YOUNG AVIVA. (at the song's end, eight years old) Mama. Sing the part about the doves again. MIRYAM. Not tonight, little bird. Tonight you sleep. YOUNG AVIVA. Is it real? The city with the doves? MIRYAM. (a pause — she will not lie to her) It was real. I stood in it. Whether it's real now... (she strokes the child's hair) that's why we keep singing it. So it stays real somewhere. Even if only in us. YOUNG AVIVA. Will I ever stand in it? MIRYAM. I don't know, my love. But you'll carry it. (she kisses her head) And that's almost the same thing. Now — eyes closed. She leads the child off into the dark, humming the lullaby.
