“Getting drunk was good. I decided that I would always like getting drunk. It took away the obvious and maybe if you could get away from the obvious often enough, you wouldn't become so obvious yourself.”

“The ' pleasure' of being drunk is obviously the pleasure of escaping from the responsibility of Consciousness.”

“Jacob," Rose persisted, "I still want to know what gave you the idea of singing like that. You weren't really drunk, were you?""Jews don't get drunk.""You don't know everybody I do.""Anyway, it was this." He laid a finger across the bridge of his nose and swept it down to the tip. "Put me in a lineup with a Chinaman, a Choctow, and a Hottentot, and ask anybody to pick out the Jew and they'll get it right on the first try.""But--""But nothing, Rose. It's the old Poe gimmick. Hide in plain sight. If a Jew tried to infiltrate that bunch of Nazis, what's the obvious thing to do? He'd head to the darkest corner he could find, he'd keep his head down and his trap shut and hope that nobody'd notice him. And do you think that would work? In a pig's ass - pardon my French, Rose - they'd catch him out in a minute. So I stood up and acted drunk and sang Nazi songs. No Jew would do that; so they just figured I was an unlucky Aryan who managed to pick up a bad gene from a wandering ancestor. So maybe this drunk wasn't quite one hundred percent pure Aryan, but he was obviously as good Nazi, so let him be. At least for now.”

“I could get drunk just smelling you,' he whispered in her ear. 'You always smell like home.”

“I thought maybe I could just get away from everything. But you can't get away from a thing that's your own fault.”

“But I though you were dead!""Obviously not. Now, let's get out of here!”