Still With Me by Thierry Cohen

beading on his temples. An icy blast shook his arms and legs, his stomach and his back. He opened the little book and flipped through it, breathing heavily. He held it farther from his eyes and then brought it close again.
You bring frail mortals to the point of being crushed, then say, “People, repent!” For from your viewpoint, a thousand years are merely like yesterday or a night watch. When you sweep them away, they become like sleep; by morning they are like growing grass, growing and flowering in the morning, but by evening cut down and dried up .
    Jeremy felt a burning sensation in his stomach. Was it reading the words that was causing the pain? He wasbreathing hard. He wanted to get up, but his legs wouldn’t obey. The same feelings I had at the hospital .
    Jeremy’s eyelids felt heavy. He felt so tired that he had to lie down. But he was afraid to sleep. What would be waiting for him when he woke up? And what was the pain in his stomach? He started reading again.
The span of our life is seventy years, or if we are strong, eighty; yet at best it is toil and sorrow, over in a moment, and then we are gone. Who grasps the power of your anger and wrath to the degree that the fear due you should inspire? So teach us to count our days, so that we will become wise. Return, Adonai! How long must it go on? Take pity on your servants!
    The Book of Psalms fell from his hands, and he couldn’t pick it up again. His arms and legs went rigid. He heard Victoria in the kitchen. He tried to call to her, but no sound left his mouth. He heard a murmur and saw a gleam near the window, but he couldn’t turn his head. Jeremy was now completely paralyzed, drenched in sweat. Only his eyescould still move. He fought for air and struggled to stay awake for a few more seconds.
    Then he saw the old man—there, in front of the window. He was reciting the same prayer. The one for the dead. What was he doing here? Who was he? Jeremy had to warn Victoria—to tell her there was a madman in the apartment.
    Warn her!
    Warn her!
    He tried calling out, but there was no air left. He gasped for a few seconds before giving in to the night.

FOUR

    “Daddy, Daddy.” The child’s voice was soft but persistent. “Daddy, wake up.”
    Jeremy straightened his head slowly. Next to him a little boy whose enormous black eyes seemed to overwhelm the finer features of his face was sitting cross-legged on the bed. Chin resting in the palm of his hand, long black hair falling down the nape of his neck, he pouted at Jeremy.
    “Come on, wake up, Daddy. It’s time.”
    Jeremy let his head fall back on the pillow. He tried to organize his thoughts as to where—and when—he was. But the only images that came to mind were from his twenty-third birthday: the wonderful night with Victoria,his drunkenness, the Book of Psalms , and the old man. Fear mingled with fatigue swept over him.
    Not this again. I can’t do it anymore .
    “I’m hungry. I want my milk,” the little voice insisted.
    Jeremy didn’t respond. It’s happening again. This boy is calling me Daddy. He must be Thomas. That means I’ve landed a few years from my last memories. Three or four years .
    Jeremy heaved a sigh of despair. He was unable to think. He’d lost his will.
    Tired of waiting, the boy got up and left the room.
    Jeremy stayed in bed. He covered his eyes with his forearm, less to protect his eyes from the light than to escape from reality. Then he heard the sound of broken glass and shot up instinctively.
    He’d moved too fast. Dizziness overwhelmed him. He got out of bed, but his legs weren’t ready to support his weight. Eyes half closed, leaning on furniture, he walked in the direction of the noise.
    The boy was in the kitchen. Standing on a stool, he rummaged through the cupboard. He didn’t bother turning around. “I want my milk,” he said petulantly.
     
    Jeremy wondered what he was supposed to do. He was dumbstruck; he felt as though he lacked the authority or the