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already working within him? If so, no one had yet noticed the first signs of it.
    “I’d like to meet him.”
    “You will.”
    “Do you think he’ll like me?”
    “He’ll like you.”
    Malkiel wondered, How can we come to terms with our own destinies? Two beings joined their desires, their movements, and became a crossroads where drives and dreams converge; and yet it is not this victory that floods my soul, but death—my mother’s, my own. One day the last flash of intelligence and desire and light will drown in death. “What are you thinking about?” he asked.
    “Your father.”
    He was suddenly frightened, and did not know why. Waves of fear swept over him, rising and swelling before they tore apart.
    “Let’s sleep,” Tamar said.
    “You’re right.”
    She kissed him.
    “I thought you wanted to sleep,” he said.
    “You think too much.”
    For Malkiel and Tamar, life became an unquenchable spring of gratitude. Their bodies were as finely attuned in yearning as in joy, in desire as in fulfillment; neither needed to protect his loneliness by silence.
    Glorious days and festive nights. They were in love, and they exhilarated each other. The presence of the one never weighed on the other. At the very core of their union they had found a creative freedom that constantly renewed itself and enriched their every night. But all Malkiel had to do was think of his father, and time and space began to vibrate again.
    “I’m afraid,” Tamar said once, when they had become one as never before.
    “You? Afraid? But of what?”
    “Of happiness. Happiness changes people. It makes them better or worse. Pure or mean. Some people aren’t made for happiness. Are you?”
    Malkiel made no reply. His father was not; he knew that.His father’s natural element was suffering and the memory of suffering.
    “We’ll have to do all we can to be happy, Malkiel. It won’t be easy. Happiness is a jealous god. He possesses you but won’t let himself be possessed. We’ll have to fight. Will you fight?”
    “I don’t know,” Malkiel said.
    “I’ll teach you.”
    Did they have the same notions of this battle? Of his chances for winning? Malkiel’s heart grew heavy. Living for someone else is sometimes easier than living with someone else. What is a blessing for the one may be a curse for the other. “When will I meet your father?” she asked.
    “Soon.”
    “And I want you to meet my parents.” They lived in Chicago. “Suppose we went there for Thanksgiving?”
    “All right,” said Malkiel.
    “But—your father?”
    “He’ll understand.”
    “He won’t feel too lonely?”
    “He has his patients.”
    A big family in a suburb of Chicago. Lots of commotion. Little ones stumbling, tumbling and grumbling, snacking, screaming for drinks. Tamar was the heroine, the princess. The small children clung to her skirts and wanted only her. For this festive dinner they all demanded to sit beside her. Malkiel occupied the place of honor, to the right of the lady of the house. She had roasted the traditional turkey. Unfortunately, Malkiel detested turkey. “Eat, eat, you’ll enjoy it,” Tamar’s mother insisted, a true Jewish mother. “I’m a vegetarian,” Malkiel said in apology. “Tamar!” her mother cried. “You never told me you were marrying a vegetarian.… What is that, a vegetarian? What religion is that?”Malkiel blushed in confusion; he was ashamed for Tamar and ashamed of himself. “Don’t make a fuss, Mother,” Tamar said. “You can be Jewish and vegetarian at the same time.” Relieved, her mother explained, “But turkey is kosher, I swear it!” “Leave him alone,” Tamar said. “He’s not much of an eater.” Thanks, Tamar. “Ay, ay,” her mother said, “I feel for you. Men who don’t eat well don’t make good husbands.” “Mother!” Tamar protested. Thanks, Tamar.
    The following week Tamar accompanied Malkiel to his father’s house. It was a Sunday in December, and the first snow was