Fima, in despair, leaped from his chair and rushed to the bookcase to fetch the encyclopedia, hoping at last to silence his father forever with a crushing defeat. However, as in a nightmare, he could not for the life of him imagine in which article to start looking for a list of the Arab states. Or even which volume. He was still fuming and frantically pulling out one volume after another, when he suddenly noticed that his father had got to his feet, quietly humming a Hasidic melody, mingled with a slight dry cough, and had picked up his hat and stick, and in the midst of taking his leave was furtively slipping folded money into his son’s trouser pocket.

“It’s just not possible,” Fima muttered. “I simply can’t believe it. This isn’t happening. It’s crazy.”

But he did not attempt to explain what exactly was not happening, because his father, standing in the doorway, added: