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work for once.”
    “Dirty work,” Fritz said. “That’s all you know. You and your—”
    “Here’s the water,” Ilse said, carrying in a pitcher, the old request.
    “Water?” the SA man said.
    Fritz looked at the rest of them, suddenly at a loss.
    “Thank you, Ilse,” Alex said, moving over to take the pitcher. “For the tree,” he said to the SA man. “They dry out and then there’sa danger of fire.” He knelt down and poured some water into the support stand. “It doesn’t take much,” he said, hoping it wouldn’t overflow, the basin already full. He glanced over toward the closet. Don’t even look, draw anyone’s attention. But then he saw the blood seeping out from under the door. Just a thin tickle but there, blood always jarring, something the eye went to, like a snake.
    He stood up and went to the other side of the tree, away from the closet. Sounds overhead now, doors being slammed.
    “So that’s what it is now?” Fritz said, no longer looking at the SA man. “You do whatever you want. In my house. My house .” The only way he understood it.
    The SA man ignored him, busy shouting to the men upstairs, then turned, his voice heavy with contempt. “A man who would hide Jews. Vermin.”
    “Nobody’s hiding anybody. You’re making a fool of yourself. Ah, now we’ll see.” The knocker rapped again. He went to the door. “Police. Now we’ll see. Come. Thank you. This gangster and his men broke in. You hear them? They’re all over the house.”
    But the policeman seemed more embarrassed than alarmed. “Well, Hans,” he said to the SA man. “What’s this?”
    “Communists. Two. Maybe more. They’re here—he’s hiding them. There’s nowhere else in the street.”
    “Hans, this is the von Bernuth house.” He turned to Fritz. “I’m sorry for this.”
    “I told him. No one’s here. And he comes right in—”
    “Call your men,” the policeman said quietly. “You have no business here.”
    A reluctant shout upstairs, Hans surly but not prepared to defy the police.
    “Oh.” Almost a gasp, involuntary. Ilse had spotted the blood. Still behind a wrapped present, out of the SA’s line of sight.
    Alex went over to her quickly, taking her elbow. “It’s okay,” he said, maneuvering her toward the sitting room. “Nerves,” he said to the policeman. “She’s easily upset.”
    “But—”
    “I know. But it’s all over. The police are here.”
    The SA men were clomping down the stairs.
    “Now look. Frightening the maids,” Fritz said. “I hope they keep you locked up.”
    “Get her out of here,” Alex said, handing Ilse to Irene, almost a whisper, then went back to stand by the closet, in front of the blood.
    “Is that everyone?” the policeman said, watching them file out, awkward and sheepish. “So. I’m sorry for your trouble. A misunderstanding. Now good night.”
    “But aren’t you going to arrest him?” Fritz said.
    “Arrest him?”
    “A man breaks into your house—”
    “Breaks in here?” He pointed to the door. “I don’t see any signs of that. You opened the door to him, yes?”
    “Do you think he was a guest? I’d have this rabble in my house?”
    “It was maybe too much enthusiasm,” the policeman said, “looking for Communists. Better, I think, to forget this evening. In the Christmas spirit.” He glanced again at the tree, then the present underneath. A few inches.
    “Yes,” Irene said, coming back. “Just go. Leave us, please.”
    Fritz said nothing for a minute, looking at the policeman, then turned away. “Rabble.”
    Outside Hans was back at the steps, one last threat. “We’ll watch. And when we get them, it won’t go so easy for you. You’ll see.”
    The policeman pushed him away from the door. “Shut up. Idiot. He’s von Bernuth.”
    Alex closed the door, bolting it, then waved to the maid. “The drapes. Every window.”
    The room itself seemed to exhale, everyone stuck in place for a moment, listening for sounds