“Incidentally, the doctor is also of the opinion that you can be discharged,” the nurse added.

“That’s good,” said Silbermann, relieved. “Many thanks.”

The nurse started for the door, then turned around and asked, “Are you Jewish?”

Silbermann started. “And what about it?” he asked back.

“Oh nothing. Calm down. Nobody’s going to do anything to you here. If you like you can easily stay another few days. But perhaps it’s better…”

“I want to leave,” Silbermann said quickly. “I’m sure you mean very well, but I want to go. Besides, I’m completely recovered. It was just a minor passing weakness.”

She had already left the room.

What’s going to happen now? Silbermann wondered. Will they really let me go? Will they give me back my money? Or perhaps…? There are so many possibilities. After all, they’re not going to let a Jew with money slip away. He got out of his bed, walked to the door in his bare feet, opened it, and peered out into the corridor. Now I’ve fallen into the trap, he thought. Now they have me! And above all they have my money! Everything’s part of the same system, even this hospital. The state in all of its totality is turned against me—against me!

He saw an orderly round the corner and quickly scurried back to his bed.

Maybe if I stayed here I’d have some peace, he thought. But how can I be at peace when I don’t know what’s in store for me? And the longer I stay, the greater the danger! That money is a temptation …

He poured a glass of water from the carafe on the nightstand and gulped it down. I’m hungry, he thought. Why aren’t they bringing me anything to eat? What do they intend to do with me, anyway?

Another orderly came and draped Silbermann’s clothes on a chair.

Why didn’t he bring my briefcase? Silbermann brooded. He felt his pockets but they were empty.

“Where’s my passport? Where is my money?” he said to the nurse when she came in, bringing his meal on a tray.

“They’ll give it to you later,” she reassured him. “You’re among honest people here. What on earth are you thinking?”

“Is this a state hospital?” he asked, mistrustful.

“No, we’re a municipal one.”

“Nevertheless!” he said and began to eat. In the middle of his meal he suddenly paused. I’m practically begging them to rob me, he thought fearfully. Besides, I’m making myself look suspicious. Who knows what they think of me. He quickly wolfed down the rest of his food. I can’t let that happen again. Passing out in enemy territory …

Half an hour later he left the hospital. They’d returned all his belongings and he was so astonished—practically moved—that he gave the nurse a hundred marks. She was reluctant to accept it until he indicated that he’d be seriously offended if she did not.

No sooner had he taken a few steps than he regretted having left, because he still felt weak and woozy. He first went to a post office where he sent his wife and his sister each an insured letter containing two thousand marks. Afterward he felt relieved, not only because in his mind he’d taken care of an obligation, but also because he’d lowered the risk associated with his briefcase and thereby lessened his responsibility for any potential future loss.

He wondered whether he should head back to Berlin or stay in Dresden awhile longer, and ultimately decided on the latter. After wandering aimlessly through the city he boarded the funicular train and rode up to the Weisser Hirsch resort. On the way he recalled Ursula Angelhof’s advice:… enjoy myself enormously … start living as though each day were my last. Even if he had serious doubts about his ability to follow through on an idea so foreign to him, perhaps his constant movement would seem a little less grindingly senseless if he tried to get to know the places at least a little bit—the places through which he was being blown by an evil wind.

I’ve been in Dresden a dozen times, he recalled, but I’ve never been up to the Weisser Hirsch. And they say it has such a wonderful view.

As the funicular climbed the hill his thoughts alternated between his wife and his acquaintance from the express train. I absolutely have to see her again, he thought, and felt an intense yearning for her. For her sympathy, her carefree attitude, her silly advice, her playful manner. She certainly isn’t someone who just sighs and lets things happen. Thank God. And suddenly he had a new plan, namely to find her under all circumstances.

When he got to the Weisser Hirsch he tried to behave like an ordinary tourist. He looked down at Dresden, which was spread out in the half-dark with only a few lights discernible, and tried very hard to admire what he could see.

What a pity that Elfriede isn’t here, he thought. She loves beautiful vistas, and I’m sure she would have enjoyed the short ride on the funicular. Silbermann sighed. She really is the only person who means something to me.

He entered the restaurant, sat down at a table, and asked for some postcards. “I’ll have a bottle of Mosel,” he then reassured the waiter, who had probably feared Silbermann would content himself with the postcards.

I’m still alive, Silbermann thought, and tried to smile.

He took his pen out of his pocket and wondered what to write his wife. Shall I tell her that I’m sitting in the Weisser Hirsch with a bottle of Mosel wine and am struggling very hard to talk myself into a decent mood? If her brother sees the card he’ll say, “You see! Evidently he’s doing pretty well!” And perhaps she’ll feel reassured by that.

But I don’t want to reassure anyone!

In a fit, he tore up the postcards. “It won’t work,” he muttered. “I can’t pretend to be someone out for a day trip!” He summoned the waiter, paid, and left.

He took the funicular back down to Dresden. Once in town he rushed onto a streetcar and headed for the station where he hoped to catch the express to Berlin.

When all’s said and done I still feel most comfortable in a train compartment, he thought, when he boarded the train a minute before it departed. He chose a seat in a second-class compartment, where there were two gentlemen and an older lady. Silbermann immediately began reading the novel he had purchased at the kiosk. After half an hour he felt tired and leaned back and closed his eyes. Soon he was asleep and didn’t wake up until they had arrived in Berlin.

The two gentlemen were already gone, and the elderly lady was tugging his arm. “Thank you,” Silbermann said, still very sleepy. It took effort to stand up. The lady left the compartment, and Silbermann clumsily put on his coat and hat and started to follow her out when he suddenly sensed he was missing something. He thought for a moment and then remembered his briefcase. He hurried back to his compartment, but it wasn’t there. He quickly stood on a seat to examine the luggage rack, but all he could find were newspapers. Then he rushed out of the compartment.

Is it possible I left it in Dresden? he tried to remember. No, when he bought the novel in the train station he had stowed it in his briefcase. So someone must have stolen it while I was on the train! he concluded, as he ran toward the station exit.

The elderly lady?

But in that case she hardly would have wakened him, and anyway all she was carrying were her purse and a small suitcase.

The two gentlemen!

But what did they look like? He thought he remembered one having a mustache, a blond mustache. People with blond mustaches are somewhat rare.

He stopped a crewman. “I’ve been robbed,” he called out. “I’ve been robbed by a blond man! My briefcase, my money!”

“You have to report it to the Bahnpolizei,” the man said, then went on his way.

If only I’d memorized their exact features! Silbermann thought, in desperation. I don’t even know what they looked like, all these damned ordinary-looking faces.

He hurried through the gate and stopped just past it.

Maybe they have yet to pass through, he hoped. I’ll wait here. Then he realized they were bound to be faster than he. So he hurried down to the station hall and decided to wait outside the exit. But the station had several exits, and he couldn’t make up his mind which one to watch. And by that point there were only stragglers, since most of the passengers had already left. Despondent, he collapsed onto a bench.

It’s pointless, he decided. After all, a thief doesn’t wait for the person he’s robbed to wake up and chase after him. He’s sure to be gone by now.

A policeman strolled slowly past him. Silbermann jumped up and ran over to the man.

“I’ve been robbed,” he explained, his voice faltering. “In the train from Dresden. They took approximately thirty-one thousand marks. A briefcase, a leather briefcase.”

The policeman stopped, stared at him for a moment in disbelief, but then seemed convinced.

“Have you inquired if the briefcase—your money was in the briefcase, correct?—wasn’t handed in to the conductor by chance? In any case it’s outside my jurisdiction. You have to go to the railway police. See the sign there? Go right away and report your loss. You also need to check with lost and found.”

“The railway police?” Silbermann asked quietly.

“Of course! That’s what they’re for. Just don’t wait too long, hurry.”

They had been walking together and were now standing across from the police station. “Don’t waste any time explaining things. Go make your report.”

“I don’t know,” Silbermann said, his voice sounding anguished and undecided.

“What don’t you know?” asked the constable, growing suspicious. “Did you have a briefcase or not?”

“Of course I had one. With over thirty thousand marks! But maybe I’d better go back to the platform and check if someone hasn’t turned it in there.”

“You can check to your heart’s content, but anyone who goes to the trouble of stealing thirty thousand marks isn’t going to be so quick to return it.”

“But maybe someone found it.”

The constable scowled at him. “You just said it was stolen from you! How can anyone be expected to find it?”

Silbermann’s situation was getting somewhat critical. At the moment he was just as scared of the railway police as he was of losing his briefcase.

If I file a report, he thought, then not only will I have lost my money, I’ll lose my freedom in the bargain. On the other hand, if I don’t file a report I have no prospect of seeing my briefcase or my money ever again. Either way I’m done for. That briefcase was my last remaining asset. But then he again felt a glimmer of hope, thinking that someone might have found the briefcase and handed it in—as unlikely as that might seem.

“I’ll ask one more time,” he said, and went back to the platform. Bewildered, the constable shook his head and watched him leave.

He was already at the gate when he realized he hadn’t bought a platform ticket, but to his great relief he saw that the train was still in the station. He hurried to a vending machine, paid for the ticket, then ran to the platform and asked for the conductor.

“Did anyone find a briefcase?” he said, nearly out of breath from running. “I lost my briefcase. With over thirty thousand marks!”

The conductor puffed out his cheeks in surprise. “Thirty thousand marks,” he said, impressed. “Good lord!”

“Has someone turned it in?”

“Not to me. But you need to file a report with the lost-and-found bureau. Incidentally if you want to know my opinion there’s not much point. Thirty thousand marks are enough to turn an honest man into a scoundrel. Where were you sitting?”

“In second class,” said Silbermann, now hoping he had somehow overlooked the briefcase when he had searched his compartment. They boarded the train, but Silbermann could no longer tell which compartment he had been sitting in. So they made their way through all the second-class smoking compartments, with no result.

The conductor asked about the other passengers, and Silbermann described them as best he could. “The man with the blond mustache,” Silbermann answered. “He did strike me as a little suspect, but perhaps I’m only imagining that after the fact. There were two men, one with a blond mustache, like I told you.”

“And the lady? You didn’t ask the lady?”

“Ach!” said Silbermann, unhappy. “I didn’t even think of that. And she might have been able to give me an exact description.”

“I’m sure she would have,” the conductor agreed. “You should have asked her.”

“But I can describe her. She was wearing a gray skirt suit…”

The conductor looked at the clock.

“Go to the railway police and the lost-and-found bureau,” he suggested. “As you see, I’ve done what I could. There’s nothing more I can do. If you’d like, I can have someone show you the way to the police.”

He leaned out the window and looked around.

“No, thank you,” Silbermann was quick to respond. “There’s no need. It’s very kind of you, but I know the way. Good-bye.”

He left the compartment and clambered out of the train car, gripping the handrail with weak hands, then headed slowly back to the gate.

The truth is that all I’ve lost is time, he tried to persuade himself, a little time off my life. Nothing else. Not even the money could be of any real help. I’ve already seen that.

But this reasoning brought no consolation, because Silbermann realized beyond all doubt that he’d been dealt a decisive blow, that along with his money he’d been robbed of his ability to resist, his one point of support. Compared with this disaster, which he believed would determine the rest of his life, all the other dangers he was facing seemed completely insignificant.

For the first time something has happened that can’t be rectified, he thought, and even when he tried to escape into a listless indifference as a kind of self-defense, he was unable to do so completely. He walked down the stone steps. Along with the money I’ve lost all hope of buying time, he thought: there’s no more time in my account.

He stood outside the door with the sign: BAHNPOLIZEI.

Silbermann turned the door handle, opened the door, and looked into the room.

A surly voice greeted him with “Heil Hitler!”

“I’ll be right back,” he said, then turned around and went to the bench where he’d been sitting earlier.

Should I file the report? he wondered. Report the thief? To whom? He let out a helpless, angry laugh. They’ll just arrest the person who was robbed and put him on trial instead of the thief!

He sank back into the bench so it made a slight cracking noise. He rested his hands flat on the seat, splaying his fingers. I’m done for now, he thought. Completely finished! Then he jumped up and took a few steps in the direction of the station. “I’m going to report the thief,” he muttered. “I’m going to report the thief to the robber!”

The door to the station opened and an official stepped out. He looked at Silbermann questioningly: “Is there something you want?”

Silbermann turned around without saying a word.

I have to think it through, he thought. No hasty decisions. He went back to his bench and sat down. The official observed him for another moment, then went on his way. Silbermann watched him leave.

“My briefcase,” he whispered to himself. “I want my briefcase back! This can’t be! I had it just an hour ago!”

His head sank onto his chest.

This can’t be, he thought again. I’m only imagining it. A week ago I was still the owner of Becker Scrap and Salvage Co.… and a few hours ago I was still a man with over thirty thousand marks … a man who still had many prospects, in spite of everything. A man with thirty thousand marks is still fully capable of living. I had endless possibilities … I just ought to have taken advantage of them! All the travel, the struggle, the worries, the self-torment, the brooding … it was all in vain. My entire life has been meaningless, everything I’ve ever achieved … There I was running around Berlin as the merchant Otto Silbermann … I had a family … I had friends … I had a wonderful life … I was rooted … No, I wasn’t rooted, I only imagined I was … this is the only life that’s real, that’s genuine … this bench here … the empty pockets … the police station where I don’t dare enter … that is the authentic Silbermann existence … I’m perched on a bench in the void, and when they close the station they’ll kick me out and I won’t even have that anymore.

His hand stroked the wooden seat.

This is what I have accomplished, he thought. For this I sneaked across the border and begged two gendarmes for a little air. Ach, if I’d only given it one more try! He sighed, lost.

Then he suddenly leapt up.

“I want my money back,” he growled. “My thirty thousand marks!”

Once more he went over to the station. I’ll show you who I am, he thought, in desperate fury, only to stop again outside the door.

He looked at his wallet to see how much money he had left. “Two hundred twenty, two hundred thirty, two hundred forty,” he counted quickly, in a low voice. He still had bills worth two hundred eighty marks.

Tomorrow, he decided, and turned away from the station and headed toward the exit. Tomorrow …

A low-level employee, he then reasoned, can live off two hundred eighty marks for several months. What will the thief do with my money? He has no idea it belonged to a Jew, so it’s possible he’s afraid they’re trying to track him down, and maybe my briefcase is roaming with him all across the country.

He headed out of the station but stopped at the exit.

In 1919, when we opened the firm Seelig and Silbermann, my investment amounted to thirty thousand marks, he recalled nostalgically. Twenty thousand from Father, and ten thousand that I borrowed from Bruno. Those thirty thousand marks were my beginning! And now they are my end. Up to this point I’d only lost what I’d earned, but now I’ve lost the source of those earnings, and what might have let me earn more in the future.

I shouldn’t take it so tragically, he then thought, because really all I’ve lost is the last piece of my past, which no longer properly belongs to me anyway. After all, did the money guarantee my safety? He tried to console himself for his loss. No! It only provided the illusion of security.

Ach, nonsense, it was more, much more! It was my entire future. I’ve lost twenty years of my existence, twenty years! How ungrateful I’ve been. My wealth has shielded me from poverty for an entire lifetime. And for a few days it’s no longer been able to help—at least not to the extent it had. But now I’ve lost my very existence! Now I’ve let my entire life get stolen! I am a dead man—utterly and absolutely dead.

He left the station, went to a waiting taxi, and gave the driver the address to his apartment, since he had decided to sleep in his bed one last time before going through with his suicide, which is what he considered filing the report on the theft to be.

When the car passed a telephone booth, Silbermann had a new idea and tapped his finger on the pane separating him from the driver. “Stop,” he said. The driver stopped the car some hundred meters past the telephone, and Silbermann climbed out. He paid and walked back to the booth. He stepped inside, opened the phone book, and searched through names beginning with A. When he came to Angelhof, attorney, he underlined the number with blue pencil, as was his habit, and dialed.

He had to wait some time before a sleepy voice finally answered: “Hello, who’s calling?”

“Herr Angelhof?” Silbermann asked as calmly as he could.

“Yes, that’s me, but…”

“May I speak with your wife?”

“My wife? At this hour? Who are you? What do you mean calling like this?”

“It’s imperative that I speak with your wife,” Silbermann explained emphatically. “It’s very, very important!”

“Fine, but will you first tell me who this is and why you’re bothering me in the middle of the night—that’s never happened to me before in all my life.”

“Your wife left her purse in the train,” Silbermann lied, passing over the first question, since he would have been hard-pressed to invent a name. Where did I come up with a lost purse? he asked himself. Ah, my briefcase, of course. “I found her purse,” he continued slowly. “And I would like to return it to her.”

“Then come and give it to me tomorrow,” the attorney suggested, his tone slightly more gentle.

“Unfortunately I’m just passing through, it’s a very short layover.”

“But tonight? It’s already very late. Couldn’t you have called earlier?”

“Unfortunately not, besides I have my own business to attend to,” Silbermann said brazenly.

“Of course … I understand … It’s very kind that you … but perhaps you could come by early in the morning?”

“Early in the morning? Yes, that would work. I have a train to Hamburg at nine twenty.” By now I have all the departure times in my head, Silbermann was surprised to note. Which can be very useful in certain cases, such as this one.

“So if you’ll be so kind as to come by at eight,” the lawyer suggested very politely.

“Where do you live?”

“Kurfürstendamm 65.”

“Right, I have that address from the telephone book. But the purse has a letter to your wife at a different address. I think…”

He stopped, hoping the lawyer would mention the address, but he didn’t.

The man just growled reluctantly. “So?”

“Well,” said Silbermann. “Now I’m in an awkward situation. I have no idea what to do. I believe your wife implied in conversation that you’re living in separation.”

“So why are you calling me?”

“Well I don’t know exactly, either. I’m not so precisely informed about your family affairs, which are none of my business. I only wondered where I ought to take the purse, since I really should return it to your wife.”

“Bring it to my office tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t know if I have the right, if you are…”

“So then leave me in peace! Do what you want. Take it straight to her for all I care. Perhaps that’s best.”

“I’ll simply deposit it in the lost-and-found bureau.” Silbermann made one final try. “I don’t know if the address is still valid. Then the bureau can look up your wife.”

“It’s all the same to me, but maybe you should take it to Pension Weler, that’s where she’s staying, if you don’t want to entrust it to me. What address is on the letter?”

Silbermann quickly opened the phone book.

“Let me see,” he said. “Maybe I can manage that, if I have enough time.”

“What address is on the letter?” The lawyer repeated his question.

“I’ll have to check,” Silbermann said. “Please excuse my having bothered you. Good-bye.”

He hung up. Full of hope, he leafed through the phone book. Perhaps I should have asked for the street, he thought. If that pension isn’t listed—I can’t call him again. But he found the address and wrote it down. Then he went back onto the street. An escapade, he thought, almost angrily. A romantic escapade!

He took a taxi. When he reached the boardinghouse he had to ring several times before someone finally opened the door.

“I’d like to speak with a Frau Angelhof,” he said.

The maidservant looked at him, astonished. “At this hour?” she asked, incredulously.

“Yes,” he said decisively. “I’m only passing through and have something to give her,” he added by way of explanation.

“Can’t you give it to me?”

“No,” said Silbermann, then reached into his pocket and handed her a three-mark coin. “Will you be so kind as to tell her she has a visitor?”

The girl let him in and showed him to the reading room. By the time Ursula Angelhof entered some ten minutes later, Silbermann had nearly fallen asleep in the comfortable armchair. She examined him calmly. It seemed she was neither pleased nor particularly surprised, just perhaps a little taken aback. Silbermann jumped up.

“Good evening,” he greeted, no longer knowing exactly why he had come.

She seemed not to know, either.

“I wanted to see you again,” he explained, using the familiar Du. “I didn’t meet you in the café because I came too late.”

“But how did you find out my address?” she asked, using the formal Sie.

“From your husband.” Silbermann stuck to the familiar form.

“Ah,” she said, and it seemed to Silbermann as if she smiled for a moment approvingly. But then she became serious. “You shouldn’t have done that”—here she switched to Du—“you know how things are between us.”

“But I wanted to see you again,” he said quietly.

“Why?” she asked. “It doesn’t make any sense. Which is why I didn’t keep our appointment.”

Silbermann couldn’t help smiling. Of course, she hadn’t kept their rendezvous.

“Maybe you’re right,” he then said.

She shook her head. “And?” she asked.

“It’s … I don’t know how to go on. I have no idea what to do. No idea! I’m done for. They stole my money in the train from Dresden to Berlin.”

Her eyes widened, appalled. “Your money?” she asked.

“Now I don’t know why I came … I wanted to see you … But … it doesn’t make any sense … it’s just that … I don’t know.”

He stood up, took her hand, looked at her closely, and finally kissed her hand.

“Good-bye,” he said.

“But I don’t understand,” she said. “There was something you wanted. What was it? Can I help you … I mean.”

“No, no, no,” he cut her off, almost testily, and shook his head. “Besides, there’s nothing you can do to help.” He sighed.

Slowly he walked to the door. Then all of a sudden he felt her hand on his shoulder. He turned to her and looked at her questioningly.

“Do you want to stay here?” she whispered.

He gazed at her with empty eyes.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I think … perhaps it’s better … if I go.”

“As you wish,” she answered calmly. “But what are you going to do?”

“I’m not going to do anything anymore!” he answered. And then he left.