fear.â
âHeâs exhausted.â
âNo. Look at him. Heâs still strong, still vibrant.â
David examines the Jew with the closed eyes, discovers the strength there.
âItâs true,â he murmurs.
âThe life heâs led ought to have prepared him for what awaits him,â says Abahn.
They are silent.
âBut who is he?â David asks again.
âI donât know,â says Abahn.
âHe was bored of the Jewry,â says Sabana, âof life wandering on the road. Thatâs why he came here.â
She turns to Abahn. She says:
âThatâs you as well, the Jew.â
âYes,â says Abahn. âMe too.â
All these words sink into David: he looks at the Jew, just him. Still staring at him, he says:
âGringo said, âthe Jew is dangerous.ââ
âYes,â says Abahn.
âStill?â asks David.
âYes.â
David keeps looking, looking, and somehow strangely he sees, sees the danger.
âItâs true,â David murmurs.
With difficulty he turns to Abahn and says:
âGringo is afraid of him.â
âGringo doesnât exist to the Jew.â
David remembers.
âItâs true, the Jew never said anything at all about Gringo, nothing bad ever.â
Abahn smiles, is slow to respond.
âThe only way Gringo exists for the Jew is that he is going to kill him.â
Fear seizes David once more. It is almost as if he is going to jump up from the chair. Neither Sabana nor Abahn notice his movements.
âOtherwise,â says Abahn, âthe life of the Jew is as invisible as the life of David.â
âA mountain of pain,â says Sabana.
âA mountain of cement,â says Abahn.
âMountains of the cement of pain,â says Sabana.
âYes,â says Abahn, smiling, âInvisible, drowned in the Jews.â
The Jew lifts his head and looks over at David.
David notices the Jew looking at him. With a sudden start he tries to evade his gaze. He falls back into the chair. The Jew swings his gaze toward the door out to the darkened park. David calms.
â¢
âH e didnât know where to go,â says Abahn, âso he came here, to Staadt. He could have gone anywhere, but it would have been the same: other Gringos and merchantâs unions and they would have wanted to kill him too. Here, there, itâs all the same.â
Again David tries to rise up out of the chair. Again he fails. Again neither Sabana nor Abahn notice him.
The Jew has once again rested his head on his arms. He seems exhausted. Sabana sits at the table, leaning against him. She strokes his back, his hair, his hands, his body. Then she lets her hand drop, rests there without moving.
David sees only the Jew.
âItâs been a long time since he left home,â Abahn says. âHe had a wife once, children. Then one day he left.â
âThen he left the place he had gone to,â adds Sabana.
âAgain and again,â says Abahn. âLeft from every place.â
An anxiety builds in Davidâs eyes.
âAnd once, a long time ago, heâd had a profession. Heâs begun, these days, to forget even what it was. He said once to someone in the village: I forget now what I once did before.â
Silence.
âHe said that to you, David?â asks Sabana.
With difficulty, the word comes from David:
âYes.â
âHe also said that he studied. For a long time. In many capital cities. He said: It pleased me to study. No heâs forgotten what all he studied. He said to someone in the village: I canât remember anymore what I once knew.â
âHe said that to me,â says David.
The dogs howl.
The dogs howl: David turns his gaze toward the door to the darkened park.
The howling subsides.
âHe said: I began to think about where I learned this wordââJew.ââ
A shot rings out near the ponds, disrupting the Staadt night.