I was putting lentil soup on the boil for our evening meal when Nesim said, “There’s a visitor at the door.” I replied, “Make sure the soup doesn’t burn,” handing him the spoon and giving it a couple of turns in the pot while holding his aged hand. If you don’t show them, they’ll stand there for hours idly holding the spoon in the pot.

When I saw Black at the door I felt nothing but pity for him. There was such an expression on his face I was afraid to ask what had happened.

“Don’t bother to come inside,” I said, “I’ll be out as soon as I change clothes.”

I donned the pink and yellow garments that I wear when I’m invited to Ramadan festivities, wealthy banquets and lengthy weddings, and took up my holiday satchel. “I’ll have my soup when I get back,” I said to poor Nesim.

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