Ulrich Alexander Boschwitz

­tified, he thought, and even when he tried to escape into a listless indifference as a kind of self-defense, he was unable to do so completely. He walked down the stone steps. Along with the money I’ve lost all hope of buying time, he thought: there’s no more time in my account.

He stood outside the door with the sign: bahnpolizei.

Silbermann turned the door handle, opened the door, and looked into the room.

A surly voice greeted him with “Heil Hitler!”

“I’ll be right back,” he said, then turned around and went to the bench where he’d been sitting earlier.

Should I file the report? he wondered. Report the thief? To whom? He let out a helpless, angry laugh. They’ll just arrest the person who was robbed and put him on trial instead of the thief!
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