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training, and they chafed against the constant checking of passes, the breaking up of endless arguments over firewood or cooking oil, or, more disturbingly, over the nationality and background of the well-fed individuals with SS haircuts who, in those early days and weeks, had tried to hide themselves among the crowds of refugees. It was hard to do the work of a jailer without feeling like one, to imprison people without treating them like prisoners. He had often found himself furious with the attitudes of the replacements in his command, boys who had never seen a camp or fired a shot in battle and who were as disgusted by the bedraggled DPs as they were enamored of the plump and eager Austrian girls. The Austrians were clean; they were hardworking; they lived in pretty little houses painted in sherbet colors. The DPs, crowded together with few possessions, fewer legal sources of income, nothing to do but fear the future and trade on the black market, repelled the American soldiers. The replacements would make jokes about typhus and lice as they kept at arm’s length the half-starved children who milled around them, calling “Candy! Candy!” By the end of a week of this, Jack had been ready to court-martial half the soldiers under his command, though he feared that what made him so angry was a suspicion that their attitude was uncomfortably similar to his own. Though it shamed him, he knew that he, like his men, flinched when he saw the survivors of the camps, and avoided speaking with them, or even looking at them. This girl was, he thought, the first camp prisoner with whom he’d had more than the most cursory of contact.
    The young woman put her pass back in her pocket and stared over his shoulder at the train cars.
    “Did someone tell you the train was here?” he asked.
    “I am passing by only. I saw the Hungarian writing, and I thought maybe there’s someone on this train. But I found only them.” She waved at the Hungarian soldiers. “And you.”
    It was time to get back to work. If he drove the men hard enough, they could finish before dark. He must send her on her way.
    “Is it your family that you’re looking for?” he said.
    Her face grew slack, her animated frown dissolved, her bright and furious gaze lost its focus. She looked at once like a little girl and like an ancient crone, blind to anything other than the past. But she allowedherself only a moment before she shook her head and steeled her jaw. She looked at the growing pile of items that the Hungarians had heaped, stacked, and scattered on the ground.
    “Where are you taking all this?” she said.
    “To a secure facility, where it can be stored pending investigation.”
    “Okay,” she said, as though granting him permission.
    Jack started to tell her that this was a restricted zone and he must return to work, but she was already going. She walked with a slight limp, a small hitch in her step, but she moved quickly.
    “Miss!” he called, but by then she had crossed the street and couldn’t—or pretended not to—hear him.

• 3 •
    THE NEXT DAY AFTER Jack finished his duties, he gathered a stack of C rations, opened them, and sorted through the M units, discarding the ones that contained chopped ham or frankfurters, and swapping in extra cans of chicken and vegetables, which had the virtue of being not only marginally more kosher but also more palatable. He added as many packs of Brach’s fudge disks, Jim Dandee cookie sandwiches, and vanilla caramels as he could find. He shoved everything into a sack and set out on foot for the Hotel Europa.
    He was not so foolish as to expect it to be easy to find a nameless young woman among the thousands of displaced persons who had taken refuge in Salzburg, but he had allowed himself to imagine some kind of lobby, a desk clerk with a registration book. Failing that, there would be U.S. Army guards, one of whom was sure to remember a decent-looking young redhead with a quick temper and a ready