Free Light Fell by Evan Fallenberg

the clandestine pleasure of hopping a bus to a secret, passionate meeting. Joseph had not been to the capital since the day of their last tryst.
    In Jerusalem he caught a taxi to Yoel’s somber and imposing home on Elharizi Street, where his widow still lived. Again Joseph was taken with the steeply sloping roof, so incongruous with the flat-topped buildings surrounding it. He paid the driver and watched as the cab inched its way down the narrow street. He pushed the gate open, scanning the windows for signs of life. He thought he saw a face behind thin white curtains at an upstairs window, but he could not be sure. An aproned maid answered the door.
    “I’m here to see Rebbetzin Rosenzweig,” he stated, wondering if others also still used the honorific for the wife of a rabbi when addressing her.
    “Madame is expecting you?” inquired the maid in a French North African accent.
    Joseph stared past the maid at the long corridor and the winding marble staircase. “No,” he said flatly. “But the matter is urgent.”
    “What is your name, and what do you want?” she asked bluntly.
    “Joseph Licht. I’ve come . . .” He stopped short at the sight of the small, emaciated woman at the top of the stair-case. She was a convergence of planes and angles. Her simple housedress gave her the look of a seamstress’s mannequin. Her hair was tucked completely under a white turban, and a thin brown cigarette smoldered between her fingers.
    Joseph pushed past the maid into the foyer. Yoel’s widow stared down at him, speechless. After a long moment she lifted the cigarette to her mouth, never taking her eyes from Joseph. She inhaled deeply and pushed the smoke out slowly. “Dina, ammene Monsieur Licht au salon. Je viendrai.” Dina dutifully led Joseph into the salon without a word and shut the tall doors behind her as she left.
    Joseph paced the formal room, stopping in the center to glance at the dark oil paintings, the deep, plush rugs, the heavy European furniture. He could imagine Yoel in this oppressive room, sipping cognac with guests and dreaming of escape. Thick curtains were drawn against the piercing Israeli sun.
    She entered through a side door wearing a long robe pulled tightly around her. She was smoking another cigarette. Small pearl earrings peaked out from the edge of the turban.
    She did not move close to Joseph, speaking from behind an overstuffed sofa. “My husband’s lover and assassin. How odd to be meeting you.”
    Until this moment Joseph had not known what he would say, what pretense he would give for interrupting her peace. He had assumed she had never before heard his name and would believe he was a colleague, a student, an admirer of her dead husband.
    “Don’t look so surprised, Monsieur Licht. He told me all about you and your filthy relationship the day before he slashed his wrists.” She lifted the cigarette to her mouth but did not inhale. “This has all been terribly hard on my children but, frankly, I’m glad he killed himself. What he did with you, the acts you . . .” She faltered, grasping the back of the sofa for support and taking a deep breath before continuing in a low, thin voice. “You and my husband, may his name be blotted from God’s memory through eternity, you committed an unforgivable sin, you disobeyed God in the worst way and you squandered my husband’s God-given gifts. You had your fun while my children and I must endure the damage every day of our lives.”
    Joseph’s mind ran to Rebecca, tight-lipped that morning at the rabbinate. “I’ve come for a book your husband promised me,” he said. The steady calm of his voice surprised him, gave him courage. “It’s a small volume. I think I remember just where to find it on the shelves in your library.”
    The rebbetzin’s eyes widened, the cigarette poised to drop burning ashes onto the patterned rug. “You have tremendous nerve coming here unannounced and asking me for anything at all. Your wife must be much