Boys from Brazil by Ira Levin Page B

on top of Liebermann, spewing bad breath. “All these desks go out! This is an apartment house not an office building! And the file cabinets too, out!”
    â€œ You go out!” Liebermann shouted just as loud—the best way to deal with Glanzer, he had found. “Go fix your rotten plumbing! This is my furniture, desks and file cabinets! Does it say in the lease only tables and chairs?”
    â€œYou’ll find out in court what it says in the lease!”
    â€œ You’ll find out what you pay for this water damage! Get out! ” Liebermann thrust a finger toward the door.
    Glanzer blinked. He looked at the floor beside him as if hearing something, looked at Liebermann worriedly, nodded. “You bet I’m getting out,” he whispered. “Before it happens.” He tiptoed his bulk toward the open door. “My life is more precious to me than my property.” He tiptoed out, and drew the door cautiously closed.
    Liebermann stamped on the floor and called, “I’m stamping on the floor, Glanzer!”
    From a distance came “Fall through!”
    â€œYakov, don’t,” Max said, touching Liebermann’s arm. “We’re liable to.”
    Liebermann turned. He looked around, and up, and let out a woeful “Ei, yei, yei ” and bit his lower lip.
    Esther, stretching to wipe at the top of a file cabinet, said, “We caught it early, it’s not that bad. Thank God I baked this morning. I brought over a nut cake. When I saw what was doing I called Max and Lili. It’s just in here and the kitchen, not the other rooms.”
    Max introduced the gawky young woman, who had beautiful large gray eyes; she was his and Lili’s niece Alix from Brighton, England, staying with them on her vacation. Liebermann shook her hand and thanked her for helping, and took his coat off and joined in the work.
    They wiped the desks and furniture, replaced full pots and bowls with emptied ones, held towel-covered brooms to the wet places in the ceiling.
    Then, sitting at desks and the accessible half of the sofa, they had coffee and cake. The leaks had dwindled to half a dozen slow trickles. Liebermann talked about the trip a little, about old friends he had visited, changes he had seen. Alix, in halting German, answered questions from Esther about her work as a textile designer.
    â€œA lot of contributions, Yakov,” Max reported, nodding his gray head solemnly.
    Lili said, “Always after the Holy Days.”
    â€œBut more this year than last, darling,” Max said, and to Liebermann: “People know about the bank.”
    Liebermann nodded and looked to Esther. “Did anything come for me from Reuters? Reports? Clippings?”
    â€œThere’s a Reuters envelope,” Esther said, “a big one. But it says Personal.”
    â€œReports?” Max asked.
    â€œI spoke to Sydney Beynon before I left. About the Koehler boy’s story. There wasn’t anything about him , was there?”
    They shook their heads.
    Esther, rising with her cup and saucer on her plate, said, “It can’t be true, it’s too crazy.” She moved to Max’s desk. Lili rose, gathering her plates, but Esther said, “Leave everything, I’ll clean up. You go show Alix the sights.”
    Liebermann thanked Max and Lili and Alix as they put on their coats. He kissed Lili, shook hands with Alix and wished her a happy vacation, patted Max on the back. When he had closed the door after them, he picked up his suitcase and carried it into the bedroom.
    He went to the bathroom, took his twelve-o’clock pills, hung his other suit in the closet, and exchanged his jacket for his sweater and his shoes for his slippers. With his glasses in his hand he went back into the living room, picked up his briefcase, and went around and between desks toward the French doors to the dining room.
    Esther said from the kitchen doorway, “I’ll stick around and