In The Presence Of My Enemies

How Buckliger answered that question, Walther didn't find out; he had to get the speech off his monitor because the room started filling up again. But that the Fuhrer thought to ask it said more than any answer could. No, they couldn't very well publish this speech. The country wasn't ready. And Walther would have bet anything he owned that the Party and SSBonzen who'd listened to it at Nuremberg hadn't been, either.

VII

HEINRICH GIMPEL HAD TRIED THE GREASY SPOON BEFORE, and hadn't been much impressed. No matter how trendy the American place was, he didn't like the food all that much. But if Richard and Maria Klein wanted to go there to celebrate, he and Lise weren't about to tell them no. The Kleins had reason to celebrate. The Security Police didn't call off an investigation every day, not when they were trying to find out if you were a Jew.

"I wish we could throw a proper party at home," Maria said. She'd been thin and pale to begin with, and the troubles of the past few months had only made her thinner and paler. She had a very nice smile, though, even when she shrugged and said, "You know how things are liable to be."

"Oh, yes." Heinrich nodded. So did Lise. If the authorities were still looking for evidence, what better way to get it than to fill the Kleins' house with microphones and listen to everything they said-and, if they did throw a party, to everything their friends said, too?

Richard took a big bite out of his cheeseburger. He had a musician's hands, all right: long, clever fingers, the tips slightly spatulate from endless hours of practice. He said, "I don't have any idea what finally made them quit. They just said, 'All right, we're done. Go on about your business. Doesn't look like you are what we thought you were.'" He had too much sense to say Jew where anyone who wasn't might hear. Grinning with relief, he sipped from a mug of beer.

"Was it your lawyer?" Lise asked. "From what Susanna says, he's a tiger."

The Kleins shrugged in unison. "He made a lot of noise, I'll say that for him," Maria answered. "I don't know how much real good he did, though."

A girl in what was supposed to be an American waitress's outfit from before the Third World War came up to the table. "Hi!" she said-the standard server's greeting at the Greasy Spoon. She returned to German to ask, "Would you like some dessert? Cherry pie, maybe, or brownies?"

"We're not quite ready yet," Heinrich said.

"Okay," she said brightly, doing her best to project old-time American enthusiasm. "I'll come back later, then." Away she went. Heinrich wondered whether waitresses in the United States had really worn clothes like that. Wouldn't the customers have been too distracted to order?

"I think maybe the lawyer helped," Richard said. "It helped that we had the nerve to hire one. That told them that we really hadn't done what they said we had."

"Good," Heinrich said. "Danken Gott dafur." He still wondered what the authorities had been thinking. A lot of times, they arrested people just because they felt like arresting them, not because the people had actually done something. Things did seem looser under Buckliger than they had under Kurt Haldweim, but were they loose enough for the powers that be to let Jews slip through their fingers? Heinrich had his doubts.

But the Kleins were here. Maria nodded. "Thank God for that is right," she said softly. And if she thought about God in a way different from that of most citizens of the Reich -well, who could know by the way she looked or what she said when strangers might hear? Nobody. Nobody at all.

Lise also spoke quietly: "How is Paul?"

"He's no better. He's not going to get better." Richard Klein spoke through clenched teeth. "They brought in specialists who know a lot more about this disease than Dr. Dambach does. They all say the same thing. When he gets worse, the Mercy Center will be a-a kindness."

"He's still happy, though," Maria said. "He's not too bad, and he's too little to know something's wrong with him."

"That's the one mercy we have," Richard agreed. "He doesn't know anything is wrong. But we do." He lifted the seidel of beer, drained it, and waved for a refill. The waitress brought it to him, then swayed off to get something for someone else.

Heinrich watched her. He would have needed to be blind not to watch her. Lise watched him watching her. "Come here often for lunch?" she asked.

"Me? No. It's not close enough to where I work." Heinrich enjoyed sounding virtuous. "As a matter of fact, Walther Stutzman told me about this place."

But Lise and Maria Klein stared at him. "Walther?" his wife said in astonishment. He and Lise were happily married. By all appearances, Richard and Maria got on well, too. But the Stutzmans were like two sides of one coin. Lise plainly had trouble imagining Walther coming to a restaurant where the waitresses were as big a part of the attraction as the food.