"How do you plan to get to Tel Aviv?"

"By bus."

"By..." He didn't finish the sentence. He and Rona exchanged a stunned look. Both thought this another layer of my madness. The doctor squeezed his forehead, blew out air. "I understand," he said, though his tone expressed the exact opposite. "My shift just ended. I'll drive you to the bus station."

"I have to get my things from my hotel first," I said.

"All right. I'll drive you there and then to the station. At least I'll make sure you're fine part of the way."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me, Mr. Lapid. I'm doing this to appease my conscience. I'm not sure I'm doing the right thing by letting you leave."

"It's my decision, Doctor."

"I hope it won't be your funeral as well." He turned to Rona. "When he's ready, bring him to my office, okay?"

Then he was gone, and Rona was helping me out of my hospital clothes and into my own.

It wasn't easy. Each movement of my arms ignited a shooting pain in my chest. Rona worked silently, her attitude distant and sulky. I realized that I'd offended her by deciding to leave, by placing my well-being in jeopardy.

I apologized for distressing her. "You're terrific, Rona. This has nothing to do with you or anyone at the hospital."

She smiled a little. "Thank you for saying that."

She handed me my wallet. The money was all there. As was something else. A scrap of paper had been tucked into the bill compartment. It was a newspaper clipping detailing the government's triumph in the Knesset. Kulaski rubbing it in all the way to the bone. Clenching my teeth, I crumpled the clipping into a tight ball.

"Is everything all right, Adam?" Rona asked.

"Yes. Everything's fine. Just throw this away for me, will you?"

Returning my wallet to my pocket, I realized something was missing. My hotel room key. I asked Rona about it.

"It wasn't on you when you got here," she said, looking anxious. "You think the robbers took it? Should we call the police?"

"No. That won't be necessary. I'll call them if anything's missing from my room. Let's go."

Each step proved a challenge. I was lightheaded, unsteady, and I hurt. Rona gave me her arm, and together we covered the short distance to the doctor's office in what must have been five times what it normally took.

The doctor looked up from his desk. He took in my appearance. "Are you sure about this, Mr. Lapid?"

"Yes. I'm sure."

He sighed. "So be it. I'm sorry about your clothes. We assumed someone would bring you fresh ones."

The state of my clothes corresponded with my own. Wrinkled, torn, streaked with dirt from the street where I was beaten, both they and I looked ready for the trash heap.

"They'll do until I get home," I said.

The doctor nodded. He scribbled something on a piece of paper, then shrugged into his coat and picked up his briefcase. "Ready?"

"Yes."

The doctor looked at me for two more seconds, then shook his head and said, "All right. Let's go."

We bid Rona goodbye and headed out. It was slow and hard going. To his credit, Dr. Aboulker did not try to use my debility to persuade me to change my mind.

He had a small mud-green Fiat. The front seat would have been difficult to squeeze into under normal circumstances. I had to clench my teeth to keep from crying out as I maneuvered my battered body inside.

He drove with calm assurance and stopped outside the hotel. He peered out the window and grimaced. "This is where you're staying?"

I nodded. "First class all the way."

He chuckled. "Which floor is your room?"

"Third. Listen, Doctor, I appreciate you doing this for me, but if you'd rather not wait while I get my things, I'll manage from here."

"What do you mean, wait? Shape you're in, you want to climb three floors? I'll hop inside and get your stuff."

"No. I'll do it."

"Come on, why not let me help you, Mr. Lapid?"

"You're helping plenty, Doctor, but I need to get my stuff by myself."

He gave me a look. He was a smart guy. He probably deduced that there was something in my room, in my things, that I didn't wish him to see. Maybe he thought I had dirty pictures strewn about the bed. Maybe he thought I had illicit drugs lying around. Or maybe he figured I had contraband I'd acquired on Israel's widespread black market. I didn't care what he thought. All I cared about was going into that room and seeing if the gun was still there.

Dr. Aboulker eyed me thoughtfully, seeming to consider his next words. He said, "Are you a criminal, Mr. Lapid?"

The question took me by surprise. He probably wouldn't have asked it if I hadn't been in such a dismal physical state. "No," I said.

"You decided to leave the hospital right after that police inspector talked to you."

"He was there to investigate my assault."

"Is that all he was there to do?"

"If I'm a criminal, why didn't he arrest me?"

"Maybe you're just a suspect at the moment."

"If I was, don't you think he would have warned you and the rest of the staff?"

He pondered this. It had started raining again. Fat drops splattered on the windshield, drummed on the roof.

After a minute, he said, "You don't have a hat or umbrella, and I don't have either to give you. You go out, you'll get wet."

"So would you."