““September 20, 1963 The telephone jangled him up from a pleasant dream. Something about the war again, but soft and warm and . . . he could remember no more. He sat up. Marthe was already in the bathroom, and the telephone’s harsh clamor made him jerk it off the cradle. “Allo?” “Dr. Cohen,” a thick German accent said, “I am from the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, a newspaper in—” “I know.””
