Redemption by Howard Fast Page A

head on my chest, kissing me gently and asking for nothing more. That way, she fell asleep. My own sleeping was less successful, but eventually I dozed off and slept.
    In the morning I awakened about eight, and Liz was gone from the bed, and there were sounds and coffee smells from the kitchen. When I had showered and dressed and joined her, there was a royal breakfast of juice and cereal and eggs and yogurt and toast, and we sat over breakfast eating and talking until suddenly she realized that she had to go to work and dashed off with a hug and a kiss.
    For the next five weeks, we lived together. Bit by bit, she brought her clothes to my apartment, and finally a suitcase packed with what was left. We never discussed this arrangement; it happened because we both wanted it to happen. After a month, I persuaded her to give up her apartment and to have the bit of mail she received forwarded to my address. When Sarah was not there, Liz did the cooking. She was a good cook, and our life settled into the pattern of an old married couple, yet newly married enough for both of us to be delighted with each other. My son’s room became her room, and one day I bought her a gift of an easel and paper and pastel crayons, which delighted her.
    And I made love to her, hesitantly at first, and then with wonder and absolute delight. We learned each other, and I found that love and the ability to make love was not a matter of chronology. Oh, I had my guilt that this was something I had never known before, guilt about the age difference, guilt about the passion of her love for me, guilt about the sense that I was taking advantage of her. Liz took a brown paper bag and printed on it: THIS IS A GUILT RECEPTACLE. BREATHE INTO IT SLOWLY, FOUR TIMES. THEN CLOSE IT AND YOUR GUILTS WILL VANISH .
    As I watched the change in her—the awakening of a bright and lovely spirit—my own happiness responded. I tried to persuade her to give up her job, but she refused, declaring that she needed money of her own for the day when I tossed her back into the street—a bit of bitter humor that I did not take well. Weekends we explored the city on foot, went to the museums, to conceits, and to the theater. And once she said, “I’m so happy, Ike, that I’m frightened. I’m really terrified that this will end.”
    â€œAll things end, Liz—but not for a long time.”
    â€œWhat will I do if anything happens to you?”
    â€œNothing will happen to me. I’m as healthy as an ox.”
    She studied me for a long moment, her wide gray eyes fixed on my face, and then she said, “I take from you, Ike. What do I give you?”
    â€œLife,” I replied.
    â€œOh, come on. You gave it to me. You saved my life.”
    â€œIf I did save your life, my dear, I saved the life of a frightened, broken woman. I took you home with me because I didn’t know what else to do with you.”
    â€œAnd you were afraid I would kill myself, left alone. And then you gave me a home and protection and love. But what did I give you, Ike?”
    â€œI watched you unfold. I watched you come alive, and I found a wonderful woman, someone who loved me. I didn’t know what love was; it’s a cheap word that’s everywhere. I found someone who became a part of me, someone I could talk to about anything; and as you unfolded, I unfolded. Do you understand that, Liz?”
    â€œI think I do.”
    â€œEverything changed. I began to see things with your eyes, with a kind of innocence that I had always rejected.”
    â€œIke,” she whispered, “you’re not just saying that?”
    â€œBelieve me, Liz. I love you. Perhaps I have only a few years left, but if I can spend them with you—well, that’s enough. I’m very lucky. I would ask for no more than that. If you left me—”
    â€œI’ll never leave you, Ike.”
    I have a large library, a whole wall of the living room covered with