“Do you need a sleep, Hansi?” Gebhart called out. “A nice sleep?”

Hansi shook his head several times. He did not open his eyes, but held the kitten up closer to his face. Frau Himmelfarb sighed.

“He won’t leave the house,” she said. “Coffee for you both?”

“Three days now,” she went on, as she poured the coffee.

“I haven’t seen him at the club,” said Gebhart.

“Won’t leave the house,” said Himmelfarb.

“And he cries,” Frau Himmelfarb added. “He never cries. He is as happy as the day is long. Even when he is ein bisschen krank even when he’s a bit sick.”

Nobody seemed to want to say anything then. Felix blew on his coffee, and took sly looks around the huge kitchen. The walls were nearly a half-metre thick by the windows. Hansi stood by the sink caressing the kitten. He was looking out the window now.

“It’s been a long winter,” Gebhart said quietly.

“It’s always long,” said Himmelfarb.

“Hansi is always out,” his wife said. “We blow a whistle, he comes back.”

“We wonder,” said Himmelfarb. “Did he meet someone out there? You never know these days, the terrible things. People they take advantage of kids it’s happened, I know it. It’s on the news, nicht war, Mutti?”

She nodded.

“Oh, the crimes these days,” Himmelfarb went on. “People behave worse than animals. You see it every night.”

Felix hadn’t noticed a satellite dish on their way in. He’d remember to look when they left. What sense could an older couple like the Himmelfarbs make of all the crap pouring down from satellite channels now?

Gebhart turned in his chair.

“You’re a good boy Hansi, aren’t you? I’ll bet you are.

Everybody knows that.”

Felix became aware of Frau Himmelfarb’s gaze on him. When he turned toward her, a smile ready, she quickly looked away.

“Hansi,” said Gebhart. “Do you like the police? Wah wah, the siren?”