“You should have alerted me that it was all a ruse,” the doctor said. “We could have done something to shield her. As you might expect, your death caused quite a stir.”

“There wasn’t time.”

“I’m sure you had good reason,” the doctor said reproachfully.

“I did.” Gabriel allowed a few seconds to pass to take the sharp edge off the conversation. “I never know how much she understands.”

“She knows more than you realize. We had a rough few days.”

“And now?”

“She’s better, but you have to be careful with her.” He shook Gabriel’s hand. “Take as much time as you want. I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

When the doctor was gone, Gabriel moved quietly across the limestone tiles of the common room. A chair had been placed at Leah’s side. She was still watching the snow. But upon what city was it falling? Was she in Jerusalem at that moment? Or was she trapped in the past? Leah suffered from a particularly acute combination of post-traumatic stress disorder and psychotic depression. In her watery memory, time was elusive. Gabriel never quite knew which Leah he would encounter. One minute she could be the stunningly gifted painter he had fallen in love with at the Bezalel Academy of Art and Design in Jerusalem. The next she could present herself as the mature mother of a beautiful young boy who had insisted on accompanying her husband on a work trip to Vienna.

For several minutes she watched the snow, unblinking. Perhaps she was unaware of his presence. Or perhaps she was punishing him for allowing her to think that he was dead. Finally, her head turned and her eyes traveled over him, as though she were searching for a lost object in the cluttered closets of her memory.

“Gabriel?” she asked.

“Yes, Leah.”

“Are you real, my love? Or am I hallucinating?”

“I’m real.”

“Where are we?”

“Jerusalem.”

Her head turned and she watched the snow. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Yes, Leah.”

“The snow absolves Vienna of its sins. Snow falls on Vienna while the missiles rain on Tel Aviv.” She came back to him. “I hear them at night,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“The missiles.”

“You’re safe here, Leah.”

“I want to talk to my mother. I want to hear the sound of my mother’s voice.”

“We’ll call her.”

“Make sure Dani is buckled into his seat. The streets are slippery.”

“He’s fine, Leah.”

She looked down at his hands and noticed smudges of paint. It seemed to wrench her back to the present. “You’ve been working?” she asked.

“A little.”

“Something important?”

He swallowed hard and said, “A nursery, Leah.”

“For your children?”

He nodded.

“Have they been born yet?”

“Soon,” he said.

“A boy and a girl?”

“Yes, Leah.”

“What are you going to call the girl?”

“She’ll be called Irene.”

“Irene is your mother’s name.”