He shakes his head.
“You wanted me to remember. Tell me.”
“You won’t understand.”
My throat feels so thick, I can barely get the words out. “I killed her.”
“Tanechka.”
“Get away from me!” I spring up and begin to run, feet sinking into the soft sand, frantic, pumping my arms, trying to go faster, faster, to outrun everything. I hear him panting behind me. He grabs me from behind and I plant myself, use his momentum to throw him over my shoulder, then I pivot the other way, sand spraying.
Again he comes after me and this time he tackles me, bringing us both down. He rolls, taking the impact with his big body, holding me tightly.
I gasp for my breath as he flips us, him over me now.
“I killed her.”
The weight of him presses me into the soft sand, cool and rough on my cheek. “Shhh,” he says, “you’re okay.”
“I’m not okay.”
“You just need to remember who you are. You need to be yourself again.”
“I’d rather die.”
He holds me tight, crushing me with the violence of his emotion. “I won’t let you. Not again.”
“I killed a person.” The knowledge is a wound inside. There’s something warm in my chest, growing so fast I think it might break my ribs. I’m gasping for air, and suddenly the thing in me breaks and I’m sobbing—huge, heaving sobs.
He holds me, strokes my hair. “Shh.”
“How can God forgive a person like me?”
“Tanechka.” He strokes my hair.
I try to push him away, but he won’t let go. I sob in his hateful arms. “I’m unforgivable.”
“Never, lisichka. You’re brave. You’re beautiful.”
I sob quietly, bereft.
“I wish I could take this pain from you.” He gasps his words into my hair, clutching me to his breast. “I would die for you a million times.”
“No. It’s right that I suffer.”
“No, Tanechka.”
“I feel like I’m moving so far beyond God’s love. So far. Even when I wandered the wilderness with no memory, I didn’t feel as lost as I do now. I’m truly in the cold now.”
“Let me warm you.”
“It’s right that I should have this agony. It is right that I should know the sweetness of God’s love only to have it taken from me.”
“Stop with the God stuff! Forget God! God forgot you. He abandoned you to hell before you could even walk. God doesn’t deserve you.”
“Get away from me!” I push him off. I don’t run this time; I walk back to the car. He’ll take me back to the flat. At least there I can be alone. I run my fingers over the familiar shape of my prayer rope, knot to knot, to the tassel at the end, representing the glory of the heavenly kingdom. He comes up beside me after a few minutes with our picnic basket.
“She was an assassin, you know. The woman you tracked through the ring. You saved lives by killing her.”
“It’s not for me to pass judgment, or to punish her.” I stand by the car. He’ll take me back to the flat. I’ll bide my time. As soon as I’m able, I’ll get away from this man. I’ll save the virgins. Then I’ll go home.
“She was a killer,” he says.
“You understand nothing.” I practically spit out the words.
“I understand you have a beautiful heart.”
Chapter Eleven
Lazarus
Tip of the day: When faking empathy, less is more.
A frown and a simple sentence, that’s all you need. At funerals, for example. The grieving wife or something. I’m so sorry for your loss. So sorry. Even if you laughed as you put a blade into the guy, you look his wife right in the eye and repeat as needed. I’m so sorry, truly sorry.
It’s helpful to think of it as a form of jazz, with variations on the basic riff.
Empathy is absolutely critical for a leader to have, according to my online executive coach Valerie Saint Marco, whom I’m inclined to believe. “If they feel you don’t understand them, they’ll lose respect.”
She thinks I’ve recently taken over an accounting firm.
Valerie often talks about mirroring people’s feelings back to them. “You may not be familiar with the frustrations of a help-desk clerk or a first-year hire, for example, but you can listen to their frustrations and mirror them back, showing you understand.”
That bit really helped me; faking empathy is easy, but it’s hard to know when to put the empathy in. Valerie’s way of taking cues is excellent. I’ve noticed that some people want you to do an immediate leap to empathy, but with others, it’s apparently more appropriate to go from anger to empathy along with them. You have to get that part right, or else they think your empathy is fake.
If people think you’re faking empathy, that’s worse than no empathy at all. Trust me on that.