The youngest son was supposed to ask the four questions at the Seder. But Chaim Garfield didn’t have any sons or grandsons, so his granddaughter asked them. She was six, she’d memorized the Hebrew and the English, and she asked each question first in Hebrew, then translated. She faltered once, but went on bravely. She had round cheeks that were blushing now and dark blue eyes like Ada’s, and, as she read the questions in her trembling voice, Garfield felt a rush of love so intense he thought he’d faint. Dorothy, his older daughter, was thirty, and lovelier than he ever thought she’d be. Her husband was okay; he watched a little too much TV, talked a little too much about money, but he was good to Dorothy, he loved his daughters, and if he wasn’t the intellect of all time, he was kind. Garfield’s other daughter was plain, sweet, and bright, and her husband was just like her. Chaim loved them all. So much, he could fall into his soup in a spasm of love. Drown for love in chicken soup.

After the feast, and after he had gotten through most of the Haggadah, his normally flat belly swollen and the men leaning back on pillows behind their chairs, he filled the beautiful Elijah’s cup that had belonged to Ada’s mother. It was silver and carved so fine that it looked embroidered. He filled it carefully and with the sweet taste of the Pass­over wine coating his mouth, he took his granddaughter’s hand and they went to the front door carrying the cup. She opened the door, and he put the wine cup on the hall floor. He looked down toward the elevator; it was almost nine, and practically every door on his floor had a cup in front of it.

“For Elijah,” he told the little girl, “Elijah who heralds the Messiah and who might visit us any time, in any disguise. And no matter how he appears, even if he is in rags like a beggar, tonight—Seder night—we give him wine, and feed him.”

She started to close the door, but he stopped her. “We leave the door open for him. So he doesn’t have to knock or ring the bell. . . .” She left the door open, and he picked her up and carried her back to the table. There were other reasons for leaving the door open, but he didn’t ever want her to know them. In Poland, Hungary, Russia, the Gentiles believed that Jews drank Christians’ blood at Seder, and Jews who wanted to live to the next Passover left the door open so the Gentiles could come in and see it was only wine they drank. In some ghettos the cup was for the Gentiles, not for Elijah—in the vain hope that it was harder to murder a man and his family after drinking his wine.