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It was only fair to share the discomfort. Shadows of crates and stacked bundles grew progressively more eerie and intimidating as dusk fell. Last night, she had been too stupefied to notice, but with the arrival of full darkness, the shapes around her seemed to take on frightening gremlin forms. With a pounding heart, she forced herself to stand and approach the most fearsome of the silhouettes, the teetering pyramid of boxes and carpets she herself had stacked below the little window. A glitter of stars could be seen through the stone opening, tempting her. I wanted to follow, wanted to go with her, but my legs gave out and I collapsed onto the floor. I was too numb to pay attention. People visited and stayed for a while and left. As if Fuller could possibly hurt me more than he already had. I held it out, made Benedict take it. The family will have gathered in the back part of the house, waiting for him to come and bless them all. Shmerl and Yossele step into the hall, snow on their hats and shoulders, snow in their wintry gray eyes. The brothers or cousins or cousin-brothers form the points of a triangle with the indoor version, a three-fingered fist of solid Rudashevsky closing around Landsman and Berko. Landsman lids his nostrils against a smell of tomato seeds, tobacco, sour cream.
These nightly clicking episodes seemed aimed at something more immediate, as if the prisoner intended her messages to get through much sooner and more directly. Having never been in a sanctuary before, she had no reason to be surprised by this, yet she was. Probably only a scattering of individuals in universities understood how they were, made anymore. After all, the trick of sending a message in a bottle, or a message by radio, involved coding it so that, hopefully, only the right recipient would decipher it. She could send regular block letters. I wonder who won, Valik or Seladi. Is it the inside of a Kuwaiti or Iraqi jail for this poor joker, or a bullet in the head. Nothing, Captain, just thinking how lucky we were to escape Isfahan. He had not allowed his mind to think about Sharazad or Tehran or to make a plan. That comes later, he told himself again. He lifted the blanket with the tip of his finger and saw where the bullet had entered her body, and taken her life. Lowering the blanket, he rose from the bed, looked at the ceiling, and tried not to sob.
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