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Adela.”
    â€œI’ve read your books,” she said to Toby.
    Max thought he saw a glimmer of interest touch the gray, wasted face. “Really,” Toby said. “Which ones?”
    â€œMy favorite was The Thief of Yesterday and Tomorrow. The use of the dolls to tell the story was hallucinatory. Like the dreams you have when you are running a high fever.”
    â€œI hope you didn’t find them too pretentious,” said Toby.
    â€œOh, no,” she murmured, and there was a trace of amused irony in the sultry voice. “That is not a word I would use to describe them.”
    The smile was thin and fleeting, but it was there. So far, his scheme was working, Max thought gleefully. “Adela, our artist is wasting away,” he announced. “From now on, I’m holding you responsible for making sure he eats.”
    When she left the room, Max saw that Toby’s gaze followed her until the door closed behind her.
    â€œNot bad, hey?” said Max.
    â€œNot bad at all.”
    â€œThe best cook I’ve ever had,” he added as further incentive. “What was that book she was talking about? The one with the dolls?”
    â€œ The Thief of Yesterday and Tomorrow, ” Toby said, dropping his brushes in a can of turpentine.
    â€œIs it also for children?” Max asked hopefully.
    â€œNo. A short story.”
    â€œWhat’s it about?”
    Toby looked reluctant. “I don’t think you’ll like it.”
    â€œTry me.” Max took out his cigarette case, lit one for himself and one for Toby. Between them, the smoke revolved lazily into the air.
    â€œThe setting is the interior of a large old-fashioned house. Oversize furniture, Oriental rugs, heavy drapes, urns with artificial flowers. The family is all at home. Mother says she heard in the marketplace that a tremendous rainstorm was coming their way. Someone should check that the windows are shut, the laundry taken off the line, and the chickens locked safely in the henhouse. Father is in his study, lost in his research on a particular species of beetles in the Amazonian rain forest. Brother can’t be bothered, he’s too busy flirting with the sexy servant girl. Sister doesn’t believe it, she only wants to talk about the party last night and how she needs a new dress for the big dance. Mother goes off to check on something cooking on the stove, then lies down on the couch with a headache. Just then there is a threatening roll of thunder in the distance. A giant hand descends through the roof and snatches them up, one by one. They scream and scream, but it’s as if no one can hear them.
    â€œSuddenly, the point of view changes: A small boy is taking dolls out of a large, elaborately decorated toy house. When he is called to dinner, he leaves the dolls naked in a heap on the playroom floor.”
    Toby took a deep drag on the cigarette. Max waited for more, but it became apparent that there was none forthcoming. “That’s it?” he said, puzzled. “Then what happens?”
    â€œNothing. The End.”
    Max was disappointed. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but the story was too vague and disquieting to be enjoyable. “Not your best work,” he advised him. “Don’t feel bad. The next one will be better.”
    He unbuttoned his jacket the rest of the way, settled back on the bed with a satisfied sigh. He liked to watch Toby work, the movements of his hands as they drew looping lines and angles that became animals, or trees, or buildings, or people. This was how he ended his days now; there was something comforting in the regularity of the nighttime ritual. Had anybody asked him, he would have denied it, but the truth was, he could let down his guard with Toby in a way that wasn’t possible among other Germans.
    â€œWhere do you get your ideas from?”
    Toby, hunched on the chair, peered at him through the haze of smoke.