Izak Birnberg, the hero of this wry, arresting tale, is sixty-one years old. But most people call him Joseph Brenner, and his girlfriend, Abi, calls him Jack-though she's not exactly his soul mate. If these naming conventions seem odd, they're not the only odd things about him. A former Israeli jet-fighter pilot, he has a passion for the Latin names of flowers. He married once, is now divorced, and expects no pity from those who know him well. It's late November.
He lives alone and prefers it that way. His apartment is cozy, and he keeps it organized. Abi lives nearby but vacations out of state for weeks at a time. They've never talked much about starting a family either; when she's around children, she refers to them as her "allergy," and this has never sat well with him.
Then he hears the elevator-no longer hushed in the background-as if it's the first time he's ever noticed that bizarre sound of metal and hydraulics merging with the restlessness of his own breath. And when the elevator stops at his floor and the door slides open. . .call him what you will, physically and emotionally scarred as he may be, his life is about to change profoundly.
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