She pulled down her mouth in an expression of grief. Everybody had pity on her and asked her what was the matter.

One rainy summer day the children dragged Menuchim out of the house and stuck him in a vat, in which rainwater had collected for half a year. Maggots swam about in it, decayed fruit and mouldy bread crusts. They held him by his crooked legs and pushed his broad grey head a dozen times into the water. Then, with pounding hearts and glowing cheeks, they pulled him out in the joyful and gruesome expectation that they were holding a corpse. But Menuchim lived. He rattled in his throat, spat up the water, the maggots, the mouldy bread, the fruit rinds, and lived. Nothing happened to him. Silent and anxious, the children then carried him home. They thought they had seen God’s finger shaken at them and the two boys and the girl were gripped by fear. For a whole day they said nothing to each other. Their tongues clove to the roofs of their mouths; their lips opened to form a word, but no sound issued from their throats. The rain stopped, the sun shone, the little brooks flowed gaily along the edges of the streets. It was time to launch paper ships and watch them sail towards the canal. But nothing happened. The children crept back into the house like dogs. All afternoon they waited for the death of Menuchim, but Menuchim did not die.

Menuchim did not die; he lived, a mighty cripple. From now on, Deborah’s womb was dry and barren. Menuchim was the last deformed fruit of her body. It was as though her womb refused to bring forth more misfortune. In hasty moments she embraced her husband. The moments were short as lightning, dry lightning on a distant summer horizon. Long, cruel, and sleepless were Deborah’s nights. A wall of cold glass separated her from her husband. Her breasts withered; her body swelled, as if in mockery of her barrenness; her thighs became heavy, and lead hung to her feet.

One morning in summer she awakened earlier than Mendel. A chirping sparrow at the window had disturbed her. His pipings were still in her ears, recalling something dreamed, something happy, like the voice of a ray of sunshine.