Isra-Isle. Nava Semel

one—a son, who became religious after traveling in the Far East.

      Dry facts: born, lived, will die soon.

      All the rest . . .

      Life in a capsule.

      JACKIE BRENDEL offers an alternative résumé: The missing man is the son of immigrants. Yearns for artistic expression. Possesses diplomatic skills. Ambitious. Seeks power. These milestones, she says, cannot be inscribed on any tombstone. She hands Lenox his suitcase.

      At the bottom of the résumé it says:

       Special identification markers: color-blindness.

      Where are you going? she asks.

      Jackie is already showered, dressed, and made up. No one in the North Tower will be able to guess where and how she spent the night.

      After a slight hesitation, Lenox picks up the suitcase and answers: Niagara Falls.

      SHE WALKS from Eighty-Seventh Street all the way to the World Trade Center. As she steps into the elevator, sweaty, her makeup smeared, she suddenly bursts into uncontrollable laughter. She’s never heard of someone inheriting a waterfall before.

      The other elevator riders shrug their shoulders and keep staring at the numbers hypnotically. When the elevator stops at her floor she is lost in thought and doesn’t get out, and when it lurches again, her blood pitches too and she has a dizzy spell. She waits for the next stop, on the eighty-sixth floor, and gets out. On a whim, she starts walking down the stairs, rolling her laughter down in the darkness.

      BEFORE LEAVING, he debated whether or not to take his gun. At first he put it in his belt, then moved it to a holster on his ankle. Eventually Jackie made the decision. Without saying a word, she took the gun and propped it among his bottles of Jack Daniels.

      The fear was gone, he noted. Only the sadness remained.

      BY THE time he gets to his car, he is furious at the Israeli.

      You piece of chicken shit! Defector. Emotionally infantile. Is that what they taught you in your celebrated army? In your Middle East bazaar politics? In the theater you so admire? You ducked behind the curtain so you wouldn’t have to face the audience spitting at you. You couldn’t leave a note on the fridge? A pithy voicemail? Sorry, I’ve gone out. I won’t be back.

      Trampling on bodies, that’s what you’re doing.

      That is the real résumé, summed up in three words.