I can hear her letting out a a sigh.
“Oh, Isaac,” she sighs. “What will I do without you?”
She must be extremely sorry to let him go, for her sadness seems as pressing and as urgent as her need for a proper will.
At first, my father is unmoved. “Oh, Becky,” he says. “Don’t start.”
“Without you, I will be lost.”
“Please, not that again.”
Her voice trembles a little as she carries on, “Please, Isaac: What will become of me?”
“You have two sons—”
“Neither one of them will be here to help me, in my hour of need.”
This gives him pause; after which he says, “What about that gift I gave you, long ago, that goatskin coat; do you still have it?”
“Why,” she says, and I know she is a bit startled. “But of course—”
“You never wear it. I was just wondering.”
“It has a sleeve that needs mending.”
“So then, in your hour of need, just put it on the auction block,” he suggests, half-seriously. “It will fetch a small fortune!”
“Talking about a small fortune,” she counters, “what about your little trunk, full of gold coins?”
“Being of a sound body and mind,” he says, “I spend it all.”
“On what, in heaven’s name?”
“What! On what, Becky? Here I go, heaping all those bracelets, all those nose rings on one woman, and one woman alone, only to find out, in the end, the real extent of her gratitude!”
This is my charcoal on paper drawing of Rebecca, strong-willed and eager to get what she wants.
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