Stop, said Hermione.

I deserve to know, said Stumpf. He threw the crystal ball on the ground. It shattered, and all the candles went out. The room was filled with the smell of smoke and melted wax. Hermione jabbed him.

You should never have done that. We've lost them, she said.

Stumpf put his arms around Hermione. She wasn't as willowy as Sonia, but there was more of her, and he took comfort from her body in the dark. He said this time he would let her speak and he would help her light more candles.

But Hermione pulled away and bolted to the corner of the s...o...b..x. Stumpf felt an electric presence in the room. He couldn't see Hermione, but heard her gasp. She said she had a message from the future-a disconcerting message because she wasn't clairvoyant. She b.u.t.toned her blouse, ran down the spiral steps of the watchtower, and shouted for everyone to listen. Her voice was wild, unleashed, and echoed through the enormous room. Scribes froze and looked at her.

Germany is going to lose the war, she shouted.

How do you know? the Scribes asked-almost in unison.

I just saw, said Hermione. Cities were burning everywhere. The Allies broke into the camps. Yes, she said. I just saw saw.

Only one person in the Compound wasn't excited about Hermione's vision, and this was Elie Schacten. True-as Lodenstein argued-Germany was losing the war, and there was always the storage room for Asher, Daniel, and Dimitri if warrant troops arrived. Still, n.o.body felt safe, and once again the Compound turned silent. Rations were dwindling; the gardens had to be replanted constantly. Lars installed an extra lock on the door of the shepherd's hut, and they were so afraid of intruders they hid dry food beneath coats along the far wall and in desks where the Scribes pounded away at Dreamatoria Dreamatoria.

The more Elie thought of what the nightwalkers had said, the more the Compound became two worlds. By day a place of silent antic.i.p.ation and the spinning out of a novel in Dreamatoria Dreamatoria. By night a solitary h.e.l.l, where she paced the cobblestone street and still tried to think of people who would help Asher, Daniel, and Dimitri go to Denmark.

Night was especially dangerous at this stage of the war. Deserters were everywhere, and so was the Gestapo, hunting them, shooting on sight and at will anything that moved. Elie and Lodenstein cleaned the bed where the officer had been murdered. They laundered sheets and left the quilt to air. Then they moved back to the room to be close to the shepherd's hut. No one was supposed to go out at night, but the Scribes craved warm summer air, and Lodenstein left two guns in a bucket by the door.

Elie went out at night alone. She took her own revolver and placed it in the shallow pocket of her coat while she smoked cigarettes under cover of a scarf. Sometimes she thought she saw figures moving in the woods-the SS, fugitives, Gestapo, deer-she couldn't know. Lodenstein often came looking for her-chiding her, pushing her back to the hut. And Scribes still came out to smoke.

No one stayed for long. The Scribes measured time by one cigarette, Elie by three. Now and then someone rooted for vegetables. Before going to bed, she took the mineshaft to the Solomons' house and looked at Dimitri through the window. Dimitri had become her touchstone: if she saw him sleeping, she believed the Compound would be safe for another night.

In this frame of mind, she sometimes forgot she was Elie Schacten, bringer of food as well as disaster, and became Elie Kowaleski, renegade daughter of two Polish Catholics with a sister who was a pianist. Both Elies made lists and walked on the cobblestone street. Both Elies looked at the Scribes under the cover of her scarf. And it was from this vantage point that she watched Stumpf disappear, with twenty-two crates of mail packed in the back of his Kubelwagen.

One late September night, the air was unseasonably warm, reminding Elie of summer nights when she was a child. She took a deep breath and felt the world had forgotten the war. The pine trees were swaying and breathing with the wind-they reminded her of notes on a piano. Indeed the entire forest had no sense of fugitives, deserters, or SS who might be weaving through it. The warm air lulled Elie. She felt free of lists and schemes and worries.

Until she saw the door to the shepherd's hut open slowly and a figure step over the threshold. It was Lars. He carried a large duffel bag and crossed the gra.s.s in the direction of the woods. Elie was about to call out to him, but he was surrounded in an aura of secrecy, almost absolute silence. So she waited and watched him move toward the thicker part of the forest. When he came to a copse of trees, she saw an arm reach out, grab him, and shove him against a pine.

Where are you going? said a voice.

I'm going to find my father, said Lars. This war is s.h.i.t.

Elie startled when she heard a shot. Lars fell to the ground in a heap. He twitched; she heard another shot, and his body was still.

A figure in a long coat emerged from the woods. It came closer, and Elie put her hand on her revolver. It was Mueller.

Fraulein Schacten, he said. I'm so sorry you had to hear that commotion.

Believe me, I've heard everything, she said.

I admire your perspective.

Mueller smelled of gunpowder and pine needles-the combination made Elie's stomach lurch. He asked for a cigarette, and Elie handed him hers. She kept a hand on her revolver.

Where did you come from? she asked.

From the trees, said Mueller.

Like a troll, said Elie.

Like the Reich, he said.

He put an arm around her and asked how she was managing. Elie said she was managing very well, and Mueller said she probably wasn't managing as well as she thought.

Elie looked at Lars's body, still as a fallen tree. She wanted to rush over to him-the desire was strong, like a heartbeat, but she forced herself to stand still.

I've been lucky in this war, she said.

And you may still be lucky, said Mueller. If you listen to me.

He took her arm and walked her toward a large pine. He walked with verve, as though they'd just left an opera and were promenading down a boulevard. The air had a stale, cloying sweetness.

It's lovely to see you, said Elie. But I have to go inside.

Maybe to my Kubelwagen, said Mueller. But not here.

Elie edged away. Mueller came closer and held her chin.

I have news for you, he said. And not the kind you get on Radio Free Europe.

I have all the news I need.

Not this news, said Mueller with reckless gaiety. Elfriede Heidegger has been poking around. She says her husband made a useless trip to Auschwitz and was left all by himself in the snow at an empty train station. Neither of them are pleased.

A useless trip, he continued. And now Goebbels has your name.

What other lies are you making up? said Elie.

He slapped her across the face. She felt it in her teeth.

I don't have to make up lies, said Mueller, who was almost shouting. Goebbels knows you disobeyed an order, and he's going to kill you. But I can hide you. I'm getting out of this war. You'd be surprised at the places I could take you.

I don't want to be surprised.

Of course you do. You've been with that joke of a n.a.z.i much too long.

He edged Elie into the tree. She felt sharp branches and needles piercing her back. He ripped open her blouse, and she felt warm air against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He shoved a hand against them. She held tight to the gun in her pocket.

There's always been something between us, he said. I've been patient for over a year.

There's never been anything between us.

Of course there has. Mueller jerked a sleeve of her blouse by the shoulders. Elie heard the hiss of ripping silk. She felt the pines turn to gla.s.s needles, the air a sweet poison. She imagined how he would tear off her clothes, and his ring would dig into her face, and his moustache would froth against her mouth-all while he forced himself into her. She pulled her revolver from her pocket and pointed its barrel against his ribs. Mueller took a step back.

So you have a gun, he said. Like everyone else in this f.u.c.king war.

Except I'm not afraid to use it, said Elie.

She fired a shot, just into the woods. And then another.

If you ever touch me again, I will kill you, she said.

I don't think so. They'll be after you soon enough. And that little boy with the Echte Juden Echte Juden? They know about him too. I made sure of that.

Elie fired another shot. Get out of here, she said.

Mueller pulled a bottle from his coat and took a long swig. He threw it to the ground and walked in the direction of the road. He hadn't come from the forest but from his Kubelwagen. Elie heard it grumble into the night and walked over to Lars's body. Without blood blooming on his chest, he might just be asleep. She pushed back his hair and stroked his forehead. She took a handkerchief and wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. She gathered pine boughs and covered his body. Then she picked up the bottle; it was French cognac with a small note around the neck-the same words on the order Lodenstein had seen: Translators are traitors.

Francois,You may not see me again.Please know that I love you.Robin Elie raced downstairs and looked through the Solomons' window. Dimitri was sleeping near Talia and Mikhail, who were once again playing chess-so engrossed in the game they didn't notice her. She went upstairs where Lodenstein was putting a note into the trunk.

Do you ever stop finding things? she said.

They keep washing up, said Lodenstein.

Like stuff from the sea, said Elie.

Like stuff from the war, he said.

Elie took off her ripped clothes and got into bed. Lodenstein got into bed with her.

You can't go out so late, he said. You know they blew up the gas chambers.

Elie hesitated. Then she said: Mueller was in the forest. He's a deserter now.

I'm not surprised, said Lodenstein. He reached for the last of the brandy. We should drink to never having to worry about him again.

Gerhardt, she said. I have terrible news. Mueller shot Lars. He killed him.

I don't understand.

I wouldn't either if I hadn't seen it. Just now. In the forest.

Lodenstein began to cry, and Elie rocked him, feeling the bruise of pine needles at her back, wishing she never had to tell him such news.

Look at what I've brought to this place, she said.

Lodenstein forced himself to stop crying. You only bring good things, he said.

I don't, said Elie. Not at all.

Lodenstein lit a lantern and put his arms around her. Elie watched the soft circle of light on the ceiling.

We're still in this room, he said. And we're still together. Mueller's not going to come back. He just wanted to scare you.

But there are things to be scared of, said Elie. Mueller told the Reich about Dimitri. He says the Heideggers are bothering Goebbels again. They told him my name.

He's bluffing.

No, said Elie, he isn't. He'd left the Compound by the time Stumpf went to deliver the gla.s.ses to Heidegger. He doesn't know Stumpf told them my name.

Elie, listen. We've been through the worst of it. We'll make it through now.

They could still come after me.

There's always the room in the tunnel.

Suppose the Gestapo's there?

No one's going to be there. We've come to the end of this war.

A bedtime story, Elie thought. Something I'd tell Dimitri Something I'd tell Dimitri. Still, she leaned closer to Lodenstein, trying to ignore the stinging in her back and an image of Lars's body alone in the forest. Lodenstein was real, durable, alive. And the room almost felt safe. He turned off the lantern, and they lay beneath the grey silk comforter. It was tattered. Elie touched one of the holes.

We ought to get another one, she said. This is careworn.

Careworn, said Lodenstein, just before he fell asleep.

Elie lay next to him, trying to retrieve the comforting sense of dark. But it dissolved into images of Lars's body and the sensation of Mueller's hands ripping open her blouse.

The night has been broken for me, she thought, not knowing if she were remembering something she'd heard or if it were something she'd just thought of.

But no matter where it came from, the thought the night has been broken for me night has been broken for me acted on her strangely. She couldn't lie still or enjoy the quiet comfort of Lodenstein's body. Nor could she trust what he'd told her. She dressed in her ripped clothes, covered them with her coat, and went downstairs. The mineshaft opened. She saw Asher coming from the main room. acted on her strangely. She couldn't lie still or enjoy the quiet comfort of Lodenstein's body. Nor could she trust what he'd told her. She dressed in her ripped clothes, covered them with her coat, and went downstairs. The mineshaft opened. She saw Asher coming from the main room.

Stupid of me, he said when he saw her. What does it matter if I stand next to them?

Elie said she didn't know what he meant, and he told her he was so worried about Daniel getting Maria pregnant he sometimes stood next to their desks-as if his presence were a kind of birth control. He said it was strange and aberrant, listening to his own son making love.

As strange as anything I've ever done, he said.

Don't worry, said Elie. Maria has a lot of French letters.

That's good, said Asher. They're the only letters here worth answering.

Elie laughed and was surprised that she could. Asher sat next to her on the bench. She touched the blue numbers on his arm.

Those match your eyes, she said to him again.

That's good, he said, because I'm going to have these numbers for a long time.

The phrase the night has been broken for me the night has been broken for me came back to her. She began to fuss with her blouse so Asher couldn't see it was torn. came back to her. She began to fuss with her blouse so Asher couldn't see it was torn.

What is it? he said.