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one with the insect eyes who had called Rosa a little vamp. My expression must have betrayed my thoughts. Maybe it was because Baba was a reporter, but she was very perceptive. She immediately jumped to her feet. Her gray eyes looked frightened.
    â€œYou saw them, didn’t you? The SA They’re all over town this week.”
    I was reluctant to say anything about Rosa’s and my experience, so I just looked down at my hands. I didn’t want to acknowledge what had happened. It was so creepy. He was so slimy.
    â€œBut I don’t understand it,” Mama said. “Yes, I’ve seen them, too. They were officially banned in the emergency decree. What was it, six weeks ago? Hindenburg issued it.”
    â€œPhut!” A blast of contempt shot out from Baba’s perfectly lipsticked mouth. “The Old Gentleman, he can hardly find his way to the toilet. Mark my words, he will lift that ban in a matter of weeks, maybe even days!”
    Then Mama scratched her head and said in a low, dim voice, “Otto said they would come back stronger than ever if they were banned.”
    â€œThe Old Gentleman” was the name that some people called President Hindenburg. It was a term that expressed a sense of affection mingled with despair. He had been our national hero, Field Marshal Paul von Hindenburg, a Prussian soldier called back into action at the advanced age of sixty-six when the Great War broke out. In 1914, early in the Great War, he had won a glorious victory at the Battle of Tannenburg against the Russians, and soon became supreme commander of the German forces. He was elected the second president of the new Weimar Republic of Germany following that war after the monarchy was dismantled and the kaiser, or emperor, Wilhelm had fled. Now over eighty-four years old, von Hindenburg had been forced by the circle closest to him to run for reelection as president against Hitler.
    â€œBut I just don’t understand, Baba. The Old Gentleman won, just a month ago.” Mama sounded almost whiny, like a child disappointed about not getting some promised treat.
    â€œHe’s putty in their hands. Watch. He’ll appoint that Schwein , pig, von Papen,” she flashed a quick look at me. “Pardon my language, Schatzi .”
    The door of the entry foyer opened and slammed shut with a ferocious bang. We all jumped. It was Papa. We could hear him muttering and then a “Goddamn!”
    â€œOtto!” Mama squeaked as if she had been pinched.
    I could tell Papa hadn’t known we were all sitting in the music parlor. He stood there, his right arm hanging loose as always, but it seemed now that even his right leg was about to collapse. In his left hand he held his briefcase.
    â€œYou’re back early,” was all Mama could say.
    â€œYes, pardon my outburst.” He bowed stiffly to Baba and then to me and Mama.
    â€œWhat happened?” Mama asked. Papa closed his eyes and shook his head as if trying to erase a terrible image. Mama ran to his side. She looked at me. “Gaby, pour Papa a little Schnaps .”
    â€œThis is beyond Schnaps ,” he groaned, and sat down on the piano bench. He opened the piano cover and played a few notes with his left hand, mournful notes that seemed suspended in the air like fragments of a tattered sheet of music. He stared out the window.
    He looked at Mama again. “I told you, Elske, they would come back twice as strong as soon as they were banned.” He shut his eyes tight and continued speaking. “They came into my lecture today.”
    Baba, Mama, and I looked at one another. He did not need to tell us who. We knew. It was the Brown Shirts “Goldman was guest lecturing,” Mama said.
    â€œYes.” Papa nodded.
    Max Goldman was a physicist from Berne, Switzerland. Papa had invited him to the university to give a series of lectures to his graduate students and any others who wished to attend. “Jewish