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the worm of triumphalism began its laborious crawl—though things would look otherwise to a marine waiting in Okinawa for the invasion of Japan. Harry doubted the professor’s sour complaint. He seemed to ask for too much. Yet it was true that a colossus had been born. A colossus was heedless, difficult to manage, so many irons in so very many fires. Three wars in twenty-five years and at last the colossus was forced to look inward. Now it faced an enemy whose will and cunning seemed without limit. The Chinese adage, preposterous when applied to the Military Assistance Command, fit snugly in the mind of the guerrilla force: “To gain, you must yield; to grasp, let go; to win, lose.” He realized that Sieglinde had fallen silent.
    Are you listening to me?
    Yes, Harry said.
    I can stop if you want.
    I don’t want you to stop.
    You want me to shut my mouth.
    No, I do not, Harry said. Believe me.
    My father, she said, was an auto mechanic. A good one apparently. The official notification of his death stated that he died bravely. He did his duty. My mother was bitter and, young as I was, I remember her asking if he died fixing a tank’s engine or the flywheel of a staff car and how many others died with him. Perhaps it was a bomb that fell from nowhere, an unseen aircraft in the night sky. So, Sieglinde went on, our house was never the same. My mother was often absent, foraging. She became a forager for food. We lived in a small town east of Hamburg and when the firebombing came we could see the flicker of lights in the sky and later the west wind blew smoke and debris over our little town. The smell of it was horrible. And in the morning we saw ash on our lawn and the sidewalks, the streets, too. Oh yes, also we heard the explosions, a kind of rolling thunder that went on and on. I am only looking for a place of repose, not so much to ask.
    Sieglinde, Harry began.
    I have never told that story to anyone, she said.
    It’s safe with me, Harry said.
    My mother died in the last year of the war, Sieglinde said. It was so cold that winter, the coldest in decades, they said. They told me she died of pneumonia. They did not say where. Her body was not recovered. Perhaps it was pneumonia and perhaps it was something else. I have always thought she just went away to a place of no return. I would not be surprised if she were still alive. So I went to live with my aunt in Lübeck. She didn’t want me. She didn’t know how to feed me. She had barely enough for herself. But we managed. I went to school and later I learned about the x-ray and so I have made a life for myself thanks to my knowledge of the x-ray. I am looking for repose and that is why I came here on the ship.
    As you say, Harry said, not so much to ask.
    No, not so much. Hard to find.
    Maybe this is your place after all, Harry said.
    I shall have to see for myself.
    You are welcome to stay with me. More than welcome. As you can see, I have plenty of room. Of course you would have to jump ship.
    I can do that.
    What’s stopping you?
    I have not made up my mind.
    You would be perfectly safe here. The shooting war is elsewhere, in the countryside. Out of sight, really. I suppose this house could be a place of repose. It’s quiet. I have one servant who keeps to himself. The library is quite good. Do you read French? The house belonged to a French businessman and his wife. A year ago they sensibly decided to return to France.
    So it wasn’t a place of repose for them.
    Evidently, Harry said. I believe they were between the lines, playing a double game. They say the French are good at that, but they aren’t any better than anyone else. It’s exhausting. The family had been here for three generations and now they’ve gone home, some village in the north near Arras. They went there in the summers and now they live there. I met them before they left, a charming couple. They hated leaving. They loved the villa. Among other