He opened them again after a few moments and said:—
“You!”
The nurse placed a chair for Mendel, and he sat down and said:—
“How are you feeling?”
“Pretty weak. I dreamed of your coming, but I didn’t really believe it. . . . I’ve done it, you know.”
“Yes.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’ve painted another portrait of my mother. A good one, this time. She is sitting in a wooden chair as she always sits, with her hands folded on her stomach. And I am planning a picture of a Jewish market, something bigger than I have attempted yet.”
“I see. Good—good. . . . We must work together. We can do it now.”
“Yes,” said Mendel, rather mystified. It was very strange to have Logan talking like that, as though he were going back to the first days of their friendship.