The bag sat there, mocking me. Here I am. Can you find me now? Open me up, c’mon, open me! Open me, Josh. See what’s inside.

Slowly, I walked to the table and picked up the velvet bag. Lighter than it looked. Shook it and heard a barely audible clicking. I wedged one finger into the opening, wiggling it to loosen the drawstring.

I held the bag with a trembling hand and tilted the contents into my other palm. A few diamonds tumbled out. Clear, cut, sparkling diamonds. I stared at them, tilting my hand back and forth to catch the light until a chilly draft distracted me. The piece of cardboard that had been taped to the broken windowpane by the kitchen door was hanging by a lone piece of tape.

Someone had broken in to return the diamonds. I put the diamonds back in the bag and pulled the drawstring closed. Set off to search the house to see if anything else was missing. Or if anything new had materialized.

Satisfied everything seemed normal—at least under the circumstances—I returned to the kitchen table with my booty. Got a dark colored dishtowel and spread it out. Then I dumped the contents of the jewelry bag onto it, spreading the diamonds with my fingers. There were dozens of stones, but I counted the entire lot, one-by-one. Twice. Exactly fifty.

I ran upstairs to get a magnifying glass and dashed back to the kitchen, not wanting to leave them alone for more than a few seconds. Now that I had them, I didn’t want to take any chances. I examined some at random. They all looked about the same size, not small but not gargantuan, and I couldn’t discern anything about the other 3 “c’s”—cut, clarity, or color. To me, they looked like diamonds.

I pawed over them for another hour and a half, concentrating on the natural beauty of the diamonds themselves and waiting for the adrenaline rush to subside. Now that I’d gotten over the one-two shocks of being assaulted and then finding the diamonds, I felt depleted. It was late and I was tired. And I didn’t have the energy to wrestle with the three-hundred-pound alligator that had crawled into my brain, asking the same question over and over: What the hell was going on?

___

I woke up the next morning, head resting on a lumpy pillow, not sure what was reality and what was the stuff of dreams. I reached under my pillow and pulled out the bag of diamonds. Question answered. Not the larger question, but at least I knew I wasn’t going crazy.

Thankfully, no knot had risen on my head where I’d been “juiced.” Just a little tender. And my elbow didn’t hurt at all. I’d been lucky and knew it, but I also knew relying on luck was a risky long-term strategy.

I dressed and checked to see if Kassian had returned. He hadn’t. I needed to track him down. To apologize for what I’d said and done to him, and to find out if he knew anything about the returned diamonds. I hoped he hadn’t fallen off the wagon again, and I felt like a total shit for lashing out at him like I had. I wonder if my father had felt this level of responsibility for the old guy, too.

I continued my new breakfast regimen of bran and bananas with skim milk. Maybe after a few months, I would actually learn to like the taste, but I considered crumbling up a Pop-Tart and throwing it in the bowl, at least as a stepping-stone. Then I heard Kassian’s voice in my head, razzing me about my breakfast pastry and vowed to stay the course.

As I shoveled in the tasteless glop, I thought about the break-in. I had a lot of mental discipline, but I could force myself to ignore what had happened for only so long. I wasn’t sure what to call the incident. Could you call it a burglary if the intruder left something of value?

Who would steal diamonds and then return them? I figured if you were dishonest enough to take something like that, then you would follow through and sell them. It wasn’t like shoplifting a CD or something. Fifty diamonds had to be worth some serious cash.

After I forced down the final mouthfuls of cereal, I pulled out my cell phone and flicked it on. Six messages waited. I retrieved them and wasn’t too surprised that five were from Dani. What with all the gemology I’d practiced last night, I’d forgotten to call her back. I glanced at my watch, but it was too early now, especially if she’d had a late night drinking. Her breakup didn’t really make me feel good—I wasn’t the vengeful type. Of course, it didn’t really surprise me either. Heath had been a good business partner, but he had his share of personal foibles, lack of commitment and false loyalty being high on the list. Maybe that’s what attracted Dani—two peas in a pod of deceit.

The sixth call was from Aunt Shel. Her toilet was clogged and she wanted me to come by and fix it. At least somebody wanted me for something I could actually accomplish.

I clicked through my list of outgoing calls until I found the diamond guy. Hit the send button. After a moment, the receptionist answered and put me through to Yakov Sapperstein.

“Hello, Yakov? This is Josh Handleman.”

There was a slight hesitation, then Yakov said, “Yes, yes. Of course. How are you?” Salesman-friendly, with a tinge of the famous Big Apple impatience.

“Fine. I was wondering if you were still planning on being down here this week?”

A pause. “Yes. I am taking my son to the museums. His school doesn’t start until next week and he’s been dying to see the Air and Space.” Another pause. “Why do you ask?”

“My father’s diamonds have, uh, resurfaced. I was hoping you could come by and give me an appraisal.”

“Yes, of course.” A little more verve found its way into Yakov’s voice. “We are taking the train this evening. How about tomorrow morning, around ten? I have the address and directions already. I look forward to it.”

I marked it on my calendar and started a to-do list on a piece of notepaper I got from the junk drawer. Fix Aunt Shel’s toilet, find Kassian, call Dani, call people to tell them I’d found what I’d been searching for. I stopped writing, knowing these action items would be all I could tackle without having to reshuffle the priorities and add new tasks to the list. Stuff always changed.

___

The security chain rattled from behind the thin door, followed by the thunk of the dead bolt. The door cracked open and Aunt Shel’s face poked out. She squinted at me from inside her darkened house.

“Morning, Shel. You need a plumber?” I hoisted the plunger onto my shoulder and jangled a small bucket with a few wrenches and screwdrivers I held in my other hand.

She eyed me for a second, then swung the door open. “Don’t you call first?” She turned her back to me and receded into the house, like an ebb tide.

I followed her into the darkness. All the lights were out. From somewhere in the back, I heard the frantic tones of some morning talk show on TV. “Have you morphed into a vampire? How about turning on some lights?” I flipped the switch for a nearby lamp. It cast wan shadows across the living room, the light barely reaching the far wall. What was in there, a 10-watt bulb?

Aunt Shel flopped onto the old couch, her housedress billowing around her knees. Today’s schmatta had a different pattern than the last one I’d seen, but it was of the same vintage—ancient. In the dim light, she looked every bit of her many years. My father’s death had accelerated her march to join him. I set my stuff down and went over to kiss her hello, to see up close what kind of shape she was in.

I bent over, and a vaguely medicinal, peachy smell rose up to greet me. I stepped back before completing the kiss. “Shel, have you been at it already?”

She waved me off, as if it were no big deal. A warning sign right there. “Just a little eye-opener. Haven’t been sleeping well.”

I scanned the room for the bottle, but she must have hid it when she heard the doorbell. “Schnapps isn’t the answer. I’ll take you to see someone, if you want.”

She shook her head in that way she did when she thought you were spouting foolishness. Then she studied me. “Looks good on you.”

It took me a second to realize what she was referring to. I was wearing my father’s old parka. Since I’d been back, I’d been too stubborn to put it on when it had gotten really cold, but today … Maybe I was coming to terms with things.

“Abe always used to wear that coat, all winter long.” Her wizened face had a wistful look. Nostalgia and schnapps, a potent combo. “Zitsen.” Sit.

I took the wing chair opposite her. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course. Ask away.” She scooted up on the couch a little.

“What do you know about Kassian?”

Aunt Shel frowned. “What do you want to know? How your father took him in like he was family? Treated him like a king?”

“Kassian says he is family.”

Again with the hand wave. “I know what he says. And it does not matter what I think. Since Abe started helping him, he had been much happier.” She leaned toward me. “Abe liked to help the needy and I don’t suppose there are too many needier than Kassian.”

“You think my father knew Kassian was lying?”

“Maybe, maybe not. It doesn’t matter. You know his determination to help Russian Jews, no?” She stared at me, waiting for a response. I nodded. “He would do almost anything to help a persecuted Jew. So when Kassian tells him he is a cousin, Abe wants to believe him, even if he knows in his head it is a lie.” She licked her lips. “What harm is done? Abe gets to help someone and Kassian gets food and a roof over his head. Everyone wins.”

“But could he be related to us?”

Aunt Shel leaned back on the sofa. “Ach, what does it matter?”

“It matters to me,” I said. “It matters to me a lot.” I was getting tired of the runaround. If my life was going down the tubes, at least I deserved to know the truth about things.

“There is no need to get hostile, Joshua.” She glared at me for a second, then settled back. “You know we had relatives in the Soviet Union?”

I’d heard generalities, but no details. “That’s what my father used to say. But I never heard names.”

“Our father—your grandfather, who you never met—used to tell stories to Abe and me. When we were children. About great thinkers and inventors. Big machers. We never knew whether they were true or not, and we did not really care. He told them with so much excitement it made our family seem special.” She looked at me. “Do you know what I mean?”

I nodded, remembering the passion my father had when he talked about his support of Soviet Jewry.

“When we got older, Abe tried to track down some of these relatives.” She stopped and examined her hands clasped in her lap.

“And what happened?”

“Your father was a persistent man. He discovered many interesting things about our family.”

“Like what?” Interesting or alarming?

“Most things you would not care about. But …” she paused and smoothed out her dress. “I believe I heard Abe mention the name Kassian. A long time ago.”

“So Kassian is related to us? I wish you’d just tell me the truth, Shel. You owe it to me. You owe it to my father.” Sometimes you just had to pull out the big guns.

“Oy gevalt, Josh. Settle down. I will tell you, although I did not even tell your father. I didn’t want to make him feel like he’d been fooled. Now that he’s passed …” She looked up at the ceiling and her lips moved in a short, silent prayer. She met my eyes. “How about a little drink first?” She started to get up, but I motioned her back onto her cushion.

“We can have a drink later. Tell me what you know first.” I softened. “Please?”

Aunt Shel sighed. “Years ago, I got a letter from my Great Aunt Ina in Poland. She had stayed behind when the rest of her family—our family—came to this country. She had some distant relatives in Russia, but I don’t remember exactly how they were related. Anyway, she tells me that one of her cousins is married to a man named Kassian.” Aunt Shel stopped and looked at me to see if I was paying attention.

“Go on, I’m listening.”

“Good, because I do not think I could repeat this story,” Aunt Shel said, giving her head a little wiggle. “Ina says that this Kassian was very ill. But before he died, he ‘sold’ his name to another man. Then this man used his new name to leave Russia and come here. And hook up with his cousin Abe.”

Kassian was an imposter? “Are you telling me that our Kassian, the one living in my house, is a fake?”

Aunt Shel shrugged. “I do not know. Aunt Ina was old and her Yiddish was not so good. The facts might have been lost. Or twisted. But I do not think Abe’s friend is who he says he is.”

“So who is he?” I asked.

“What does it matter? Your father befriended him. And he is a harmless old man, no?”

“Don’t you want to know the truth, Shel?” I asked, feeling that the elusive truth was drifting out to sea, never to be recovered. “Why didn’t you ever tell my father about this? Surely he would have wanted to know.”

“It would not have mattered. He would have only felt poorly about his judgment. Sometimes your father was too kind. I used to say he never met a man he couldn’t help.” She smiled. “Even as a child, he would be nice to the neighborhood urchins. Of course, he was a bit of an urchin himself.”

I stood and paced across the room. Letting it sink in. It was unlikely something that happened so long ago had any bearing on the events of the past couple weeks. If Aunt Shel and her Great Aunt Ina were right, my father’s boarder became Kassian more than forty years ago.

Surprising as it was, Aunt Shel’s history lesson led me no closer to finding out what Kassian was up to, in this decade, in this country. When I found him, though, I’d be sure to ask about his lineage.

I glanced at Aunt Shel. Her eyes were glued to me as I paced the floor. “What?” I asked.

“I’m worried about you, Josh. I’m old and I have enough money to last until … to last as long as I do. But you’re so young.”

“I can get a job, Shel. I’m employable, you know.” I didn’t elaborate about my big future in video game consulting.

She looked at me like I had just fibbed about breaking a window playing baseball in the backyard. “I just wish …”

I cut her misery short, pulling the velvet bag out of my pocket.