In the dingy lobby of his daughter’s building, leaning on his hospital-issued cane, he watched the numbers above the elevator light up in descending order. The doors parted to reveal the smiling face of the sperm donor. “Grandpa!” he called sonorously, and pumped Brodman’s hand before sweeping up the shopping bags. In the close elevator, Brodman began to sweat. He breathed through his mouth so as to avoid inhaling the man’s overripe cologne. The elevator rumbled up through the floors, carrying all the male relatives the poor child had in the world. Brodman winced, trying to shut out an image of the man beside him diddling with himself to fill a paper cup.

The apartment was already crowded with people. One of Ruthie’s oldest friends accosted Brodman and kissed him dryly on the cheek. “It’s good to see you home again. You gave everyone a scare,” she said, loudly, as if his illness had also deafened him. Brodman grunted, and made his way to the window. He wrenched it open and inhaled the cold air. But when he turned back to the overfilled apartment, he was lightheaded. Across the room, Mira was busy coaxing tea from a large samovar for the mohelet from Riverdale. This woman, with her crocheted kippa the size of a dinner plate, had arrived in a prepaid sedan to remove his grandson’s foreskin as a mark of God’s covenant. To cut away his flesh, so that the child’s soul should not be cut off forever from his people.

Brodman felt unsteady on his feet. He pushed his way through the kitchen, past the tubs of cream cheese under plastic wrap, and thumped down the dark corridor with the metal cane. He wanted only to lie down in Ruthie’s bedroom and close his eyes. But when he opened the door, he found the bed occupied by a mountain of coats and scarves. Hot tears sprang to his eyes. He felt a howl building in his lungs, the howl of a man who has been shut out by grace. But what he heard instead was a soft gurgle. He spun around and saw the reed basket in the corner, tucked next to a rocking chair. The baby opened his tiny mouth. For a moment it seemed he might cry out, or even speak. But instead he lifted a tiny mottled fist and tried to shove it inside. Brodman moved toward him, filled with feeling. Sensing a change in his world of light and shadow, the baby turned. Wide-eyed, he regarded his grandfather with a questioning look. Down the hall, they were preparing the yoke and the blade. How could he help the boy now?

The service door led to the fire stairs. Abandoning the cane, Brodman clutched the bannister and dragged himself up two flights. His stomach muscles ached. Three times he had to put the basket down to catch his breath. At last they reached the top, and Brodman pushed the metal bar of the door that released them to the roof.