David the mason reclines his head on the back of the chair, his hands draped along the armrests. He looks over at the far end of the room. He speaks.
“There’s someone else in the house.”
“It’s just me,” says the Jew.
“He’s here alone,” she says.
“The Jew,” says David.
“Yes. Don’t be afraid.”
She is still looking around. She is perched on the edge of her seat, still alert. Looking around.
“David has to work tomorrow morning. He has to sleep a little. If you try to run I’ll yell and he’ll wake up.”
“Let him sleep. You keep watch on me. And I’ll stay where I am, over here.”
Slumber settles on David. He looks over at the Jew.
She says:
“He’s falling asleep now.”
The Jew does not answer. Sabina speaks:
“The merchants’ police aren’t out tonight. Gringo made a deal with the merchants. They told him, ‘If you let us sell to the Greeks then we’ll give you Abahn the Jew.’ Gringo agreed. The police sleep tonight. The town is Gringo’s.”
The Jew does not answer, does not move.
“Are you going to try to run away?”
“No.”
The Jew’s exhaustion seems to grow.
“Why not?”
“I have no desire to save myself.”
They sit quietly for a moment. Sabana, alert, turns toward the frost-covered road.
David has closed his eyes.
“Why did you come to Staadt?”
The Jew shrugs his shoulders.
“To kill Gringo?”
“No.”
“Gringo is strong in Staadt. He runs the show with the merchants. He runs the government offices. He has his own police, army, guns. He’s been making the merchants afraid for a long time now. You understand?”
“The merchants of Staadt aren’t afraid of Gringo,” says the Jew.
“Since when?”
“For a long time. The merchants are afraid of the Jews.”
“And who is Gringo afraid of?”
“Gringo is afraid of the Jews.”
“Like the merchants?”
“You know that.”
“Yes,” Sabana looks at him.
“You don’t know what to do with yourself anymore, do you? So you came here?”
“Maybe at first. But then I found Staadt.”
“Like any other place?”
“No.”
They fall silent. David sleeps.
Sabana points at him, says to the Jew, “They all sleep.”
They look at each other. Still silent. She waits. He asks:
“Who are you?”
She hesitates. She looks at David.
“There’s nothing here,” he says. “I am not part of Gringo’s party.”
She is perched on the edge of the chair, waiting. She asks:
“Are you an enemy?”
“Yes.”
“What did you want?”
“I don’t know what I wanted anymore.”
They look at each other in silence for a drawn-out moment.
“Who are you?” he asks again.
He waits. Her eyes narrow, searching. Her face is unreadable. She opens her eyes and says:
“I don’t know.”
The Jew slumps forward over the table. He rests his head in his arms. He stays like that without moving. She asks:
“You didn’t want anything?”
“I didn’t want anything. I wanted everything.”
Silence.
“And tonight?”
“Everything. Nothing.”
“Still?”
“Yes.”
His face can no longer be seen.
“One day you came to David’s workshop. You waited until the workday was finished. It was David who saw you. He asked you, ‘Are you Abahn?’ You said yes. He asked you, ‘What do you want?’ You said ‘I wanted to talk to someone.’ He said, ‘Who?’ You didn’t answer. You just looked at him. He said, ‘Are you looking for David? That’s me.’ You said yes. He asked, ‘Why?’ You said, ‘Because you addressed me.’”
The Jew is silent.
“You remember.”
“Yes.”
“That’s when all this started.”
He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t move.
“I’m telling you, I’m explaining it to you, aren’t you listening?”
He isn’t listening.
Sabana, at full attention, watches him.
•
The night deepens. And the cold.
Someone has come in, a tall man, thin, graying at the temples.
Sabana watches him enter. The man smiles at Sabana. She does not smile back. He says:
“I was passing by.”
They look at each other. He looks away, sits down next to David, away from the Jew.
“Close the door.
