(1/2) i have some papers here, . . . dangerous ones; would you like to see them? said i to the tall and handsome young german walking by my side along the underground passage that led to the platform from which i was to take my train, in the station of cologne, the night between the 13th and 14th of february 1949 . 1 had met the man a few hours before, at the catholic mission of the same station, and we had talked enough for him to become convinced that he could trust me, as i could trust him  to say the least. he stopped for half a second and looked around to see if anybody was following us, or if any passerby could possibly have overheard my words. but we were the only people in the long, gloomy corridor. the young man turned to me and answered in a low voice: yes; give me one. i pulled a poster twice folded in four out of my pocket and put it into his hand. dont stop to read it now, said i, but wait till we get into the train, and then go and read it in the toilet, where nobody can come and disturb you. you have heaps of time. see if you think such papers can be useful, and tell me so quite frankly. if you want more, i still have plenty left. the young man hid the precious paper in the inner pocket of his coat and continued to walk by my side in silence, helping me to carry the little luggage i had. we reached the platform. the train was there,  practically empty, for it was not to start till an hour later, at 1:12, if i remember well. a fierce wind was blowing. and it was bitterly cold. the young man helped me to lift my suitcase into the railway carriage and then stepped in himself, and went to read the poster in the best hiding place, as i had suggested. the words he read, written in large capital letters below a black swastika that covered about one third of the page, were the following:
United States