Dressed in pajamas and a dark blue woolen bathrobe, Yolek opened the door to carry out a tray with the leftovers from his supper. The meal had been brought to him from the dining room because of his illness. To his astonishment he saw a thin, wet, frightened-looking figure standing face to face with him. Startled eyes glittered at him. Yolek had a start himself, but managed a slight laugh, and inquired, “Srulik?”

Azariah Gitlin was taken aback. Dripping wet, chattering with the cold, soaked with sweat, he answered haltingly, “Excuse me, comrade. I’m not Srulik.”

Yolek couldn’t hear him above the sudden blast of music from the radio. He simply put his arm around the newcomer to steer him inside and jovially chided him, “Come in, come in, Srulik. Don’t stand out there in the cold. All we need now is for you to get sick.”

He raised his eyes, only to see a stranger.

He quickly removed his arm from the thin shoulders, but mastered his annoyance and spoke in his friendliest, most positive tones.

“Ah, please forgive me. Do come in anyway. Yes. I thought you were someone else. Is it me you’re looking for?” He didn’t wait for an answer but announced, gesturing imperiously, “Sit down, please. Right there.”

Every winter Yolek suffered from back pains, but now he had come down with a bothersome case of the flu, which made him grimly depressed. He was a compact, very physical man, with hair growing out of his ears. From this graying, furrowed face, set off by a strong mouth, protruded an almost obscenely large nose, giving him the gross, grasping look of a lascivious Jew in an anti-Semitic cartoon. Even when his mind was far removed from practical matters, dwelling on youthful triumphs, on death, on his elder son, who kept getting more remote from him, his was a face that reflected no sorrow, no spirituality, but rather an odd mixture of lust and a patient, bridled craftiness that seemed to be biding its time for some pleasure to come. Sometimes a quick little smile unintentionally flitted across his lips, as though at that exact moment he had finally become aware of the vile machinations of the person he was talking to, who had been foolish enough to think that he could hide his plots from Yolek’s probing eyes.