Page 77 of The Little Liar

“I will return to you next year around this time,” the angel said, “and your wife will have a son.”

Sarah, inside the tent, overheard this and laughed. She said to herself, “After I am worn out and my husband is so old—now I will have this pleasure?”

Of course, talking to yourself in the presence of the Almighty is never really talking to yourself. The angel immediately asked Abraham, “Why did Sarah just laugh? Why did she say, ‘Will I really have a child?’ Can’t God do anything God chooses to do?”

Abraham called for his wife, who, when confronted, grew fearful and lied.

“I did not laugh,” Sarah said.

“You did laugh,” the angel replied.

Now. You may take from this anecdote that God does not put up with deceptions, even small ones.

On the other hand, when the angel repeated to Abraham what Sarah had said, you’ll notice he left out the part about Abraham being too old to father a child. He skipped right over it, rather than insult the husband and cause a rift between the couple.

So you might conclude that angels lie, too.

I see the story differently. To keep harmony, there are things you might not say, even if you know them to be accurate. It is, technically, an act of deceit. It is also an act of love. The two are more connected than you think.

As we will soon see.

Postcards from the Past

Fannie entered the shop on East Twenty-Third Street. Hats covered every space—on hooks, on shelves, on mannequin heads. There were no other customers. Soft classical music was playing from a small speaker.

“Good afternoon,” a voice said, in accented English.

Fannie saw a middle-aged woman emerge from a back room. It was her. The actress. It had to be. She looked to be well into her fifties but still maintained a stark beauty. Her face was heavily made up, her eye shadow a deep blue, her lipstick the color of grapes. Her dark hair was puffed high in the style of the day.

“Jó napot,” Fannie said in Hungarian.

The woman’s eyes shot straight at Fannie’s, so piercing it made her shiver.

“Who are you?”

“Please. I need to ask you something.”

“Do you want a hat?”

“No.”

“Then I can’t be of service.”

The woman turned toward the back room.

“Wait!” Fannie blurted out. “On the banks of the Danube in 1944, there was a group of Jewish people about to be killed. They say you were there. And there was a boy, dressed like a German officer. Please. Do you know who he is?”

The woman slowly turned.

“Who are you with?”

“Nobody.”

“Who are youwith?”

Fannie shook her head. She felt dizzy. She grabbed a shelf to steady herself.

“Nobody. I’m with nobody. I don’t have... anybody left.”