“Now, where is that key?”

Martin was in a hurry. Gershom and Ivan were due any minute now and he was far from ready. In fact, he had been lost in that other world of thought, one that he entered eagerly and left with great reluctance. And now, of course, the other two were on their way over and he hadn't even checked to see whether there was enough schnapps for the evening.

He dug through his pockets for the fourth time and came up empty. The three of them would have loved to meet regularly for their drink, on the same day of the week maybe, but this would be precisely what the authorities wanted – a Jew and a Polish resistance fighter having a friendly chat with the Professor of Hebrew! So they met when they could, at odd times and places. Tonight it was to be in Martin's basement, in Königsberg towards the eastern border. The war had been going badly for the Germans, with the western front all but quiet and the eastern front a distant dream. Gershom and Ivan had taken heart, anticipating the end at last. They had stepped up their activities, agitating, providing a safe haven for those fleeing the regime – the few Jews that were left, prisoners of war who had eluded their captors, the occasional airman shot down during the endless sorties from Allied Forces.