The gray mist seemed to part. I took a deep breath. I could feel cold sweat running down my back. “Are you angry at me, Reuven?” I shook my head. “I did not want to sound morbid. I only wanted to tell you that I am doing things I consider very important now. If I could not do these things, my life would have no value. Merely to live, merely to exist—what sense is there to it? A fly also lives.” I didn’t say anything. The mist was gone now. I found the palms of my hands were cold with sweat. “I am sorry,” my father said quietly. “I can see I upset you.”
