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arms with books and headed for the front door. ‘Take your things off the cart. I need it,’ he said.
    He dumped the books into the cart, their covers splaying as they fell.
    ‘Wait here. I’ll fetch the rest. Make sure nobody takes any of them. They’re corrosive. Every one of them.’
    He disappeared back up the stairs, and returned with more books and the marble bust.
    ‘Not the statue, Günther,’ said Mrs Spinell. ‘It suits the hall.’
    ‘It’s Mendelssohn, Esther.’
    Katharina carried her suitcase to her room and unpacked, draping the wet sheets across the balcony and hanging her dull, limp clothes alongside the fur coat. On her way to the linen cupboard, she caught sight of her mother in a red, woollen dress.
    ‘You look lovely, Mother.’
    ‘But it’s Jewish. I can’t possibly wear it.’
    ‘Take it. It suits you.’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘You deserve it.’
    ‘Do you think so?’
    She looked at herself in the mirror again. And smiled.
    ‘I suppose I do. But I’ll wash it first. And disinfect it.’
    When Mr Spinell returned, the three of them sat at the polished dining room table.
    ‘It’s our turn now,’ said Mrs Spinell. ‘Our turn at the good life.’
    ‘I think I’ll take piano lessons,’ said Katharina.
    ‘A fine idea,’ said her father. ‘It’s about time we had a musician in the family.’

 
     
     
    7
    Faber found them picking over the remains of a tractor, its bulletpocked bonnet folded back to allow them to scrutinize what was left of the engine. He bellowed at them.
    ‘Get back! That’s Russian property.’
    Weiss turned, his rifle already cocked.
    ‘You bastard, Faber.’
    He dropped his weapon.
    ‘So, how was she?’
    ‘Better than expected. You should try it.’
    ‘I have all the woman I need here, without the burden of a wife.’
    ‘It was no burden.’
    ‘It will be.’
    They all laughed, slapped him on the back and shook his hand. Faustmann passed around his cigarettes.
    ‘You’ve been gone a long time, Faber,’ he said.
    ‘Did you miss me, Faustmann? They extended my leave.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I was working in Berlin.’
    ‘Doing what?’
    ‘Working with my father-in-law. Nothing much. What are you doing with the tractor?’
    ‘Building a shower,’ said Weiss.
    ‘Still at that?’ said Faber.
    ‘We’ve regulated the flow, but not the temperature,’ said Weiss. ‘Sit, sir, and tell us about this woman.’
    Faber climbed into the cold metal seat that curved to the shape of his bottom, his legs either side of the broken steering shaft. Weiss, Faustmann and Kraft sat on the rear mudguards.
    ‘How is my mother, Faber?’ said Kraft.
    Faber exhaled slowly, relishing their curiosity.
    ‘She looked after me well, boys. That’s all I can tell you.’
    ‘Oh, come on,’ said Weiss. ‘We need more than that.’
    ‘It’s private, Weiss.’
    ‘It was never private before.’
    ‘Well, it is now.’
    ‘Oh, come on. We’re starved of all sensation.’
    ‘You look pretty healthy to me.’
    ‘What about Berlin?’ said Faustmann. ‘Is there much damage?’
    ‘Some to houses, but people are getting by. The food is dull, though. Heavily rationed.’
    ‘It’s been good here,’ said Weiss. ‘Lots to eat and lots to buy.’
    ‘And what about Darmstadt?’ asked Kraft. ‘How is my mother?’
    ‘I never got to see her, Kraft. But I posted your letters.’
    ‘Bloody hell, Faber. You said you would.’
    ‘I’m sorry. I ran out of time.’
    ‘You’ve been gone for three weeks. You got extra time.’
    ‘It went by very quickly.’
    ‘But you promised.’
    ‘I’m sorry, Kraft.’
    ‘You’re fucking useless, Faber.’
    Kraft slid down the mudguard and walked away. Faber cleared his throat and spat at the ground.
    ‘I was busy with my wife.’
    ‘You did promise,’ said Faustmann.
    ‘I know.’
    ‘He thinks she’s dying,’ said Weiss.
    ‘I only saw my own mother for a couple of hours.’
    ‘She’s not dying.’
    ‘Jesus Christ, I