"Tammi, you're home?" I heard my mother's voice as if muffled. The door of my room opened, but I didn't have strength to stick even the tip of my nose out from under the blankets. I was afraid that the moment I did so I would again be gripped by those waves of chills and quaking, and the very thought horrified me. At present I felt warm. Very warm, too warm - but that was better than my previous suffering.

"What happened, Tammi?" my mother cried out. "You're here, in the bed?"

"Yes," I answered weakly, not even sure if my mother could hear me through the three layers of blanket. Apparently she did hear, for immediately I felt a cool hand - cool, at least, compared to mine - sliding gently under the covers and feeling my forehead. She quickly withdrew it and went out of the room. Before I could count to ten, she returned with a thermometer.

"I'm sorry, Tammi," she said softly, "You'll have to put your head out from under the blanket. I want to take your temperature. If I do it under the blanket it won't be accurate, because it will measure the temperature of the space between the blanket and the bed... besides, when you're completely covered the fever might go to your head, and that wouldn't be good at all..."

Slowly, bit by bit, I lowered the blanket, but only to my chin, and took the thermometer in my mouth. Mother stood by me silently and waited. After three minutes she took the thermometer out of my mouth and looked at it, and her face showed worry. "How do you feel?" she asked me.

"Better than before," I answered.

She didn't answer, and I couldn't understand her strange silence. "Do I have a fever?" I finally asked. I wasn't sure anymore. My mother's face was unexpressive.

At my question, a small, serious smile ruffled her lips. "Yes," she answered, "such a high temperature it's a wonder it didn't break the thermometer. Does anything hurt you?"

I began feeling the pains in my back once again, and said so. My head also felt heavy.

"The feeling of heavy-headedness is from the high fever," my mother explained. "As for the back pains - that's one of the symptoms of flu."

"What's my temperature?" I asked?

At first she tried to avoid giving me an answer. "What difference does it make?" she said, "It's really not important!" But in the end I managed to pry out of her that I had a temperature of 104! That was an all-time record-breaker in my life until now. No wonder I felt so bad.

The doctor was kind enough to come to the house to see me. "I see that you already have experience, Mrs. Har-el," she said with a heavy Russian accent. "Your diagnosis was correct. Tammi has the flu. She must stay in bed. No school for at least a week." All the same, she referred me to the clinic for a number of tests, "just to make sure everything is alright." She prescribed a couple of medicines for "our emergency case." I knew I wouldn't be touching them, since they were designed to bring down fever and relieve pain, things that it's best not to take medicine for. Then, wearing an expression of importance, she took leave of us.

When she had gone, I sighed with relief. My fever was still high, but it didn't disturb me as it had before. The turmoil in my body had subsided. I lay calmly on my back and stared at the ceiling. Light and dark spots danced gaily in front of me, leaping, swirling and hurting my eyes. I closed them, and suddenly my heart skipped a beat. Anat! What was happening with Anat? When would I be able to see her again? With my own ears I had heard the doctor say that I was contagious and my friends could not visit me until I was better. When would the fever go down? I wanted to see Anat! Had she come back to Jerusalem at all? And when I would see her - what would she have to tell me? Wordlessly I prayed for her father.

The next four days will always be a blur in my memory. I slept a lot, but it was not a restful sleep, for I would wake up from it only to feel even more strongly those terrible pains in my back. I couldn't lie down, couldn't sit up, and certainly couldn't stand. I was stuck in bed. Every two and a half minutes - maybe more often - I had to change to a different position, which always turned out to be not much better than the one before. I blessed sleep when it came, though the pains didn't stop even in my sleep.

On Shabbat night I began to feel much better - actually, the improvement had already been noticeable on Friday, when my mother suggested that I take a shower in honor of Shabbat. At first the idea frightened me, and I hesitated. But then I heard a critical voice within me say: "Really, why not?" As soon as I showed willingness to listen to that voice, I suddenly felt a current of energy that steadily - but rapidly! - spread through my tormented, sick limbs. All at once I said to myself: "Stop thinking you're sick! I'm healthy, healthy, healthy! I have strength - a lot of strength! And now I'm getting up to take a shower!" I gathered all the strength I didn't know I had, and suddenly sat up in bed. At first my head was spinning a little, but it quickly found its place - on my shoulders - and settled down. The next step was already easier. I got out of bed and walked around a little, at first in my own room, but afterwards going to to visit the boys in their room. "Tammi got up! Tammi got out of bed!" my brothers greeted me with cries of excited happiness. It was worth having been sick, just to hear them and see their joy...

After the shower I was already three-fourths well. On Shabbat night I sat at the table with the rest of the family, I had even insisted on getting dressed in my Shabbat clothes.

"Mother," I said during the Shabbat meal, "Have you heard anything from Anat?"

My mother's forehead wrinkled. "It's really strange!" she said. "She didn't phone at all... I think every one of your friends called, except for Anat."

My friends, who had been forbidden to visit me in person, had phoned all during the afternoons. Since I couldn't get out of bed, my mother had answered the phone. She had thanked each one for her wishes for a speedy recovery, and reassured them that my condition was not serious.

"And no one said anything about Anat?" "No one."

"That's good," I murmured. "It's a sign that the situation is not so terrible..." But maybe they were afraid to tell the truth? No one is happy to be a bearer of bad tidings... I shook off those thoughts and joined into the Shabbat songs.

The next day, Shabbat morning, Chagit came to visit me.

"I wanted to visit before," she apologized, "but your mother didn't allow me. She said you would probably feel better on Shabbat and I could visit you. I told the other girls, so it looks like you'll be having a lot of visitors." Chagit was still working in my parents store, and was very satisfied there. My parents, too, were very happy with her efficient help.

From Chagit I learned that Anat had not yet come back to school.

"Your desk looks strange without the two of you," she said. "Every teacher that came into the class threw a glance at your place and immediately asked: 'Where are Tammi and Anat?' They thought you were both absent for the same reason..."

I didn't tell anyone in the class about the accident. "Do you know why Anat went home?" I asked, trying to find out what, if anything, Chagit knew.

"Yes. Peninah phoned her house, and we found out that her father is sick. You knew about it, right?" She took it for granted that I was up-to-date on everything that happened with Anat.

Chagit, and the other girls, didn't know exactly what had happened. Anat hadn't given any details about her father's illness. I bit my lip and with a supreme effort held myself back from telling everything I knew. If Anat didn't want to give details, she must have her reasons.

Shabbat passed pleasantly. Only after having tasted the taste of sickness could I appreciate the blessing of health, I understand how much I had to thank the Holy One, Blessed is He, for every single minute that I was healthy.

Chagit told me the news of the class. Nothing special had happened, but it was pleasant to hear. All of a sudden, as we talked, I became aware that Chagit was very involved in the life of the class. That was something that could not have been said five months previously. Then she had sat off to the side, isolated from the other girls, trying to get attention through her antics. I smiled to myself.

"What made you smile suddenly?" Chagit wondered.

At first I felt uncomfortable, but in the end, after insistent requests on her part, I acquiesced and told her what had gone through my mind. She listened soberly to my words.

"You're right," she said in a quiet voice after I had finished. "I decided to turn over a new leaf... three people are responsible for the change: you, your mother, and Anat. I owe a debt of thanks to all three of you for the change that I've gone through... excuse me, to four, not three. The fourth is-my own splendiferous self!" She smiled mischievously. "After all, if it weren't for me and my will-power, I wouldn't have been able to change the former situation in the slightest."

I was glad to see that deep inside she was the same girl, gay and full of humor as always, but now these qualities had been turned in a positive direction.

"Anat was the one who put me on the right road," she went on thinking out loud. "Through your merit, because you were the only one who took a serious interest in me... who thought about me once in a while." She fell silent for a moment. "I'll never forget Anat's words, when she explained to me the importance of my being Jewish, a daughter of the Jewish people. Ever since that conversation, I'm filled with joy whenever I recall: 'I'm Jewish!' And that is not just a one-time event, it's a reality that continues every single minute. So there's no limit to the joy and satisfaction... and your mother - may she be well! - She helps and encourages me so much..."

"Anat is no ordinary girl," she said thoughtfully, changing the subject. "Just show me anyone else like her..."

I thought for a minute, and then declared: "There isn't anyone else!"

"It's very interesting. You must know everything about her," she said, studying me closely.

I couldn't lie to her. "Not everything, but a lot," I answered. I felt a little uncomfortable talking about my friend in her absence. What if Chagit should become curious and ask me what else I knew?

"Don't worry, I'm not going to ask any more," she reassured me, and changed the subject.

During that Shabbat other friends came to visit me - all the girls from the dorm, as well as those who lived near my house. When we saw that a respectable quorum of our class were at my house we decided - with my mother's permission - to have the Se'udah Shiishit meal together. We borrowed a few extra loaves of challah from neighbors, and my friends mobilized to set the table and serve the meal. As for me, they sat me in a place of honor and didn't allow me to lift a finger. I sat and watched them silently. As they sliced, chopped, set out, and garnished, they chattered and laughed gaily. In those moments, when all my good friends were with me, it bothered me very much that my one friend was missing - Anat.

The sun slowly descended, hiding itself behind the mountains. A slight, pleasant breeze ruffled the curtains and approached me, blowing on my cheek as if, wanting to wake me up and return me to life. Even stronger than the breeze were the shadows of evening, as they began to penetrate the room, I felt my heart fill with fierce longing for Anat's presence.

Right after my father recited Havdalah over a cup of wine, I went to the telephone. I felt that I had to call and find out what was happening with Anat! Before I could lift the phone, it rang. "Whoever that's for, try and make it short!" I proclaimed, "I have an urgent call to make." Then I picked up the phone and said "Hello?"

"Hello, Tammi."

"Anat! How did you know I was just picking up the telephone to call you?"

"I didn't know. How are you, Tammi? I understand you're feeling better."

"You knew I was sick?" I was surprised.

"Of course I knew! Our friends told me. That's why I didn't try calling; I knew anyway you wouldn't be answering the phone... especially since I didn't have good news to tell..."

"And what is the situation now, Anat?" I waited tensely for the answer.

"Thank G-d, there's been some improvement." She sighed. "That's why I called - to let you know. I thought you would be worrying."

Anat told me that her father had lain unconscious for five days in critical condition. The doctors said that his chances of regaining consciousness were slight. They were doubtful whether it was possible to save his life. Anat's mother was so hysterical that she, too, had to be hospitalized. Elitzur's family were constantly at his bedside. Anat, too, spent most of her time in the hospital-and I had thought I was suffering greatly when I was sick... Anat undoubtedly had suffered much more than I had, even though she herself was perfectly healthy.

"On Shabbat morning my father came to," Anat told me the good news. "He is very weak, but managed to talk a little. He remembers that he was driving to pick up my mother at the airport, and that he was very excited. He made a right turn, and that's where his memory ends. Apparently he didn't notice a delivery truck that was just coming around the corner, and it ran into him-we hope he'll recover quickly now that he has regained consciousness."

I wholeheartedly seconded the hope. "When will I see you, Anat?" I asked.

"It looks like I'll be coming to school tomorrow," she replied, "but as soon as school's over I'll go home. Until my father recovers, or at least improves significantly, I won't be living in the dorm. I'll be travelling back and forth every day."

"Too bad," I said. "I won't be able to see you tomorrow. I don't think the doctor will let me go back to school yet. There's no comparison between how I feel now and how I felt before, but I'm still not completely recovered. I've still got a little fever..."

We both were silent.

"It's not so terrible, Anat." I overcame my feelings and pretended to be cheerful, since I didn't want to make her feel bad. "I'll try to get better as fast as I can, and you - don't you worry about me... don't feel bad that you can't visit me. For sure you father is more important than me and takes precedence..." I abruptly finished talking, because I didn't know at what point my voice might betray me - even though I knew what I was saying was true, and meant it sincerely.

"Even if you hadn't said it, I have no other choice." Anat's tone was quiet and deliberate. "In any case, I'm glad you feel as I do."

At 9:30 Wednesday morning I heard a light knock on the door. My parents were at work and my brothers at school, so I was alone in the house. The doctor had not yet given me permission to go back to school.

There at the door stood Anat.

"I decided to miss class today and come to visit you," she informed me. "We haven't seen each other for a long time."

I was very happy about the unexpected visit, but at the same time a little surprised. It wasn't like Anat to act like that... there must be some hidden reason why she had come to me instead of to class. I consoled myself that the reason would probably become evident almost immediately.

"When did you arrive?" I wanted to know.

"Just now. I came straight to you."

"It's really nice of you..."

The conversation began to sound too artificial to me.

"How is your father?" I asked after we had sat down.

"Thank G-d, the same. There's been no change for the worse, and although the situation is not extremely encouraging, it's not worrisome either."

"What do the doctors say?"
"They don't promise anything."

"With G-d's help your father will get well!" I said confidently. Boaz had recovered, and so had Chedvah's father... why should Anat's father be any different from them?

"G-d willing." And again she fell silent. Her mood seemed dark, strange.

I looked into Anat's eyes and said in a low voice: "Anat, you want to tell me something. Why are you hesitating?"

"It's hard for me. You're right that I want to tell you... I would have been surprised if you hadn't sensed it..." She took a deep breath and began. "Yesterday evening I visited my father in the hospital. No one was with him except me. I told you not long ago that since he had done teshuvah my father had begun to act strangely, especially when he saw me. Since he came out of his coma, I've seen him a number of times, and to my surprise he started acting towards me as he used to - with affection, with friendliness. The shadow disappeared from his eyes, and I thought that you had been right in your guess that he had been upset because of worry about the reunion with my mother. When he saw that his fears were not so justified, he calmed down...

"Yesterday evening I sat by him and we talked. I tried to turn his thoughts to happy subjects.

" 'When you get better. Father, we'll have a special party to give thanks to Hashem.'

" 'When I get better,' he murmured, echoing me. I ignored the dark overtones of his expression, and continued:

" 'After that we'll all go on a trip, the three of us, you and mother and I...'

" 'Where will we go?' He looked at me curiously.

" 'To America.' I talked in a rush, trying to sound natural. Perhaps because of the blow to his head, my father had forgotten many things - including our plans for the summer? 'At first,' I continued, 'the plan was that just Mother and I would go, since it wasn't possible for you to get any more leave from your work. But now I'm sure they'll let you have time off for your recovery... it will be much nicer to travel with you and Mother, the whole family together."

" 'Why do you want to go to America?' my father was interested to know. 'If I know my daughter, it seems to me that she's a lover of Eretz Israel!

" 'That's the truth,' I confirmed, 'But of course you remember...' I spoke cautiously. As I mentioned, we weren't sure yet whether he had completely regained his powers of recall, and I was afraid his self-confidence might be damaged if he discovered that his memory was betraying him. 'I'm sure you remember that I have something important to take care of there, in America...'

"He thought for a long moment, and suddenly his expression became disturbed, as if something was clouded for him... slowly the cloudiness cleared from his eyes and they gleamed strangely - as if a memory woke up that until now had been asleep within him. 'You're referring to Maggie...' he said very slowly, in a totally lifeless tone of voice.

" 'Yes, that's right, Father.' I tried to sound cheerful, not to show my fears at the worrisome signs. 'You don't object anymore to Maggie's coming to our house, right? You understand how important it is to save her and return her to the Jewish people...' I was confident that, now that my father had done teshuvah, he would feel the same as I did on this subject, and would be an enthusiastic partner in accomplishing the task I had taken upon myself.

"I was very astonished when I perceived that his reaction was completely different from what I had expected. He ignored my words, acting as if he hadn't heard, and it seemed to me that his thoughts were a-sail on distant seas, very far from mine... he answered my words in half sentences, with disconnected phrases... finally he asked me gently to leave the room, because he wanted to sleep... to show that he was sincere, he closed his eyes. Although I had no doubt that he didn't intend to sleep, I fulfilled his request and went out. Since his eyes were closed, he didn't see me go onto the enclosed balcony of his room. A heavy curtain separated the balcony from the room, and I stood concealed there. Evening had started to fall, against the darkening background my silhouette wasn't noticeable. I leaned against the railing and sank into thought. My heart beat wildly - I felt with undeniable certainty that my father was hiding something from me!

"My mother came into my father's room. I didn't see her, just heard her voice. My father answered her question, and that simply confirmed what I had already known - that he had no intention of sleeping when he asked me to leave the room. It was my presence that disturbed him! I began to cry in a low voice which could not be heard in the room. I tried to stop my tears, to quiet my stormy emotions, but without success. I decided to stay on the balcony until I calmed down - to avoid the cross-examination my parents would subject me to if they saw that I had been crying.

"At first my parents talked in an undertone, but gradually their voices rose and I could clearly hear their words - which were very surprising to me, and extremely painful.

" 'We must tell Anat,' my father argued in a weak voice. 'It's impossible to let the situation continue like this! Who knows what the future holds? She has to know the truth!'

" 'Under no circumstances!' my mother insisted adamantly. 'Do you want to make your daughter miserable?'

" 'Yes, she's my daughter! And I love her so much, my only daughter... oh!' My father's sigh broke my heart. I almost burst into the room, but suddenly heard him crying softly, and was riveted to my place, stunned. My father was weeping! It was the first time in my life I had heard him do that. What was the great secret that my mother was hiding from me, and that caused my father such intense emotions?

"After a few minutes he calmed down, and I again heard his voice, which trembled somewhat.

" 'Jenny... if I'm forced to, I'll do it... I'll tell Anat myself... but you should know that it will harm me and hasten my end.'

"At that point my mother began to cry. 'I can't... no... how could I tell her? She'll be so miserable!'

"Silence again prevailed, and then it seemed that my father reached a decision. He said in a relatively calm and quiet voice:

" 'I feel. Jenny, that I don't have much more time to live. It's true the doctors say my condition has improved, but I sense that my days are numbered. No, don't cry. It's better for you that way. You know what I'm talking about. We wouldn't be able to go on living together once I returned to the way in which I was brought up in my youth... and it's better for me, too. Maybe in this way I'll atone for my many sins. It's only Anat who gives me no peace... but I'll see to it that the matter is taken care of, and she will know everything!'

"My weeping burst out uncontrollably. How could my father talk that way, and just when we thought his condition was improving...

"Very quietly I opened the door that connected the balcony of his room to the balcony of the adjoining room. In this way I slipped from balcony to balcony, until I reached the first one in the row. My eyes were clouded with tears. I stared at the floor so as not to attract attention, but that made it hard for me to see the people who passed me in the corridor, and I kept bumping into them... I mumbled 'Pardon me,' apologizing in all directions. People looked at me pityingly. Who knows what they thought on seeing a weeping girl walking through the hospital corridor. Outside, I hailed a taxi, which took me straight home. There I closed myself in my room, in my bed, hid my face under the pillow and... you can picture to yourself what I went through..." Anat looked at me dry-eyed. Could it be that she had cried so much that the wellspring of her tears had dried up? I nodded my head sympathetically.

"When, late in the evening, my mother came up to my room and called my name, I didn't answer. I pretended to be asleep. She went out. Only towards dawn did I fall asleep. I'm so confused, and tired, and upset, and even... frightened! And the worst of it is that I can't ask anyone. I heard with my own ears those terrible words of my father - that by telling me, he would hasten his end. And I can't ask my mother, either. For one thing, she doesn't want me to know the secret, and she's so sad and worried, fearing for Father. What should I do, Tammi? I don't know where to turn! I can't concentrate on anything! I couldn't go to school today. There's a geography test, as I'm sure you know, but how can I take a test when my thoughts are wandering completely elsewhere? So I came to you."

I was in a very frustating position. I wanted to help Anat, but had no idea how. Her problem was too heavy for me, altogether beyond my control. More than that - it was way beyond my comprehension. We were confronted - Anat and I - with a mystery that we had to try to solve ourselves, with our own resources, without turning to those who had the ability to clear it up for us.

Anat released me from my predicament.

"Don't think, Tammi, that I expect you to solve my problem for me. I realize that you don't know any better than I where to turn. The meaning of all this will become clear only with time, when my parents decide to tell me. But in the meantime, it's so hard for me! It's good that I have a friend with whom I can share what I'm going through. If I were alone, I wouldn't be able to stand the psychological strain."

"Altogether, Anat" - the words slipped out of my mouth without preparation - "lately you're so different from the Anat I knew at the beginning of the year... when I met you, you were a calm, quiet girl, everything you did was deliberate, settled, balanced and well-considered... sometimes I even thought you were too cool and indifferent... and suddenly you've changed so much!"

Anat trembled a little. "I know, Tammi," she whispered in an agonized voice, "and that change worries me. I don't know what's happened to me... ever since that day when I found out that I have a sister - Maggie - whose existence my parents had hidden from me... I think that at that point I began to lose my trust in them. And that fact has shaken my psychological condition... I've become more suspicious, seeing everything as if through a magnifying glass. Something is storming inside me, inside, anything out of the ordinary that happens makes me tense and nervous. I'm always wound up tight and ready to spring, like someone before battle. All my mental and emotional powers are primed and on alert as if... as if something terrible is about to happen! I'm afraid..." Her voice became almost inaudible, as if she was unwilling for her own ears to hear such terrible words. "I'm afraid that unless the situation changes, I could have a nervous breakdown!"

I wanted to say, "Don't talk nonesense, Anat. Things like that don't happen to little girls." But I didn't say it. Without replying, I got up, went to the cupboard, and took the two mandolins from their places, mine and Anat's. She preferred to keep her mandolin at my house, since we always played together, and usually in my room.

A sad smile - but a smile! - somewhat lit up Anat's face.

"It will be hard for me to get into the mood," she said, "but when I begin to play, that will be the best medicine for me... thank you, Tammi."

She held the mandolin in both hands, tuning it with slow movements. With a distracted expression in her eyes she passed her fingers over the strings, which gave out hoarse, broken, fragmented sounds.

"I just wanted to tell you, Tammi," she said, looking into my eyes, "I've thought about this a lot... I'm sure you remember, when the history teacher refused to postpone my test... we were both very angry with her... I said to you then that it wasn't the teacher who refused me, it was the Holy One, Blessed is He, Who put the words into her mouth. I also said then, that it was difficult to perceive what was good about it..." She was in a very intense emotional state, taking short, rapid breaths. "Just imagine, Tammi, if I had received that longed-for permission to miss the test and had been driving with my father to the airport..."

The very idea made me shudder. Why hadn't I thought of that? It was the hand of Providence that had prevented Anat from going-probably it had saved her life.

"The heavens are watching over you, Anat." I hurried to take advantage of the moving revelation. "The Holy One, Blessed is He, is not going to let anything bad happen to you." I was referring to her earlier words about a nervous breakdown.

She smiled, apparently catching the allusion.

We played the mandolins together, singing quietly as well. I saw how Anat's countenance gradually became clear. Serenity and calm enveloped her. Her eyes became dreamy, her whole expression was like that of an infant with nothing to disturb its rest. Once again, as countless times before, I gave thanks to the Holy One, Blessed is He, for having created something that could calm Anat.

The days passed one after the other with no significant change. I recovered from my illness and returned to school. Anat's father remained bed-ridden. His condition did not show improvement, but neither did it get worse. He was released from the hospital and taken to his home, where he remained under constant medical supervision. We continued praying for his recovery and hoping for the best. Anat came to school every day. On some days, she went home immediately after school, on others, she slept at the dorm. On rare occasions, she stayed overnight at my house. The teachers understood her situation and were not overly strict with her. To Anat's credit, it must be said that she did not try to take advantage of the teachers consideration to her. She studied more or less as usual, doing homework and taking tests. It was not for nothing that the teachers trusted her, relating to her differently from how they treated any other girl. They had come to know her, and realized that Anat would not make use of her special privileges except when there was no choice.

During these days, except for the infrequent times when Anat stayed at my house, I was hardly ever alone with her. During the breaks, at least half the class would crowd around her, asking how her father was, probing, inquiring, encouraging, reassuring - and so it went until the bell would ring for the next lesson.

Chedvah, Peninah, and Chagit in particular formed ties with her. They never stirred from our desk. Chedvah, who not long ago had undergone a similar experience, felt it her duty to strengthen Anat's confidence that her father would indeed make a rapid recovery. She unfolded the story of the many years during which her own father had been blind, told about the situation of her family - especially dwelling on the description of her own feelings - and then went on to relate the incident of her father's fateful fall. In vivid language she painted before our eyes the shock that had overcome her family, the worry and sorrow that had befallen them during the days when her father lay unconscious. Her story reached its climax when she described - and this was the part she loved best to tell, and repeated it again and again - how her father had opened his eyes and asked Chedvah's mother innocently: "Who are those two girls standing next to you?"

"Your father will also get better, Anat!" Chedvah would declare enthusiastically, while the rest of the girls murmured their agreement.

Anat's reaction was restrained. Sometimes she would nod and say, "Yes," or "Certainly," or "With G-d's help" - and that was all. She, who knew the full gravity of her father's condition, could only hope for a miracle to restore him to health. The doctors, too, didn't try to conceal the fact that there was no improvement in the patient's condition, and that medical science could do nothing for him.

Chagit and Peninah did not talk much, but they tried in every way possible to ease Anat's burden. Almost silently, without realizing it, they competed with each other to help Anat. They hardly ever left her side, constantly on the lookout for some opportunity to encourage her. Such opportunities were rare, but Chagit and Peninah both still felt obligated to Anat - each in her own way. They tried in whatever way they could to repay her, if only in some small degree, for her kindness to them.

As for me, I knew that all this commotion around her only disturbed Anat. If anyone had asked her, she certainly would have replied that the biggest help they could give her would be to leave her to herself. There was no doubt that during these difficult days she needed her friends' encouragement and their demonstrations of affection - but she would have preferred that these be expressed in a more restrained manner.