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elevated heart rate. “Just to be on the safe side,” the doctor said in English, looking over his glasses. Bernie decided not to call Sarah right away. His health plan allowed for a private room, but he slept fitfully, aggravated by the intravenous drip, vaguely aware of the occasional presence of the night nurse, longing for Ida. He was grateful when the sky began to lighten and finally the breakfast tray arrived. Only after he ate did he pick up the telephone.
    It was less than half an hour before Sarah hurried into the room, Paul following behind her. She looked a mess, her face pale and her eyes almost wild.
    â€œZeyde, Zeyde, are you all right?” She leaned over the bed to hug him.
    â€œYes, yes, it’s nothing. Paul was right, I needed to eat, that was all. You don’t have to worry.”
    â€œI want to speak to the doctor,” Sarah said. “Did you see a specialist? You absolutely have to see a specialist.”
    To Paul he said, “She takes after the women in the family.”
    â€œOh, Zeyde, I should have gone with you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
    â€œNo,” he said. “It’s good you didn’t. That would have been unbearable, darling.”
    HE WAS NOT RELEASED UNTIL the middle of the afternoon. They went to a restaurant across the street from the hospital, a real German place, the menu heavy with pork, sausage, and beef dishes, and everything accompanied by
Kartoffel.
But he only had soup and a little fish. Afterwards they took him to the hotel by taxi and although Sarah wanted to stay for the evening, he shooed them out. She made him promise that he would stay put until the morning when she would come to spend his last day with him. “That’s an easy promise to make,” he said, smiling at her.
    She arrived at his hotel prepared to spend a quiet day in his room, or perhaps to take a little stroll. But he was ready to go out, guidebook in pocket. “I haven’t seen the highlights yet. The Reichstag, Checkpoint Charlie. What’s left of the wall.”
    â€œI don’t want you getting tired, Zeyde.”
    â€œSo we’ll splurge on a cab or two.”
    As they walked she took his arm. He felt his heart lighten with the warmth of her. Just her presence made him feel happy. At lunch, she leaned towards him and said, “I like it here, Zeyde. And I feel guilty about liking it. But sometimes I’m uncomfortable, too. I get really spooked. It’s like, the things growing here are beautiful, but under the earth there’s blood feeding the roots. I feel conflicted all the time. About Paul, too. I look down at my feet, I see one of those little bronze markers, that a Jewish person lived there, the date of his or her deportation, and I think, what am I doing here? When you announced that you were coming and just the idea of you being here freaked me out. And then going to Sachsenhausen. I’ve been meaning to go myself, I almost did a month ago, but every time I try ...”
    She just shook her head. He put his hand — bony, liverspotted — over hers. “I’ll tell you something. Something different, I mean. You want to know how your grandmother and I met?”
    She looked confused by his change of subject, but she said, “Yes, please.”
    â€œIn a dream.”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œI was working in the office of a jewellery store on King Street. One night I dreamed a woman came in. As soon as I saw her I knew that we were destined to be husband and wife. Of course it was just a dream and I didn’t think anything of it. But then a month later, I was talking on the telephone to a customer and a woman walked in — the same woman as in the dream. Ida. I didn’t tell her though, not until after we were engaged. I was afraid she would think I was crazy.”
    â€œI don’t believe it! What could it mean?”
    He shrugged. “She died in her sleep, you