time displays. On the wall is a wooden plaque with three clocks in three time zones—New York, London, Beijing— representing the major offi ces of another company he owns. All told, there are nine diff erent sources of time in his study. The phone rings. Finally. He answers. “Yes?” “I’m faxing something over.” “Good.” He hangs up. Grace enters. “Who was that?” He lies. “Something for tomorrow’s meetings.” “You have to go?” “Why not?” “I just thought—” She stops. She nods. She takes the plates to the kitchen. The fax machine rings, and Victor moves closer as the paper slides through. 15 Dor lay on the ground beside his wife. The stars took over the sky. It had been days since she had eaten. She was perspiring heavily, and he worried about her labored breathing. Please do not leave me, he thought. He could not bear a world without Alli. He realized how much he relied on her from morning until night. She was his only conversation. His only smile. She prepared their meager food and always off ered it to him fi rst, even though he insisted she eat before he did. They leaned on each other at sunsets. Holding her as they slept felt like his last connection to humanity. He had his time measures and he had her. That was his life. For as long as he could remember, it had been that way, Dor and Alli, even as children. “I do not want to die,” she whispered. “You will not die.” “I want to be with you.” “You are.” She coughed up blood. He wiped it away. “Dor?” “My love?” “Ask the gods for help.” Dor did as she asked. He stayed up all night. He prayed in a way he had never prayed before. In the past, his faith was in measures and numbers. But now he begged the most high gods—the ones that ruled over the sun and moon—to stop everything, to keep the world dark, to let his water clock overfl ow. If this would happen, then Dor would have time to fi nd the Asu who could cure his beloved. He swayed back and forth. He repeated a whisper, “Please, please, please, please, please …,” squeezing his eyes shut because it somehow made the words more pure. But when he allowed his eyelids the slightest lift, he saw what he dreaded, the fi rst change of colors on the horizon. He saw the bowl was nearly to the notch of day. He saw that his measures were accurate, and he hated that they were accurate and he cursed his knowledge and the gods who had let him down.
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