The Butcher's Theatre

"Oh. What species?"

She stiffened, pulled her hand away. "Abba, you're being silly, treating me like a baby and trying to avoid the subject."

"And what subject is that?"

"That I was stupid to go with a stranger-all those times you and Eema told me about strangers, and I went. I thought he was a rabbi-"

"You cared about Dayan-"

"It was stupid! Retarded! And because of it I hurt you, hurt you badly-your shoulder, your hand. It was all my fault!"

She tore at her hair, her little face crumpled. Daniel pulled her down to him, tucked her head under his neck, felt her fragile body convulse with sobs.

"I won't lie to you, Shosh, it was a mistake. But even mistakes turn out well-because of you, an evil man was caught before he could hurt anyone else. All part of God's plan."

Silence. "You killed him, didn't you, Abba?"

"Yes."

She sat up, stared out the window for a long time. Daniel followed her gaze, over the domes and spires of the Old City. The sun was setting, casting rosy shadows across the wilderness of Judea. Rose dappled with soft blue. He wished he had an artist's memory

"I'm glad you killed him. But it was still stupid and now your hand is ruined."

"It's injured, not ruined. It'll get better. I'll be fine."

"No!" Shoshi shook her head furiously. "In the hospital-I heard a doctor talking in the hospital. He said it was ruined-you'd be lucky to get any use out of it."

She began to cry again. Daniel clasped her to him, started crying too.

He held her, tried to absorb her grief. Waited until she'd calmed and took her chin in his hand, stared into her huge wet eyes. Smoothed back her hair, kissed tear-streaked cheeks, and forgot the pain.

"I'm not ruined, Shosheleh. I'm very, very whole. Please believe that. Abba doesn't lie to you, does he?" A shake of the head.

"Then believe me, please, sweetie. I'm whole, complete. No man could be more complete. Do you believe me?"

Nod.

He cradled her in his arms, remembering baby days, changing diapers, spoon-feeding mush, the first clumsy steps, inevitable pratfalls. The privilege of watching it-watching all of them.

The room grew dark. Daniel said, "Get me my siddur, motek. It's time to pray ma'ariv."

While she fetched the prayerbook, he recited a silent modeh ani-thanking the Almighty for restoring his soul. A morning prayer, twelve hours too late.

But it felt like morning.€