She breathes out with resignation. I can feel her heart sink, but then she pulls herself together. She won’t give up. She might not know it yet, but she never gives up. All the stories she has read have shown her the fantastic, unbelievable, and yet feasible twists and turns life can take. She can imagine anything, both beautiful and terrible, and she never averts her gaze.

“Do you remember the drunk wine waiter at that Swiss hotel?” she inquires, and for an instant it seems as if she can see me.

I’m electrified.

“A few nights ago I dreamed of the sea. You and I were by the coast, in a place where there was a small chapel?”

Saint Samson? Was it Saint Samson?

“We . . .”—her breath is close now, her words shrouded in warmth—“made love on the rocks. But then . . .”

I know, I want to say. But then the wave came. I know that life! Did you dream of it, Eddie?

I don’t have time to consider this further, because just then I feel another presence. It is as if all my sensory antennae form a hot ball. I know it’s him. Samuel Noam. So this is my son! He has a fine soul, and he has a great deal of Malo in him. A very great deal.

Far under his skin, I see a tall, intelligent man growing inside him, ready to emerge one day and replace the boy.

“Hi, Ed,” Samuel says in a deep voice, and they bump fists. Then he’s in front of me, saying, “Hi, Dad!” and we see each other. No, his gaze is like Eddie’s: just past me.

“Hello, Samuel,” I say anyway. I’m overjoyed to see him. My happiness and affection and pride and also despair overflow because this child is so dear to me. Every single moment of my life, my imperfect life, now makes sense because of Sam. Because I have unwittingly gotten something right. I look at him and love him with a desire to protect and touch him that leaves me in despair.

My child. My longing to see my son grow up pulls me back toward life. I want to see what he’s like, what he wants from life, what he’ll do with his.

Just as I think these thoughts, there’s a spark of interest in my son’s eyes and he focuses his attention afresh. Apparently he can really see me. Yes, he can!

“Hi, Dad,” he repeats, but this time in a far softer voice. “So you’re here.” His face glows with unbridled joy as he raises his eyes to Eddie on the other side of the bed, and then the words spill from his lips. “He’s here, Eddie. My father’s here.”

Sam