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‘Nissim never had any kids, but I was as close to him as a son. When I turned eighteen and was about to go into the army, he asked me to come see him. He sat up tall, with his full head of white hair and piercing blue eyes. He was eighty-three years old then. He took a little book out of his wallet. It was very tiny, very thin, its pages yellow with age.

‘I’ve carried this book in my pocket my entire life,’ he said to me. ‘It has special powers. It has taken care of me. I’m an old man now, and you will soon be a soldier. You need its protection more than I do. Take it and care for it well. Don’t ever part with it, because it will watch over you.’

‘I thanked him, gave him a kiss, and went home, thinking that it was all a lot of nonsense. When I got home, I found my mother in tears.

‘Uncle Nissim has had a heart attack.’

‘I rushed to the hospital. My uncle was unconscious. I gave the little book to my aunt, and she slipped it under his pillow. When he regained consciousness, he asked her to return it to me since he wouldn’t be needing it any longer. He died in the hospital.’

‘God, what a story!’ Kevin exclaimed.

‘Maybe it was just circumstance, or maybe he sensed that his time had come, but just in case I always carry the book with me. A year ago I was mountain climbing in Alaska. I had strayed from the trail and came to a dangerous overhang. The stone I was bracing myself on gave way, and I fell,