She looked around. If anyone passed by, she was safe, for Papa would not hit her too hard in front of others

The horses lead them into town, captive on their backs. People turn to stare, and Eliyahu wishes he was no more than a shadow.

They are staring at the horses, surely. Most of the townsmen do not have horses, but donkeys. A horse needs a stable, it needs grain — oats or dried barley. It needs a groomsman to pull a comb through its steaming coat and brush out its mane, and Tzfat is a place where every penny is used either to buy food or to pay for a teacher to guide you through the holy books.

“We are quite a sight, are we not, with our dirty rags and our long hair?” Yannai turns to him and says with a chuckle.

Ah. He blinks and looks down, picks up his robe and examines it. Not only is it threadbare, it is stained, with patches of green and brown. Though he washes it every Thursday, so it should be clean and fresh for the Shabbat.

“It is long since I have seen myself through a stranger’s eyes,” he says.

They trot onward and then Yannai suddenly points.

“It is here, it is here.” He bounces up and down on the saddle, face alight.

They stop outside Yannai’s house, and Eliyahu helps him dismount. Yannai shakes off Eliyahu’s arm and takes a stride forward, only to sway and lurch forward. Eliyahu is there, by his side, and Yannai leans heavily upon him. Eliyahu pushes open the door of the courtyard and, breathless from the effort, they cross the square and stand outside a sky-blue door.

“Now, should I go first, and break it to them gently?” Eliyahu asks.