It was because of Yoezer that Fima cut himself shaving. He tried without success to stanch the flow of blood with a piece of toilet paper, with cotton wool, finally with a damp handkerchief. Consequently he forgot to shave the folds of skin under his chin. Which he hated shaving anyway, because they put him in mind of the crop of a plump chicken. Pressing the handkerchief against his face as though he were suffering from toothache, he went to get dressed. And came to the conclusion that the positive side of last night’s disgrace was that at least there was no fear that he had made Annette pregnant.

While he was looking for the chunky sweater he had inherited from Yael, his eye suddenly caught a glimpse of a small insect gleaming on the seat of the armchair. Was it really possible that some foolish glowworm had forgotten to switch itself off at the end of the night? Actually, he had not seen a glowworm for forty years at least and had no idea what they looked like. With the cunning of a seasoned hunter Fima leaned over and with a lightning movement of the right hand that began like a slap and ended with a clenched fist he managed to capture the creature without hurting it. The rapidity and accuracy of the movement belied his reputation as a clumsy oaf. Opening his fingers to examine what it was he had caught, he wondered whether it was one of Annette’s earrings, a buckle of Nina’s, a piece of one of Dimi’s toys, or one of his father’s silver cuff links. After a careful inspection he chose the last of these possibilities. Although some doubt remained.

Going to the kitchen, he opened the fridge and stood pensively holding the door open, fascinated by the mystic light shining behind the milk and the cheeses, reexamining in his mind the expression “the price of morality” in the tide of the article he had written in the night. He found no reason to revise or alter it. There was a price of morality and a price of immorality, and the real question was: What is the price of this price, i.e., what is the point and purpose of life? Everything else derived from that question. Or ought to. Including our behavior in the Occupied Territories.

Closing the fridge, Fima decided to go out for breakfast this morning, to Mrs. Scheinbaum’s little café across the road, partly because he did not want to spoil the impeccable tidiness of his newly cleaned kitchen, partly because the bread was stale and the margarine reminded him of the horrible jellylike taps in his dream, and above all because the electric kettle had burned itself out the previous day, and without a kettle there would be no coffee.