You know, young lady, in my religion, we believe in angels.

It's time for your medication, Mr. Stake.

Ah, mister. I haven't been called mister since I was a young man. I'm a rabbi.

She turned to look at him, her moist brown eyes the same color as her rich dark skin. Really.

Yes? What?

Rabbi Stake.

Yes. Can't I be called Rabbi Stake? Is that so weird that a person cannot say it? Am I some kind of weird person for having this name?

No, of course not, Rabbi. She handed to him a cup with pills, a cup with water.

The rabbi swallowed them, gritting his teeth on the cold water. The taste of damp iron. You have a soft smile, young lady. You like my name? A cough rose in his chest, arching his back a little, settled without making a sound.

I like your name.

When I leave, I will tell them you are an angel. No woman is allowed to touch men such as myself. He looked past her, through the window at a building, covered with soot and too close. Except my wife of course.

Are you proposing to me, Rabbi?

He raised his eyebrows, smiled through his nose. No, I already had a wife once. She died four years ago. He shrugged, tilted his head to the side. A good woman.

Her face gazed at him again. Such simple features. The round, deep eyes. The round, almost flat nose. The straight lines of her mouth, making one think of fundamental shapes. Her hair pulled back, making her face a heart shape. You'll be with her soon, Rabbi.

The rabbi set his jaw, tilted his head back. I am not afraid. God knows this. I am not afraid.

She put her hand on his. The cool comfortable touch. The gentle texture. The tender strength. God knows you are afraid, Jeremiah. But God will be brave for you.

The rabbi died.