Jessica Hecht

Look me in the eyes that way.

His were unearthly blue, an imperial Caribbean hue, the shade of a sun-filled swimming pool.

They did not belong to the topography of his face, nor to this dank and sweaty French courtyard.

In the distance...

I heard a splash, the entrance of a dive, the sound of my solitude being knifed aside, a cleansing spray of hope atomized up my spine.

For a moment, I thought we were both going to laugh out loud.

The moment passed.

I am a superhero, the rabbi said with a raised eyebrow, disguised as an orthodox Jew.

He wiped at his forehead with a broad white hanky.

He was young.

I saw beneath his beard, quite a bit younger than I was, maybe not yet thirty.

He had those handsome blue eyes, but his skin was pasty under a lustrous sheen, like a piece of marzipan with a hard sugary glaze.

He was wearing so many clothes, and the sun was so hot that he looked as though he might pass out.

The rabbi smiled weakly.

Manora, man.

He said that, but he seemed to waver in the currents of heat that emanated from the pavement as he said it.

Sit, Manora, man, I said, gesturing toward a chair.

You look dizzy.

He protested as he sat.

But sit, he did.