He squinted in the darkness and stared, unable to process what he was seeing. Reuven? At Heshy Brucker’s tish?
Akiva Putterman had given a lecture in Brooklyn, and he pulled into Alameda Gardens, well after midnight. He was tired, but the lights from inside the tent, visible from Wimbledon Loop, called to him, and he walked over to peek inside.
Heshy was still holding court, even though most of the people had left, and it looked intense. Akiva slipped in from the rear corner, and moved quietly. No one even realized.
He was about to take a few peanuts from the plastic bowl when he saw a familiar figure, the slim shoulders and straight back of his neighbor, Reuven Stagler.
He squinted his eyes in the darkness and stared, unable to process what he was seeing.
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