Black and  blanc  mouths,  couleur  mouths, and the simple  visage  of a generous  Jacob , who is not sure who he is or who he is indebted to as he endlessly mumbles a thankful prayer perhaps meant to keep bad things he can't imagine from happening to him.     En lui parlant, j'ai réalise de nouveau que j'étais Zoltan Abbassid. J'étais déjà mort.