In a raucous meeting flying somewhere over Stuttgart the old crowd rose to the thunder of a Lufthansa 727, sang the lieder of their alma mater, ate powdered crullers and sipped libidinous Black Forest Schnapps. There was that odor of dank memories, unhealed angers and convoluted treacheries that readied to ambush like a hive of wasps at a Boy Scout wienerfest. There was that droning bray of motor that camouflaged the trifling conspiracies which will often surface at a so-called reunion of the minds.

Baldness runs in my side of the family, Helmut volunteered. Virility in mine, replied Wilhelm. . . .