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bitcheswwwwannaplay · 10 years ago

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You Can Hear It in the Silence

Fandom: The Chosen Pairing: Danny x Reuven Words: 5480 notes: obviously a few things are out of context, but EVERY sentence/phrase here is quoted straight from the book unless it’s in []s or ()s. this is a mashup of deuven scenes into an ultimate love story. feel free to share this with whomever :)

bonus deuven stuff!

For the first fifteen years of our lives, Danny and I lived within five blocks of each otherand neither of us knew of the other’s existence.

That afternoon wewere scheduled to play the winning team of another neighborhood league, a teamwith a rep for wild, offensive slugging and poor fielding. Davey Cantor, one of the boys who acted as a replacement if a first-stringer had to leave the game, was standing near the wire screen behind home plate. “You ever see them play, Reuven?”

“No.”

“They’re murderers.”

I grinned at him.

“Especially the one batting. You’ll see.”

The ball was coming back to me, and I caught it neatly and flipped it back.

“Who’s the one batting?”

“Danny Saunders.” “Pardon my ignorance, but who is Danny Saunders?” “Reb Saunders’ son,” Davey Cantor said, blinking his eyes.

“I’m impressed.” “You’ll see.”

Danny Saunders was standing on my base. His white shirt was pasted to his arms and back with sweat. He was a good deal taller than I, and in contrast to my somewhat ordinary but decently proportioned features and dark hair, his face seemed to have been cut from stone. His chin, jaw and cheekbones were made up of jutting hard lines, his nose was straight and pointed, his lips full, rising to a steep angle from the center point beneath his nose and then slanting off to form a too-wide mouth. His eyes were deep blue, and the sparse tufts of hair on his chin, jawbones, and upper lip, the close cropped hair on his head, and the flow of side curls along his ears were the color of sand. He moved in a loose-jointed, disheveled sort of way, all arms and legs, talking in Yiddish [] and ignoring me completely as he passed by. I told myself that I did not like his Hasidic-bred sense of superiority and that it would be a great pleasure to defeat him and his team in this afternoon’s game.

“That was a nice shot,” I offered.

He looked at me curiously and said nothing. He smiled faintly. “You’re Reuven Malter,” he said in perfect English. He had a low, nasal voice.

“That’s right,” I said, wondering where he had heard my name.

“I told my team we’re going to kill you apikorsim this afternoon.” He said it flatly, without a trace of expression in his voice.

I stared at him and hoped the sudden tight coldness I felt wasn’t showing on my face. “Sure,” I said. “Rub your tzitzit for good luck.”

Danny Saunders stood very still at the plate, waiting. The catcher threw the ball back. I took the ball out of the glove [] and turned around for a moment to look out at the field. When I turned back I saw that Danny Saunders hadn’t moved. He was holding his bat in his left hand, standing very still and staring at me. His eyes were dark, and his lips were parted in a crazy, idiot grin.

I sent in another fast ball. I watched it head straight for the plate. I saw him go into a sudden crouch, and in the fraction of a second before he hit the ball I realized that he had anticipated the curve and was deliberately swinging low. I managed to bring my glove hand up in front of my face just as he hit the ball. It hit the finger section of my glove, deflected off, smashed into the upper rim of the left lens of my glasses, glanced off my forehead, and knocked me down.

Mr. Galanter [took] one look at my face and [went] running out of the yard to call a cab. We rode to the Brooklyn Memorial Hospital.

I opened my eye and saw someone standing alongside my bed.

“Hello,” Danny Saunders said softly. “I’m sorry if I woke you. The nurse told me it was all right to wait here.”

I looked at him in amazement. He was the last person in the world I had expected to visit me in the hospital.

“Before you tell me how much you hate me,” he said quickly, “let me tell you that I’m sorry about what happened.”

I stared at him. “I don’t hate you,” I managed to say, because I thought it was time for me to say something even if what I said was a lie.

He smiled sadly. “Can I sit down? I’ve been standing here about fifteen minutes waiting for you to wake up.”

I sort of nodded or did something with my head, and he [] sat down on the edge of the bed to my right. The sun streamed in from the windows behind him, and shadows lay over his face and accentuated the lines of his cheeks and jaw. He seemed ill at ease, and his eyes blinked nervously.

“What do they say about the scar tissue?” he asked.

“They don’t know anything about it yet. I might be blind in that eye.”

He nodded slowly and was silent.

“How does it feel to know you’ve made someone blind in one eye?” I asked him.

He looked at me, his sculptured face expressionless. “What do you want me to say? You want me to say I’m miserable? Okay, I’m miserable.”

“That’s all? Only miserable? How do you sleep nights?”

He looked down at his hands. “I didn’t come here to fight with you,” he said softly. “If you do want to do nothing but fight, I’m going to go home.” “For my part,” I told him, “you can go to hell, and take your whole snooty bunch of Hasidim along with you!” He looked at me and sat still. He didn’t seem angry, just sad. Finally I said, “What the hell are you sitting there for? I thought you said you were going home!”

“i came to talk to you,” he said quietly.

“Well, I don’t want to listen,” I told him. “Why don’t you go home? Go home and be sorry over my eye!”

He stood up slowly. I could barely see his face because of the sunlight behind him. His shoulders seemed bowed.

“I am sorry,” he said quietly.

“I’ll just bet you are,” I told him.

He started to say something, stopped, then turned and walked slowly away up the aisle. I lay back in my bed, feeling depressed and angry with myself over what I had said to Danny Saunders.

“Well, well, look who’s here.”

“Who?” I sat up.

“Your real religious clopper.” I saw it was Danny Saunders. He came up the aisle and stood alongside my bed, wearing the same clothes he had the day before.

“Are you going to get angry at me again?” he asked hesitantly.

“No,” I said.

“Can I sit down?” “Yes.”

“Thanks,” he said, and sat down on the edge of the bed to my right.

“You were pretty rotten yesterday, you know,” Danny Saunders said. A warm smile played on his lips. My anger at him melted away at the sight of that smile.

“I’m sorry about that.” I was surprised at how happy I was to see him.

“I’ve been thinking about that ball game. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since you got hit.” “i’ve been thinking about it, too,” I said.

“I’ve thought about it a lot, but I still don’t understand it.” He talked very rapidly, and I could see he was tense. “I want to talk to you about it. Okay?” “Sure,” I said.

“Do you know what I don’t understand about that ball game? I don’t understand why I wanted to kill you.

I stared at him.

“It’s really bothering me.”

“Well, I should hope so,” I said.

“Don’t be so cute, Malter.”

“Well, it was a pretty hot ball game.”

“Yes,” he said. I saw him begin to play absent-mindedly with one of his earlocks. We were quiet for a long time. Finally, he stood up. “It’s late. I had better go.” “Thanks for coming to see me.” “I’ll see you tomorrow again.” “Sure.”

I watched him walk slowly up the aisle and out of the ward. (do he got the booty)

I saw Danny come up the aisle and stop at my bed. He was wearing the dark suit, the dark skullcap, the white shirt open at the collar, and the fringes showing below his jacket. My face must have mirrored my happiness at seeing him because he broke into a warm smile and said, ‘You look like I’m the Messiah. I must have made some impression yesterday.’

I grinned at him. 'It’s just good to see you,’ I told him. 'How are you?’

'How are you? You’re the one in the hospital.’

'I’m fed up being cooped up like this. I want to get out and go home. Say, it’s really good to see you, you sonofagun!’

He laughed. 'I must be the Messiah. No mere Hasid would get a greeting like that from an apikoros.’ He grinned at me. “What Talmud are you studying now?” “Kiddushin.”

“What page are you on?” I told him.

“I studied that two years ago. Is this what it reads like?” He recited about a third of the page word for word, including the commentaries about the Maimonidean legal decisions of the Talmudic disputations. Listening to him, I had the feeling I was watching some human machine at work.

“I sat there and gaped at him. “Say, that’s pretty good,” I managed to say, finally.

“I have a photographic mind. I can do it with Ivanhoe, too. Do you want to hear it with Ivanhoe?”

“You’re showing off now,” I said.

He grinned. “I’m trying to make a good impression.” “I’m impressed,” I said. ‘Are you going to be a rabbi?’

'Sure. I’m going to take my father’s place.” His eyes were sad. “I have no choice. It’s an inherited position.’

'You mean you wouldn’t become a rabbi if you had a choice?’

'I don’t think so.’

'What would you be?’

'I don’t know. Probably a psychologist.’

'I may become a rabbi. Not a Hasidic-type, though.’

'I can’t get over your becoming a rabbi.’

'I can’t get over your becoming a psychologist.’

“I have to go back,” he said. “I’ve got schoolwork to do.” “I’ll call you at your house tomorrow afternoon.” “I’ll probably be in the library tomorrow afternoon, doing some reading in psychology. Why don’t you come over there?”

“I won’t be able to read anything. I’ll come over anyway. I’ll sit and think while you read.”

“Wonderful. I’d like to watch you sit and think.” “Mitnagdim can think too, you know,” I said.

Danny laughed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Right,” I said, and watched him walk away, tall and lean in his black caftan and black hat. (he dooo)(srsly tho reuven is constantly watching Danny walk away into the distance or sth)

I stood near a bookcase a few feet away from the table at which Danny was sitting, and I watched him read. Occasionally, the fingers of his right hand would play with his earlock, and once they stroked the tufts of sandcolored hair on his chin for a few seconds, then went back to the side of his face. His mouth was slightly open, and I could not see his eyes; they were hidden by the lids. I decided not to disturb him, and I sat down at another table a few feet away and continued to watch him read. I decided after a while to review by heart some of the symbolic logic I had been studying. I closed my eyes and went over the propositional calculus… I was about to begin going over the steps of the indirect proof when I heard Danny say, “You’re always sleeping! What a sleepyhead you are! He [] looked up, rested his head in the palm of his right hand, the elbow-on the table, and said his eyes were bothering him again and that he wouldn’t be at all surprised if he ended up wearing glasses soon, his brother was having glasses made and he was only nine. I told him his brother didn’t seem to be doing much reading, what did he need glasses for.

'It has nothing to do with reading,’ Danny said. 'His eyes are just plain bad, that’s all. You know, my brother’s a good kid,’ Danny said. 'His sickness is quite a handicap, but everything considered he’s a good kid. He’d probably make a fine tzaddik,’ he said.

I looked at him. 'How’s that again?’

'I said my brother would probably make a fine tzaddik,’ Danny said quietly. 'It occurred to me recently that if I didn’t take my father’s place I wouldn’t be breaking the dynasty after all. My brother could take over. I had talked myself into believing that if I didn’t take his place I would break the dynasty. I think I had to justify to myself having to become a tzaddik.’

'When will you tell [your father]? Because I’m going to be out of town that day.’

'No,’ he said quietly. 'I’m going to need you around that day.’

'I was only kidding,’ I told him, feeling sick with dread.

“You’ll be around [] because I’m going to need you.’

'Let’s talk about your sister for a change.”

'I heard you the first time. Let’s not talk about my sister, if you don’t mind. (i have this part bc jealous!danny cmon are you with me) Let’s talk about my father. You want to know how I feel about my father? I admire him. I don’t know what he’s trying to do to me with this weird silence that he’s established between us … Intellectually, he’s trapped. He was born trapped. I don’t ever want to be trapped the way he’s trapped. I want to be able to breathe, to think what I want to think, to say the things I want to say. I’m trapped now, too. Do you know what it’s like to be trapped?’

I shook my head slowly.

'How could you possibly know?’ Danny said. 'It’s the most hellish, choking, constricting feeling in the world. I scream with every bone in my body to get out of it. My mind cries to get out of it. But I can’t. Not now. One day I will, though. I’ll want you around on that day.”

“It’s late. I had better go.” “Thanks for coming to see me.” “I’ll see you tomorrow again.” “Sure.”

Danny and I were together almost every day during the first month of that summer. The world around seemed sharpened now and pulsing with life. I lay back and put the palms of my hands under my head. I thought of the baseball game, and I asked myself, Was it only last Sunday that it happened, only five days ago? I lay back on the lounge chair and stared up at the sky. It was a deep blue, with no clouds, and I felt I could almost touch it. It’s the color of Danny’s eyes, I thought. It’s as blue as Danny’s eyes. I remembered that tomorrow Danny would be over to see me. I lay very still on the lounge chair and thought a long time about Danny. I fell asleep thinking about Danny’s [] eyes.

I heard a door open and close and there were footsteps against wood, and then silence, and I knew someone had come onto the porch, but I would not open my eyes. Someone was on the porch, looking at me. I felt him looking at me. I felt him slowly push away the sleep, and, finally, I opened my eyes, and there was Danny, standing at the foot of the lounge chair, with his arms folded across his chest, clicking his tongue and shaking his head.

“You sleep like a baby,” he said. “I feel guilty waking you.” “What time is it?” “It’s after five, sleepyhead. I’ve been waiting here ten minutes for you to wake up.

“I slept almost three hours. That was some sleep.” He clicked his tongue again and shook his head. “What kind of infield is that?” He was imitating Galanter. “How can we keep that infield solid if you’re asleep there, Malter?” I laughed and got to my feet.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked.

“I don’t care.” “I thought we’d go over to my father’s shul. He wants to meet you.”

We walked to the corner, then turned right on Lee Avenue. The street was crowded with people. I wondered what any of my classmates would think if they saw me walking with Danny. It would become quite a topic of conversation in the neighborhood. Well, they would see me with him sooner or later.

We were approaching a group of about thirty black-caftaned men. They formed a solid wall, and I did not want to push through them so I slowed my steps, but Danny took my arm with one hand and tapped his other hand upon the shoulder of a man on the outer rim of the crowd. He bowed slightly and pushed back, and a whisper went through the crowd like a wind, and it parted, and Danny and I walked through, Danny holding me by the arm. I saw dark brows arch sharply over eyes that stared questions at me and at the way Danny was holding me by the arm. We were almost halfway through the crowd now, walking slowly together, Danny’s fingers on the part of my arm just over the elbow. (Oh did i mention danny’s hand is on my arm omg)(btw he starts holding it pg 120 and doesn’t let go till 122)(unnecessary tbh what an overprotective boyfriend)

I felt Danny nudge me with his elbow, and I looked up. 'My father’s coming,’ he said. His voice was quiet and, I thought, a little strained. The noise inside the synagogue ceased so abruptly that I felt its absence as one would a sudden lack of air. A man was coming slowly up the narrow aisle, followed by a child. Danny’s face mirrored his exactly except for the hair and the color of the eyes. The child who followed him, holding on to the caftan with his right hand, was a delicate miniature of the man, with the same caftan, the same furtrimmed hat, the same face, the same color hair, though beardless, and I realized he was Danny’s brother. I glanced at Danny and saw him staring down at his stand, his face without expression. Danny rose quickly to his feet, and I followed, and we stood there waiting, as the man’s dark eyes moved across my face – I could feel them moving across my face like a hand and fixed upon my left eye. Danny was introducing me to Reb Saunders.

“This is Reuven Malter,” he said quietly in Yiddish. Reb Saunders continued to stare at my left eye. I felt naked under his gaze, and he must have sensed my discomfort, because quite suddenly he offered me his hand.

'You are the son of David Malter?’ Reb Saunders asked me in Yiddish. His voice was deep and nasal, like Danny’s, and the words came out almost like an accusation. I nodded my head. I had a moment of panic, trying to decide whether to answer him in Yiddish or English. I wondered if he knew English. My Yiddish was very poor. I decided to answer in English.

“Your eye,” Reb Saunders said in Yiddish. “It is healed?”

“It’s fine,” I said in English. My voice came out a little hoarse, and I swallowed.

Reb Saunders looked at me for a moment, and I saw the dark eyes blink, the lids going up and down like shades. When he spoke again it was still in Yiddish. “Danny never stops talking about you. My son has many friends but he does not talk about them the way he talks about you. Tell me, you know mathematics? My son tells me you are very good in mathematics.’ I nodded.

'So. We will see. And you know Hebrew. A son of David Malter surely knows Hebrew.’

I nodded again. 'We will see,’ Reb Saunders said. I glanced out of the sides of my eyes and saw Danny looking down at the floor, his face expressionless. The child stood a little behind Reb Saunders and stared up at us, his mouth open. 'Nu,’ Reb Saunders said, 'later we will talk more. I want to know my son’s friend. Especially the son of David Malter.’ Then he went past us and stood in front of the little podium, his back to the congregation, the little boy still holding on to his caftan. Danny and I sat down.

That September Danny and I entered Hirsch College. I had grown to five feet nine inches, an inch shorter than Danny, and I was shaving. Danny hadn’t changed much physically during his last year in high school. The only thing different about him was that he was now wearing glasses.

[One] evening I waited for Danny more than half an hour just inside the double door of the school before I decided to go home alone. The next morning he wasn’t in front of the synagogue. I was sitting at a table preparing for the Talmud session, when I saw him pass me and nod his head in the direction of the door. He looked white-faced and grim, and he was blinking his eyes nervously. He went out, and a moment later I followed. Was he all right? I wanted to know. He wasn’t all right, he told me bitterly. His father had read the account of the rally in the Yiddish press. There had been an explosion yesterday at breakfast, last night at supper, and this morning again at breakfast. Danny was not to see me, talk to me, listen to me, be found within four feet of me. My father and I had been excommunicated from the Saunders family. If Reb Saunders even once heard of Danny being anywhere in my presence, he would remove him immediately from the college and send him to an out-of-town yeshiva for his rabbinic ordination. There would be no college education, no bachelor’s degree, nothing, just a rabbinic ordination. If we tried meeting in secret, Reb Saunders would find out about it. My father’s speech had done it. Reb Saunders didn’t mind his son reading forbidden books, but never would he let his son be the friend of the son of a man who was advocating the establishment of a secular Jewish state run by Jewish goyim. It was even dangerous for Danny to meet me in the bathroom, but he had to tell me.

I went to bed early that night but lay awake a long time, trying to remember all the things Danny and I had done together since the Sunday afternoon his ball had struck me in the eye.

For the rest of that semester, Danny and I ate in the same lunch· room, attended the same classes, studied in the same school synagogue, and often rode in the same trolley car – and never said a single word to each other. Our eyes met frequently, but our lips exchanged nothing. I lost all direct contact with him. It was an agony to sit in the same class with him, to pass him in the hallway, to see him in a trolley, to come in and out of the school building with him – and not say a word. I grew to hate Reb Saunders with a venomous passion that frightened me at times, and I consoled myself with wild fantasies of what I would do to him if he ever fell into my hands.

I wondered often during those months whether Danny was also going through these same dreadful experiences.

I saw him frequently. He seemed to be losing weight, and noticed he was wearing different eyeglasses. But he was very carefully avoiding me, and I knew enough to stay away from him. I didn’t want word to get back to his father that we had been seen together.

It was an ugly time and it began to affect my schoolwork to a point where some of my college teachers called me into their offices and wanted to know what was happening, they expected better from me than they were receiving. I made vague allusions to personal problems and went away from them cold with despair.

In the second week of September, I returned to school for the pre-registration student assembly and found myself sitting in the auditorium a few seats away from Danny. He looked thin and pale, and constantly blinked his eyes. During the registrar’s brief words of instruction concerning registration procedure, I saw Danny turn his head, stare at me for a moment, then turn slowly away. His face had remained expressionless; he hadn’t even nodded a greeting. I sat very still, listening to the registrar, and felt myself get angry. To hell with you, Danny Saunders, I thought. You could at least show you know I’m alive. To hell with you and your fanatic father. I became so completely absorbed in my anger that I stopped listening to the instructions. I had to ask one of my classmates to repeat them to me after the assembly. To hell with you, Danny Saunders, I kept saying to myself all that day. I can live without your beard and earlocks with no trouble at all. You’re not the center of the world… To hell with you and your damn silence. By the time the fall semester officially began two days later, I had promised myself to forget Danny as quickly as possible. I wasn’t going to let him ruin another semester’s work. One more report card like the one I had shown my father at the end of June and I wouldn’t even be graduated cum laude. To hell with you, Danny Saunders, I kept saying to myself. You could at least have nodded.

But it proved to be a good deal more difficult to forget him than I had anticipated. Danny’s presence was always felt.

My father suffered a [] heart attack on the first day of [] break.

My classmates had all heard the news by the time the semester began, but their words of consolation didn’t help very much. The look on Danny’s face, though, when I saw him for the first time, helped a little. He passed me in the hallway, his face a suffering mask of pain and compassion. I thought for a moment he would speak to me, but he didn’t. Instead, he brushed against me and managed to touch my hand for a second. His touch and his eyes spoke the words that his lips couldn’t.

One day in the late spring of that year, while I was eating lunch, Danny came over to my table, smiled hesitantly, sat down, and asked me to give him a hand with his experimental psychology; he was having difficulty setting up a graph for a formula involving variables.

I felt a little shiver hearing his voice. 'Welcome back to the land of the living,’ I said, staring up at him and feeling my heart turn over. It had been over two years now that we hadn’t talked to each other.

'The ban has been lifted,’ he said simply. He looked at me, his eyes sad. 'My wife has been chosen for me.’ he said quietly.

I gaped at him.

‘It’s an old Hasidic custom, remember?’

'It never occurred to me,’ I said, shocked.

He nodded soberly. 'That’s another reason it won’t be so easy to break out of the trap. It doesn’t only involve my own family.”

I didn’t know what to say. There was a long, uncomfortable silence. His eyes mirrored what his voice concealed.

Danny came over to our apartment that night, and I took him into my father’s study. My father came quickly around from behind his desk and shook Danny’s hand. 'I have not seen you in such a long time,’ he said, smiling warmly. 'It is good to see you again, Danny. Please sit down.’ My father did not sit behind the desk. He sat next to us on the kitchen chair he had asked me earlier to bring into the study. 'Do not be angry at Reuven for telling me,’ he said quietly to Danny. 'I have had practice with keeping secrets.’

Danny smiled nervously.

'You will tell your father on the day of your ordination?’

Danny nodded.

'There is a girl involved?’

Danny nodded again, giving me a momentary glance.

'You will refuse to marry this girl?’

“Yes.’

“And your father will have to explain to her parents and to his followers.’

Danny was silent, his face tight.

My father sighed softly. 'It will be a very uncomfortable situation. For you and for your father. You are determined not to take your father’s place?’

'Yes,’ Danny said.

'Then you must know exactly what you will tell him. Think carefully of what you will say. Think what your father’s questions will be. Think what he will be most concerned about after he hears of your decision. Do you understand me, Danny?’

Danny nodded slowly.

On the afternoon of the first day of Passover, I went slowly up the wide stone staircase of Danny’s house and through the wooden double door of the entrance. The hall way was dim and cold. The synagogue door stood open. I peered inside. Its emptiness whispered echoes at me: mistakes, gematriya, Talmud quizes, and Reb Saunders staring at my left eye.

Reb Saunders looked at me and smiled feebly, nodding his head. 'My son, my Daniel, has [] become a man. It is a great joy for a father to see his son suddenly a man … My Daniel will receive his smicha in June,’ he said quietly. Then he added, 'In June… Yes… His smicha… Yes…’ The words trailed off, aimless, disconnected, and hung in the air for a long moment of tight silence. 'Nu,’ he said, speaking softly, so softly I could barely hear him, “in June my Daniel and his good friend begin to go different ways. They are men, not children, and men go different ways. You will go one way, Reuven. And my son, my Daniel, he will – he will go another way.’

I saw Danny’s mouth fall open. His body gave a single convulsive shudder. Different ways, I thought. Different ways. Then he –

'I know,’ Reb Saunders murmured, as if he were reading my mind. 'I have known it for a long time.’ Danny let out a soft, half-choked, trembling moan. Reb Saunders did not look at him. He had not once looked at him. He was talking to Danny through me.

Reb Saunders stopped and looked slowly over at his son. Danny still sat with his hand over his eyes, his shoulders trembling. Reb Saunders looked at his son a long time. I had the feeling he was preparing himself for some gigantic effort, one that would completely drain what little strength he had left. Then he spoke his son’s name. There was silence. Reb Saunders spoke his son’s name again. Danny took his hand away from his eyes and looked at his father. 'Daniel,’ Reb Saunders said, speaking almost in a whisper, 'when you go away to study, you will shave off your beard and earlocks?’

Danny stared at his father. His eyes were wet. He nodded his head slowly.

Reb Saunders looked at him. 'You will remain an observer of the Commandments?’ he asked softly.

Danny nodded again.

Reb Saunders sat back slowly in his chair. And from his lips came a soft, tremulous sigh. He was silent for a moment, his eyes wide, dark, brooding, gazing upon his son. He nodded his head once, as if in final acknowledgement of his tortured victory.

'Today my Daniel is free… I must go… I am very tired… I must lie down. He walked heavily out of the room, his shoulders stooped, his face old and torn with pain.

The door closed with a soft click. Then I sat and listened to Danny cry. He held his face in his hands, and his sobs tore apart the silence of the room and racked his body. I went over to him and put my hand on his shoulder and felt him trembling and crying. And then I was crying too, crying with Danny, silently, for his pain and for the years of his suffering, knowing that I loved him, and not knowing whether I hated or loved the long, anguished years of his life. He cried for a long time.

We embraced and wept and kissed, and our tears mingled on our cheeks.

And we looked at each other in quiet wonder.

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