Still With Me

“Yes, we’re well on our way to an exceptional life,” Jeremy exclaimed ironically. “Isn’t it great to know that every year on my birthday I’ll wake up to new surprises? I’ll feel just like a kid on Christmas, running through every room in the house to count our children. And think how great it will be to discover new friends, perfect strangers, sprawling on my couch.”

“Stop saying things like that. I mean, really, I’d rather take you that way.”

“What does illness matter if I’m happy with you?” Jeremy whispered.

Victoria stroked his face.

“Let’s stay positive,” he continued. “The amnesia lets us take a step back from our lives so we can appreciate its worth.”

Victoria smiled mischievously. “It’s true. And besides, I’d like us to seriously consider making another baby.”

Jeremy gave her a puzzled look. “Oh really? But I just met the first one.”

She pretended not to hear. “I think there shouldn’t be more than a two-year age difference between children, so they can form a real bond. And then, of course, we already have the bottles…”

She lay against Jeremy. He felt intimidated by the situation and surprised by the intimacy, but happy.

“Let’s make a baby brother for Thomas…right now,” she whispered.

Jeremy couldn’t entirely abandon himself to the pleasure, observing the scene rather than living it.

They’d finished the bottle of champagne, and Jeremy felt dizzy. He was having trouble gathering his thoughts. When Victoria handed him a small gift box, he tried to smile. A meaningless grin appeared on his numb face.

“Ha,” Victoria burst out laughing. “You look like you’ve had enough. I’ve never seen you this tipsy after just a few glasses.”

“I think I’m a little drunk,” said Jeremy. “And tired.”

He opened the box and found a finely engraved, solid silver antique. Not sure what it was exactly, Jeremy turned it over a few times in his hand.

“It’s a trinket that caught your attention in the window of a shop on Rosiers Street. A book of psalms in a silver box. When I saw your reaction to it, I was surprised. You looked…hypnotized. You, the one who never thinks about religion. And then I thought it must mean something to you.”

“Thank you,” Jeremy managed to reply, surprised by the peculiar gift.

He opened the box and took out the little book printed on parchment paper. He had to make an effort to read the words on the cover: Book of Psalms. Hebrew/French.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, it’s really nice…I’m…Well, the drinks. I’m going to go lie down for a minute.”

“Okay, I’ll clean up.”

She got up, put the glasses and bottle on a platter, and headed to the kitchen. Left alone, Jeremy suddenly felt sweat beading on his temples. An icy blast shook his arms and legs, his stomach and his back. He opened the little book and flipped through it, breathing heavily. He held it farther from his eyes and then brought it close again.

You bring frail mortals to the point of being crushed, then say, “People, repent!” For from your viewpoint, a thousand years are merely like yesterday or a night watch. When you sweep them away, they become like sleep; by morning they are like growing grass, growing and flowering in the morning, but by evening cut down and dried up.

Jeremy felt a burning sensation in his stomach. Was it reading the words that was causing the pain? He was breathing hard. He wanted to get up, but his legs wouldn’t obey. The same feelings I had at the hospital.

Jeremy’s eyelids felt heavy. He felt so tired that he had to lie down. But he was afraid to sleep. What would be waiting for him when he woke up? And what was the pain in his stomach? He started reading again.

The span of our life is seventy years, or if we are strong, eighty; yet at best it is toil and sorrow, over in a moment, and then we are gone. Who grasps the power of your anger and wrath to the degree that the fear due you should inspire? So teach us to count our days, so that we will become wise. Return, Adonai! How long must it go on? Take pity on your servants!

The Book of Psalms fell from his hands, and he couldn’t pick it up again. His arms and legs went rigid. He heard Victoria in the kitchen. He tried to call to her, but no sound left his mouth. He heard a murmur and saw a gleam near the window, but he couldn’t turn his head. Jeremy was now completely paralyzed, drenched in sweat. Only his eyes could still move. He fought for air and struggled to stay awake for a few more seconds.

Then he saw the old man—there, in front of the window. He was reciting the same prayer. The one for the dead. What was he doing here? Who was he? Jeremy had to warn Victoria—to tell her there was a madman in the apartment.

Warn her!

Warn her!