She adds another aspect to her mourning — the fact that her husband feels as if he is not enough
They are gone. A predawn goodbye, an embrace as they step up into the carriage, a promise to Shneur that she will write daily to his wife, so that she receives post while he is traveling, a promise extracted from Becca that she will write weekly, a neigh of the horses, a grumble from the driver, the slam of a carriage door, and the trot of hooves on the cobblestones.
Finally, the creak of the front door as they close it behind them. Shneur and Becca are continuing on their journey, and she is left alone, to mourn all the words they did not have time to say.
Ernst puts on the kettle and hands her a steaming cup of tea. He heaps sugar into it, as if this is the only power he has to sweeten the farewell. As if the look in his eyes is not enough. She takes it and smiles at him, but adds another aspect to her mourning—the fact that her husband feels as if he is not enough.
Professor Heidelberg is not at his desk. When Felix walks in to the study, a fat wad of papers in his hands, ready for his tutorial, a different professor is hunched over a book, pen in hand.
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