All her memories were swallowed into the void. All but the memory of the snowy beach in Jerusalem. The only one she wouldn’t let go of. She kept asking over and over when they would go back to visit, and hinted at its existence in muted ramblings that escaped her in her sleep. And still, whenever Sammy asked her to tell him again about her first memory or explain where exactly the beach was, she refused and withdrew into her silence. He reminded himself that it wasn’t a real memory, but it did little to alleviate his frustration. How painful was her refusal to share with him the last testament to the woman she had once been. Even now, as they stood in the market. Even when he asked her to simply hint at the direction—she remained silent.

“Ask her,” Lilian said, and pointed at a vendor behind one of the stalls. Sammy approached the woman, and with a slight stutter asked if she knew where the Jerusalem beach was. The vendor looked down at him from the stool she was standing on, a contemptuous gaze; she didn’t even consider answering, merely continued to stack the sweet potatoes as if they were books on a shelf. “He asked you a question,” Lilian’s voice suddenly emerged from within her clouded soul to defend her husband’s honor. “He asked you a question, why aren’t you answering? He asked you, he asked.” She approached the stall, and the vendor leaped in panic, hiding behind a wall of zucchini and admitting in a whisper: “I really don’t know what to tell you.”

Sammy rushed to apologize and dragged Lilian behind him. They stopped in one of the side alleys, and she continued to mumble for long moments, “Why didn’t she answer you? Why didn’t she answer?”