It cannot be. Even when he goes outside and the woman calls his name he does not believe it is them. He looks at the children. A boy, perhaps six years old, with long peyos. A little girl
And He created man, dust from the earth.
From dust he comes and to dust he shall return.
He seals the envelope and addresses it to Emmy. He hands it to the postal clerk on Jaffa’s main road and pays for a stamp. Sometime, perhaps, in the next year or so, by 1885, it will arrive in Prague.
Each morning, Felix relies on his fellow porters to strap the day’s weight to his back: firm but not too firm. Spreading the weight. Together, they lash the rope to his waist, chest and shoulders. He sets off, back low, feeling no pain, only focus. One step. Two steps. Turns must be enacted slowly.
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