Yolek took off his glasses and stuck them in his pocket. With a cumbersome movement, he reached out, gathered up the telex, the ticket, and the page that Mr. Seewald had read from, tore them into shreds, and piled them neatly at one end of the table.

“Now get out of here,” he said, as if to himself.

“Mr. Lifshitz!”

“Get out of here. The door is right behind you.”

Mr. Seewald turned pale and then crimson. He rose, snatched up his leather briefcase, and pressed it to his chest as if he feared it might go the way of the documents.

“Damnation,” swore Yolek. “Listen here, you tell your master over there—”

Just then, however, Hava stormed out of the bedroom, flew between them, and came to a halt facing me.

“Srulik, he’s slaughtering the child! For the love of God, don’t let him do it. He slaughtered Yoni in cold blood so we’ll never see him ever again.” She clasped my hands between her palms. “You just heard, Srulik, how he cut the last thread with his own hands. Yoni’s dead and he doesn’t care. The beast!” Insanely she spun around toward Yolek, trembling all over. Hard as all physical contact with women is for me, I rushed to restrain her.

Too late. She had already thrown herself sobbing on the straw mat at Yolek’s feet.

“Have pity on the child, you monster! On your own child! You cold-blooded murderer.”

“I’ll leave my calling card,” said Mr. Seewald diplomatically. “You can always get in touch with me at your leisure. It’s time for me to be off.”

“Don’t let him go! Murderers! Srulik, quick, run after him, promise him whatever they want. Eshkol will help. Give them anything, just get me my boy back. Srulik!”

“Don’t you dare!” said Yolek to me in a stifled voice. “I forbid you to go after him. Can’t you see she’s a sick woman?”

By now Mr. Seewald had already left. I hesitated before following him out, catching up with him by his limousine. He paused and remarked coldly that he had nothing more to say and was not prepared to regard me as a party to any negotiations.