He walked off, passed the All Saints Church, as he had done the previous evening tailing Martin. He felt weakened. He huddled in his coat and sped up, breathing into his hands. He wore a baseball cap to cover his yarmulke; to cover his Jewishness, to save himself from persecution. He stared ahead, not meeting any gaze. People were transparent lifeless objects blocking his way. He broke into a trot. He felt the wound on his arm from the intravenous needle. He swifted left into Dysnos, where a street light lit a sculpture of Dr. Stzemach Shabad, a Jewish hero of Vilnius lore, who stood with walking in-hand talking to a child, his smile obscured by a yellow neon swastika with a hypnotic glow.
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