“Well,” said Gebi. “Fair enough. But I wish Hansi were here.

We could show him our toys. It’s too bad.”

The door handle went down and Hansi Himmelfarb stood in the doorway. He was holding a kitten. Felix thought he heard Gebi sigh.

“Well, Hansi,” he said in a voice Felix hadn’t heard before.

“May we meet your kitten?”

Felix didn’t want to stare. He’d seen Down’s people before.

Who hadn’t? But there was the look of a deer or something to him.

Maybe it was the stubble hair or freckles. He could be 20, or 40.

Gebhart was on his feet now. He was allowed to scratch the kitten’s belly and have his fingers chewed a little in return.

Hansi was suddenly unsure of something. He walked away, and stopped by the sink. He closed his eyes as he stroked the kitten.

Gebhart sat down again and looked at Himmelfarb.

“The boy is up at night,” said Himmelfarb. “He is afraid to sleep, he says.”

“Regressing,” said Frau Himmelfarb, and glanced at her son, who seemed oblivious to their words. She began pouring hot water from the kettle into a jug. Instant coffee, Felix believed. It was better than nothing: a little.

“Well what has he told you? You said ‘puppets,’ was it?”

Himmelfarb hesitated.

“‘Puppets.’ Mostly that. Puppets, forest.”

Hansi opened his eyes and looked at his father, before turning his eyes toward Felix.

“The woods? He likes to go in there, you told me before.”

“He’s regressing,” said Mrs. Himmelfarb again. “Something bothers him.”

Felix spooned out some cream. When he stole a look back at Hansi, the eyes were closed again. Frau Himmelfarb carried over the tray. The Thermos jug had that scorched smell of instant coffee, all right.

“That’s too bad,” Gebhart said. “It must be hard on you.”

“All he says is ‘sleep’ when I ask him. “‘Sleep’ or ‘sleeping.’”