But such was the authority of an SS man, and such was the universal fear of them, that she took Kluge into her flat without protest, sat him down at the table, and plied him with coffee and bread. Her own husband had already gone to work. Frau Gesch could see how exhausted little Kluge was, and she could also see from his face, his ripped shirt, and the filth on his coat evidence of protracted mishandling. But since Kluge had been handed over to her by an SS man, she didn’t dare ask a single question. Yes, she would have rather put him outside the door than listened to an account of what had happened to him. She didn’t want to know anything. If she didn’t know anything, she couldn’t testify to anything, blab, get herself in trouble.

Slowly Kluge chewed his bread and drank his coffee. Thick tears of pain and exhaustion dribbled down his cheeks. From time to time, Frau Gesch cast a sidelong look at him. Then, when he had finished, she said: “Now where do you want to go? Your wife’s not taking you back, you know that!”

He didn’t answer, just stared straight ahead of him.

“And you can’t stay here with me either. For one thing, my Gustav wouldn’t have it, and then I don’t want to have to keep everything under lock and key on account of you. So where do you want to go?”

Again, he didn’t reply.

Frau Gesch said crossly, “Well, in that case, I’ll leave you on the staircase! I’ll do it right away. Or?”

He said with difficulty, “Tutti—old girlfriend of mine…” And then he was crying again.

“For goodness sake, what a baby!” she said contemptuously. “If I always folded like that the moment something went wrong! All right, this Tutti: What’s her real name, and where does she live?”

After many further questions and some threats she learned that Enno didn’t know Tutti’s real name, but thought he could find his way to where she lived.

“Well then,” said Frau Gesch. “But you can’t go on your own in that state—any traffic policeman would arrest you. I’ll take you. But if you’re wrong about the apartment, I’ll leave you there on the street. I’ve got no time for looking around, I’ve got to go to work!”

“Could I have just a little nap?” he begged.

She hesitated briefly, then decreed, “All right, but no longer than an hour! In an hour we’re off. There, lie down on the sofa, I’ll find something to cover you with.”

He was asleep before she came back with the blanket.

Old Judge Fromm had let Frau Rosenthal in personally. He had led her into his study, whose walls were completely lined with books, and let her sit down in a chair there. A reading lamp was on, a book lay open on the table. The old gentleman himself brought in a tray with a pot of tea and a cup, sugar, and two thin slices of bread, and said to the terrified woman, “First have some breakfast, Frau Rosenthal, and then we can talk!” And when she wanted to bring out a word of thanks, he said kindly, “No, please, I insist. Just make yourself at home here, take an example by me!”

With that, he picked up the book under the reading lamp and calmly carried on reading, all the while mechanically stroking his beard. He seemed entirely oblivious of his visitor.

By and by, a little confidence returned to the frightened old Jewess. For months she had lived in fear and confusion, with her bags packed, always ready for a vicious attack. For months she had known neither home nor ease nor peace nor calm. And now here she was sitting with the old gentleman whom before she had never seen except on the stairs, and very occasionally at that; the light and dark brown leather bindings of many books looked down at her, there was a large mahogany desk by the window (furniture the likes of which she had once owned herself, in the early years of her marriage), a slightly worn Zwickau carpet was under her feet. And then, add in the old gentleman himself, reading his book, stroking away at his not un-Jewish-looking goatee, and wearing a long dressing gown that reminded her of her father’s caftan.

It was as though a spell had caused a whole world of dirt, blood, and tears to fade away, and she was back in a time when Jews were still respected people, not fugitive vermin facing extermination.

Unconsciously, she stroked her hair, and her face softened. So there was still peace in the world, even in Berlin.

“I am very grateful to you, Judge,” she said. Her voice sounded different, more certain.

He quickly looked up from his book.