This bothered me on more than one level. There was the possibility that whatever information Mira harbored—if she indeed did harbor any—might have proved useful to my investigation, and there was the personal aspect. I was attracted to her, and I did not want to believe that she would lie to my face. Yet, this was what I did believe, though I could not imagine a reason why she would do so. For without Mira's cooperation, I would have no case. I would not know that Esther Grunewald and Willie Ackerland had been murdered. Mira was eager to avenge these murders. Why would she hamper my investigation by keeping information from me?

At the corner of Tchernichovsky and Hamaccabi, I debated the wisdom of making this an early night. I was tired, and I had two new books to read. But I did not want to be alone with my thoughts in my apartment just yet. I kept on walking, made the turn to Allenby Street, and a few minutes later entered Greta's Café.

The place was nearly full and Greta waved hello to me while carrying a tray of drinks to a table of four. She was too busy to chat, which was a shame because I felt like talking.

I sat at my table, smoking, playing chess, surrounded by the ruckus of laughter and boisterous conversations, and tried to clear my mind. I gave up after an hour, said a quick goodbye to Greta, who seemed sad to see me leave, and walked back up Allenby Street.

I caught a movie at Migdalor Theater and then went home. After showering, I stood before the mirror and pulled down my lower lip. Rivlin's punch had left twin lacerations across the inside of my lip. Both cuts looked red and raw, but neither was bleeding. I ran my tongue over them, but could not taste blood. I turned off the bathroom light and got into bed.

As I lay staring up into darkness, I wondered whether my getting punched by Rivlin would prove sufficient to keep the nightmares away, or if I had to draw blood for this to happen. I couldn't be sure, because it had been a very long time since I had been hit and not struck back, not since I was liberated by the Americans. I had closed all the windows as a precaution in case I screamed in my sleep. Two hours later, when the dark dreams came, I discovered I had acted wisely.

16

It was around nine in the morning when I flipped open my notebook and looked over the list of names I had gotten from the police report and Mira Roth, trying to decide who I should go see first.