The warehouse was brick-oven hot, but Chaim was the only one who seemed to be sweating. The man in crisp shirtsleeves sat cool behind the desk, his dry palms leaving no stain on the paper as he filled in the form.
“Living relatives?” said the man.
“None.”
The man looked up at him. “You’re certain of this? We will verify everything you say here.”
“I may have some distant cousins in the States, but no living relatives that I know of.”
“And you understand what we do here?”
“Not really, no.”
“But you have heard stories?”
“Of course.”
“Which stories?”
