When the door was shut behind the last one, he turned toward her angrily. ‘What the devil are you doing?’ he shouted. ‘Don’t you have the most basic decency?’ He looked like he wanted to hit her. Then he saw her face was wet with tears, slowly slipping out between her eyelashes, and he observed her a moment, full of wonder. He had never seen her cry before. Sheepishly, he led her to the divan, where she pulled close to him, shaking with sobs and exhaustion like a small animal seeking protection. He got a blanket and laid it over her. He stood up, observing her, fragile and bent. The gleam in his eye was gone, the party was over. Outside, the birds were starting to sing. He got down on one knee and caressed her hair. She took his hand and put it to her cheek, and looked up at him helplessly and inquisitively, but he gently pulled his hand back.

‘We are quite a pair,’ he said quietly, more to himself than to her.

BOOK TWO The Trouble with Happiness

The Knife

He lay there intensely observing his sleeping wife, as if she represented a mathematical problem which needed solving before he could move on to other things. He always felt a certain tenderness toward her just before he woke her in the morning. But this passed quickly, and she rarely noticed it. He heard their son padding around in the nursery, coughing quietly and talking to himself. Their son knew it was strictly forbidden to wake his parents.

He turned toward the wall and shouted, ‘Okay, Esther, it’s eight o’clock!’