No greeting and no call will make him pause as he strides along the street with measured tread, like some woundup clockwork mechanism. His passage has startled nobody.

Somebody at Abel Glanz’s side whispers, ‘Streimer’s coming,’ and there, all at once, stands Jakob Streimer.

At that moment a man in blue overalls lights a gas lamp, almost as if in honour of the new arrival.

Abel Glanz becomes uneasy; all the Jews do.

Jakob Streimer stands at the end of the alley looking even more splendid than the policeman, waiting for the crowd to move towards him, like some eastern potentate waiting for a deputation of his subjects bearing some request. He has gold pince-nez, a well-trimmed brown beard and wears a top hat.

It was soon rumoured that Jakob Streimer was in the market for German reichsmarks.

Abel Glanz entered a shop inside which a woman seemed to be waiting for customers. The woman left her post, a door opened, a bell rang and a man came out of the shop.

Glanz returned, beaming, ‘I’ve bought marks at eleven and three eighths. Think of that! Streimer is buying at twelve and three quarters.’

I begin to ask a question. Glanz slips his hand into my breast pocket, with uncanny certainty, pulls out my wallet, extracts all the paper money, stuffs a bundle of crumpled bank notes into my hand and says, ‘Come along.’

‘Ten thousand,’ says he, and stands before Jakob Streimer.

‘And this gentleman?’ asks Streimer.

‘Yes; Herr Dan.’ Streimer nods.

‘Savoy,’ he says.

‘Congratulations, Herr Dan,’ says Glanz, ‘Streimer has invited you.’

‘How come?’

‘Didn’t you hear? He said “Savoy”. Let’s go. If your Uncle Phöbus Bohlaug had a generous heart, you could go to him, borrow money, but German marks – in a couple of hours you could earn a hundred thousand. But he won’t give you anything. So you’ve only earned five thousand.’

‘That’s a lot, too.’

‘Nothing is a lot. A lot is a milliard,’ says Glanz, dreamily. ‘Today, there is no such thing as a lot. Who knows what tomorrow will bring forth? Tomorrow there’s a revolution. The day after, the Bolsheviks arrive. The old fairy stories have come true. Today you put a hundred thousand in the safe, you go back there tomorrow and there are only fifty thousand. These miracles happen nowadays. Nowadays when not even money stays money! What more do you expect?’

We arrived at the Savoy, Glanz opened a little door at the end of a passage, and there stood Ignatz.

The room was dark red and in it stood a bar. Behind the bar stood a woman with red hair, and a couple of made-up girls sat casually at little tables drinking lemonade through thin straws.

Glanz said ‘Good day, Frau Kupfer’ and introduced us, ‘Herr Dan, Frau Jetti Kupfer, our alma mater.’

‘That’s Latin,’ he informs Frau Kupfer.

‘I know you’re an educated man,’ says Frau Kupfer, ‘but you need to earn more money, Herr Glanz.’

‘Now she’s getting back at me for my Latin.’ Glanz is embarrassed.

The room was in half darkness, in a corner hung a lamp giving out a reddish light. A black grand piano stood before a small stage.

I drank two schnaps and slipped into a leather armchair. At the bar sat gentlemen eating rolls with caviare. A pianist sat down to play.

VIII

We are seated at little tables and everyone knows everyone; it is just one big family. Frau Jetti Kupfer rings a little silver bell and naked women come on stage. It becomes quiet and dark, people shift into position and look at the stage. The girls are young and white with powder. They dance badly and each of them keeps time according to her own fancy. Among the lot – there are ten of them – one thin little creature attracts me. She has blue eyes and carefully powdered freckles.

Her little bones are delicate, her movements disjointed and timid. With her hands she tries vainly to conceal her breasts which are small and pointed and tremble continuously like young frozen animals.

At this moment Frau Jetti rings the little silver bell again, the dance stops, the pianist breaks into a thunderous beat. The lights go up and at the same moment the girls’ bodies retreat half a pace, as if the sudden brilliance of the lights had just undressed them. They turn about before goosestepping off the stage and Frau Jetti calls, ‘Toni!’

Toni, the little freckled one, came; Frau Jetti Kupfer came down from the bar as if descending from the clouds. She exudes a strong aroma of scent and liquor, and presents, ‘Fraulein Toni, our latest!’

‘Splendid!’ shouted one gentleman.