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By Root 377 0

of the sun. The early winter that had invaded autumn seemed to have died away. He turned into the Kurftirsten AUee, toward what had been his home, skirting the frail shadows cast by almost bare trees. Except for the headache he felt better than he had felt in a long time. He thought, Tonight Ftt be able to sleep right through.

He let himself into the apartment very quietly and stood outside the door of the living-room. He heard the squeak of a baby carriage, and when he went in he saw Frau Saunders pushing it back and forth. She “Is he all right?” Mosca asked.

Frau Saunders nodded. “Everything is well.” She freed her hands from the book and the carriage and locked her fingers together.

“Did you get the package I sent?” The week before he had sent her a great carton of food.

She nodded her head again. She looked much older. Mosca recognized something familiar in the way she sat and in the way she answered.

He didn't look at her when he asked, “Can you keep the child indefinitely? I'll pay you well, anything you say.” His head felt as if it were swelling with pain, and he wondered if she would have aspirin.

Frau Saunders picked up her book again, held it unopened. The severe face had no touch of the wry humor he always remembered. “Herr Mosca, she said formally, “if you give your consent I will try to adopt your child as my son. That would solve your problem.” She said this very coldly, but suddenly the tears streamed down her face. She let the book fall away to the floor and used her hands to hide and stop her tears. And Mosca recognized what he had thought familiar, she was acting like his mother when he gave her pain.

Because she was not his mother and could not really touch him, he walked over to the sofa and rested his hand on her arm for a moment. “What is it, what have I done?” His voice was calm, reasonable.

Her hands had stopped the tears and dried them. She said quietly, “You don't care for the baby, you didn't come once all this time. What if she knew you would be like this? How terrible, how terrible, she loved you both so much. She always said you were good, and when she fell down the stairs she stretched out her arms for the baby. She was in such pain and she screamed, but she thought of the baby. And now you think nothing of what she loved so much.” She paused for breath, went on hysterically, “Oh, you are a terrible man, you tricked her, you are not a good man.” She leaned away from him and put her two hands on the carriage.

Mosca stepped back and away from her. To help her he said, “What do you think I should do?”

“I know what she would wish. That you take the child to America, give him a safe and happy life so that he will grow old.”

Mosca said simply, “We weren't married and therefore the child is German. It would take a long time.”

“So,” she said eagerly, “I can take care of him until then. You will do it?”

“I don't think I can,” he said. And suddenly he was impatient to leave. He was conscious of his headache again.

Frau Saunders was saying in her cold voice, “Do you want me to adopt him?”

He looked at the sleeping baby. He felt nothing. He took the Express checks he had signed from his pocket and left them on the table, “I don't know what will happen,” he said. He went to the door.

“When will you come to see your son again?” Frau Saunders's voice was angry. There was contempt in her face. Mosca turned back toward her.

The pain in his head was a great heavy beat, and he wanted to leave, but that look was more than he could bear. “Why don't you speak the truth, why don't you speak what is in your mind?” Not knowing his voice was rising he said, “You think it's my fault; you think she died because I didn't do enough to save her. Tell me the truth. That's why