“Ah yes, of course.”
“No need for further clarification. He’s called Tabachnik. In his passport. In actual fact, who the hell knows? He’s the sort that could do anything.”
The doctor agreed.
“Quite so. Quite.”
Belka was outside in the yard. Over a grey, flannelette gown, a jersey had been pulled on any which way. She had a warm scarf on her head, brown with a white trim. Felt boots without rubber protectors.
She didn’t recognize me.
I didn’t insist. I hung a string bag of goodies over her arm, over her clenched fist: a bun, some sweets with chewy centres. I stroked her shoulder.
For some reason, Belka immediately recognized the sweets in the bag.
“Chewy centres? My very favourites. Is Evsey’s bed comfortable? Does he lie easy?”
I took out a sweet and popped it right into her sligh
