But he got the point across.

“Yaakov,” he growled out. “He got the looks. … He got the brains. … He got the physical … gevurah. …”

“Strength,” Koby whispered.

“I think he is adopted,” Yaphet snarled out. “Or my mother decides to play tricks!”

Immediately, the table broke into raucous laughter … led by Koby’s father. It was then that Koby turned to me and whispered, “It is time to go back.”

We were both thrilled when we touched down at smoggy old LAX. After a day of recuperation, Koby returned to work. I, on impulse, went downtown during the midafternoon heat to check out skid-row denizens. I walked from block to block taking in sad, discarded faces, trying not to bleed for the world. I had almost given up when fate tapped my shoulder.

I knew him instantly. He was sitting on the stoop of a condemned building in an industrial block of warehouses, eating food from a can. His kinky hair had grown bushy and wild, but somehow he had managed to remain clean shaven, a lucky break for me because a beard would have covered his recognizable Down’s-like face. He had open sores on his hands and his face was dirty, just caked with grime. His body was swathed in layers of clothes, even though it was fiery hot.

My heart was pounding when I approached him. He looked up and hooked an arm over his meal, a gesture of protecting his food. I extended my hand to him, but he didn’t respond.

“C’mon, David,” I told him. “Let’s go home.”

He regarded me with yellow eyes but didn’t move.

“People are waiting for you, David. Lots of people.”

No response.

“Sarah … Mr. Klinghoffner, Mr. Paxton … You remember Mr. Paxton, don’t you?”

He growled out, “I’m not stupid.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you,” I said. “Sarah had a baby. She had a little girl. That means you have a daughter. She named her Cinderella. We call her Ella. I think”—I studied his face—“I think she has Sarah’s eyes, but your mouth.”

He continued to eat.

I said again, “C’mon, David, let’s get out of here.”

“Don’t got nowhere to go. Don’t got a home.”

“You could have a home if you wanted one.”

“Well, I don’t got one now.”

“You may not have an apartment at this moment, but we can get you one.”

“I want to see Sarah.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

“No. Her sister won’t let me.”

“Have you ever asked Sarah’s sister?”

David didn’t answer.

“Things might be different with the baby. It’s worth a try.”

Again I extended my hand. This time, he took it and I hoisted him to his feet. His smell was strong, even in the open air. He was short and appeared squat, but that could have been the layers of clothes. Immediately, he began to scratch his hands, arms, and head. I got itchy just looking at him. “Those cuts and sores … do they hurt?”