Part 46 (2/2)
Gabriel looked out the window, where a bright sun shone upon the stone pine of the hospital's garden.
”Yes, Leah,” he said absently as his vision blurred with tears. ”It's beautiful.”
”The snow absolves Vienna of its sins. The snow falls on Vienna while the missiles rain down on Tel Aviv.”
Gabriel squeezed Leah's hand. The words were among the last she had spoken the night of the bombing in Vienna. She suffered from a particularly acute combination of psychotic depression and post-traumatic stress disorder. At times, she experienced moments of lucidity, but for the most part she remained a prisoner of the past. Vienna played ceaselessly in her mind like a loop of videotape that she was unable to pause: the last meal they shared together, their last kiss, the fire that killed their only child and burned the flesh from Leah's body. Her life had shrunk to five minutes, and she had been reliving it, over and over again, for more than twenty years.
”I saw you on television,” she said, suddenly lucid. ”It seems you're not dead after all.”
”No, Leah. It was just something we had to say.”
”For your work?”
He nodded.
”And now they say you're going to become the chief.”
”Soon.”
”I thought Ari was the chief.”
”Not for many years.”
”How many?”
He didn't answer. It was too depressing to think about.
”He's well?” asked Leah.
”Ari?”
”Yes.”
”He has good days and bad days.”
”Like me,” said Leah.
Her expression darkened. The memories were welling. Somehow, she fought them off.
”I can't quite believe you're actually going to be the memuneh.”
It was an old word that meant ”the one in charge.” There hadn't been a true memuneh since Shamron.
”Neither can I,” admitted Gabriel.
”Aren't you a little young to be the memuneh? After all, you're only-”
”I'm older now, Leah. We both are.”
”You look exactly as I remember you.”
”Look closely, Leah. You can see the lines and the gray hair.”
”Thanks to Ari, you always had gray hair. Me, too.” She gazed out the window. ”It looks like winter.”
”It is.”
”What year is it?”
He told her.
”How old are your children?”
”Tomorrow is their first birthday.”
”Will there be a party?”
”At the Shamrons' house in Tiberias. But they're here now, if you feel up to seeing them.”
Her face brightened. ”What are their names?”
He had told her several times. Now he told her again.
”But Irene is your mother's name,” she protested.
”My mother died a long time ago.”
”I'm sorry, Gabriel. Sometimes I-”
”It's not important.”
”Bring them to me,” she said, smiling. ”I want to see them.”
”You're sure?”
”Yes, of course.”
Gabriel rose and went into the foyer.
”Well?” asked Chiara and the doctor simultaneously.
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