Saving Elijah

beat-up from so much attention. I'd made a mental note to replace Miss Stanakowski's copy.
    "Dinah," Sam said, standing in the doorway, "he's going to get a complex if you don't stop hovering over him this way."
    "Shhh. Don't wake him." I got to my feet and pushed past him.
    "Dinah?" He started to follow me.
    I waved him off. "Leave me alone."

    *    *    *

    That night, I was pretending to read in bed, while Sam got undressed and got in beside me, wearing only his pajama bottoms. "I'm sorry about this morning, Di."
    I put my book down on the night table. "It's okay, Sam." I turned off the light and rolled over on my side, away from him.
    Sam nestled in closer, spooning me. He wanted to make love.
    How could I when that damnable thing could show up anywhere, anytime?
    Sam was kissing my neck. I had always loved it when he did that.
    "Wait," he said softly, then grabbed the pack of matches we keep by the bed and lit our scented candles. Sweet incense, the smell of vanilla, filled the air. I turned to him, and for a time I allowed myself the familiar comfort of my husband's body.
    After Sam had fallen asleep, the demon appeared in a flicker of many candlelights, a halo of golden fire. I saw it crouched in a corner of the bedroom, I saw its bright white body bowed like a crescent moon. It gazed at me with two eyes as dead as black granite, as immutable as primordial stone, a fossil that once lived many aeons ago but could never live again. And sang:

    The lady weeps tears of glass,
stone tears.
The lady weeps snakes.
The lady betrays.

    The dog, curled up in the opposite corner, looked up and yawned, then went back to sleep.
    "Betrays?" I said.
    "The lady is mine," it sang. Then it disappeared with a breath of chill winter wind. And when I finally slept, I dreamed I was looking for Elijah.

    *    *    *

    In the dream, I am walking down Main Street, behind a couple in front holding the hand of a five- or six-year-old boy with hair the color of a robin's breast. I have to get a look at the child's face, see that face and compare it to Elijah's. Only then can I say to myself, No, this face is thinner, this boy's eyes are brown, not blue, this one doesn't have Elijah's dimples or the cleft in his chin just like Sam's. None of the little boys I see compare. None of them are my son.
    But this boy does resemble Elijah. He even wears glasses.
    "Look," I say, pulling a picture of Elijah out of my purse. "Oh, look, your son looks just like mine. Do you see the resemblance to this picture of my dead son, or is it my imagination?"
    The couple stare at me, their jaws dropping. I seek out the white-lipped stare in my grief, I want everyone, anyone, to share my ruination.
    I shove the photograph in their faces. "Look! Don't you see the resemblance?"

    *    *    *

    "Dinah?"
    Sam was shaking me. I looked at the clock: 6:30 a.m.
    "Dinah, you were saying something in your sleep. Something about a picture."
    I sat up. "I had a dream that I had this photograph, and I was showing it to this couple on the street. And I kept insisting that their son looked just like my dead son."
    Sam stared at me. "God, Dinah. Why would you dream about that? It's awful."
    I wanted to tell him then, but I was afraid. Afraid he wouldn't believe me, afraid he'd think I was insane, afraid of what the demon would do.
    "I can't help my dreams, Sam."
    "No. I guess you can't. But, honey? Maybe you should see a psychologist yourself."
    I started to cry.
    He put his arm on my back. "I mean because you're so tense all the time. Wound up as tight as a drum. Is it me? Am I doing something to upset you?"
    "Oh, aren't we Mr. Sensitivity," the demon said. It was at the foot of the bed.
    I tried to avert my eyes, to look only at Sam. "It's not you, Sam. I guess I'm terrified that Elijah isn't all right, that this isn't over, I'm afraid something will happen to Alex, that Kate's going to get in an accident when she learns to drive this summer, I'm just afraid."
    "But they're fine. And Elijah's better than fine, he's better than he ever was. You know what he said to me yesterday? He said he could see God. Have you been talking to him about God?"
    "No. Have you?"
    He shook his head.
    "So what did you tell him?"
    "I told him we can't see God. He said, 'Yes, you can. If you close your eyes and listen.'"
    "Listen?"
    "Maybe we should take the little guy to a church, if he's interested." He hopped out of bed, grabbed his robe and tied the sash. "Or a synagogue."
    "If he