of his kind, which was impossible because he was
alone, the Melech Homovetz who could never be paired
because whatever he touched would turn to dust.
The cat on the windowsill whimpered. The dog
crawled under the porch. The woman in the bed said, "I
don't care, come in, what's done is done, what hap-
pened is over, it matters not at all." She saw him per-
fectly and was not frightened. That was often true. The
anticipation was always worse than the reality. But the
man who loved her howled and retched, threw himself
across the bed, protecting the body of the woman.
The man gnashed his teeth, cursed at the wind and
begged. "I will give you anything, a limb, my fortune,
my house," he cried. The Angel of Death swung his
long arms in the air, nothing was new, he'd seen this
before. The woman closed her eyes, waiting. She patted
the man on the back.
"It's over," she said. "I was, but I'm not anymore. It's
all right," she said. "There are others, I had my turn.
Don't weep," she said. "You make me want to he with
you and I can't." The man smashed at the night table
with his hands and hurled a picture at the door. He
sobbed and he stamped and he refused to allow the An-
gel one step closer.
"I'll kill you," he said, and the
Angel laughed and the woman
had to laugh, too.
"Oh how I'll miss laughing,"
she said.
"How dare you laugh at me, the
two of you, like lovers already.
Whore," the man roared, turning
toward the woman who pulled the
blanket up over her head. His
throat was getting sore. His
knuckles bled from being
banged on the wooden bed
frame.
"It's time," said the Angel.
"No protest, no review, no re-
peal; it is written and it is done."
The Angel thought to himself
when it was the man's hour he would
come from behind, not enter the house but catch him
on the road with his back exposed. The woman said,
"Angel, come to me."
The man said, "If you go I will go with you." The An-
gel sighed. This he had also heard more often than
there are grains of sand on the beaches.
"Tell me, Angel," said the man, "is there a God, a
Merciful God, in the heavens and if He is there, why
doesn't He spare us?"
"I have no time for philosophy," said the Angel.
"This isn't philosophy," said the man. "It's theology"
"I have no time for that either," said the Angel.
'What does it mean," said the man, "that I love her?