Exiles in the Garden by Ward Just

next door after all.
    Hana went back to Israel, a kibbutz near the Sea of Galilee. She said Israel was where she felt safe. Leisl remained in Washington. She was gifted in languages and I believe she worked for the Israeli embassy. Maybe one of the other embassies, I don't remember. We lost track of her. Paul took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, the smoke curling into the night air. A year ago we heard some boys tried to hold her up. It was early evening, not far from here. One of the boys had a knife. Leisl handed them her purse, urging them to take it and not to hurt her. But the effort was too great for her. She dropped dead of a heart attack. The boys ran away and the purse was later found in a trash bin. All this was reported by a neighbor who saw it all from her living room window. The neighbor saw Leisl hand over the purse and drop to the ground. The boys never touched her. The neighbor believed she was frightened to death.
    Leisl was a gentle soul, Marie said. She always wanted to believe the best.
    I'm so sorry, Lucia said.
    The sisters were very close, Marie said, but as different as chalk from cheese. If Hana saw an abyss she'd spit into it. Leisl would say a prayer as she balanced on the edge of it.
    Paul said, Washington may not be vulgar but it is unspeakably violent. And not only on the streets.
    They were silent then, Paul pensively smoking and Marie and Lucia looking into the darkness. At last Paul reached for the champagne and poured the last of it into their glasses. He had fetched a bottle of Dom Perignon for their final evening together.
    We had hoped to see Alec tonight, Paul said.
    Working late, Lucia said.
    He likes his newspaper, doesn't he?
    He loves the office, Lucia said.
    A Washington dilemma, Paul said, and they all smiled. Leisl was still with them.
    I think he likes making photographs and the office is where they go to.
    At least he isn't chasing women, Paul said.
    No, he isn't chasing women.
    I think Alec is a little bored with us, Paul said. I don't blame him. Our milieu is most particular, not for everyone. A milieu of misfits.
    I hope everything is all right between you and Alec, Marie said.
    Oh, yes, Lucia said offhandedly, as if she were replying to a question about the weather.
    Good, Marie said. That's good.
    Let's hope we meet again very soon, Paul said.
    They walked her to the door, pausing to look again at the preposterous stag's head; it would fit in nicely at the ancestral
schloss
or whatever it was in Kleinwalsertal. They kissed goodbye at the door.
    Take care of yourself, Lucia, Paul said.
    She walked the few feet to her house, vaguely troubled by Paul's farewell. "Take care of yourself" was not an expression that came naturally to him. In her kitchen she found Alec watching the baseball game. He looked up in surprise when she told him that the d'Ans had sold their house and were returning to Europe. Alec said he was sorry to hear it. He knew how much their friendship had meant to Lucia. Your home away from home, he said, his eyes drifting back to the television set, an ugly argument on the field, catcalls from the bleachers. No more second-tier intellectuals, Alec added, and Lucia agreed with him: No more second-tier intellectuals. Alec was drinking a beer and she reached down for the glass and took a sip. She put her hand on his shoulder and kissed the top of his head, the place where the bald spot was. He didn't know it was there and she saw no reason to tell him. Premature, she thought, a premature bald spot, and there was nothing to be done about it. Wasn't prematurity always a lost cause? Alec was wearing his hair longer, sideburns that fell below his earlobes, a shaggy look she liked. He smelled of the darkroom and she liked that, too. Lucia stood quietly a moment, her hands on his shoulders and her chin touching his head, watching the argument on the field but thinking about her friends and how much she would miss them and their hospitality, the