He dropped his arms to his sides.

Ora distractedly took off her gla.s.ses, folded them, and stuck them in a backpack pocket. She ran both hands firmly over her temples and kept them there for a moment, listening to a distant sound. Then suddenly she lunged at the ground and started to dig with her hands, pulling out clods of earth and stones, uprooting plants. Avram, with surprising quickness, jumped up and stood watching her tensely. She did not seem to notice him. She got up and started kicking the ground with her heel. Clods of earth flew, some of them hitting him. He did not move. His lips were pursed and his gaze was focused and stern. She knelt down, dislodged a sharp stone, and hit the ground with it. She pounded rapidly, biting her lower lip. Her thin-skinned face turned instantly red. Avram leaned over, knelt on one knee opposite her, and did not take his eyes off her. His hand rested on the earth with fingers spread, like someone about to run a race.

The pit grew deeper and wider. The white arm holding the stone rose and fell without pause. Avram c.o.c.ked his head to one side in bemus.e.m.e.nt and looked somewhat canine. Ora stopped. She leaned on her arms and stared at the broken, unraveled earth as though not comprehending what she saw, then stormed at it again with the stone. She moaned from the effort, from the fury. The back of her neck was flushed and sweaty, her thin shirt clung to her flesh.

"Ora," Avram whispered cautiously, "what are you doing?"

She stopped digging and looked around for a larger stone. She pushed a short tuft of hair off her forehead and wiped away the sweat. The pit she had dug was small and egg-shaped. She sat on her knees, grasped the stone with both hands, and struck down hard. Her head jerked forward with every strike, and each time she let out a groan. The skin on her hands began to tear. Avram watched, terrified, unable to look away from her scratched fingers. She did not seem to be weakening. On the contrary: she picked up her pace, pounded and groaned, and after a moment she tossed the stone away and started to burrow with her hands. She dug up little stones and large ones and flung them away, and handfuls of damp earth flew through her legs and over her head. His face stretched and lengthened and his eyes bulged. She did not see. She seemed to have forgotten he was there. Dirt clung to her forehead and cheeks. Her beautiful eyebrows were covered with arches of earth, and sticky channels plowed their way around her mouth. With an outstretched hand she measured the little crater before her. She cleaned it out, smoothed the bottom with a gentle motion as though she were rolling dough into a baking pan. "Ora, no," Avram whispered into his palm, and even though he knew what she was about to do, he pulled back in fear. With three quick movements Ora lay down and buried her face in the gaping earth.

She spoke, but he could not make out her words. Her hands were palm-down on the sides of her head like gra.s.shopper feet. Her short-cropped hair, speckled with earth and dust, trembled on the back of her neck. Her voice was a dim, crushed lament, like a person pleading before a judge. But it was a cruel and coldhearted judge, Avram thought, a cowardly judge, like me. From time to time she raised her head and opened her mouth wide for air, without looking at him, without seeing anything, then buried her face back in the ground. The morning flies were drawn to her sweat. Her legs, in dirty walking pants, moved and twitched every so often, and her entire body was tensed and bound up, and Avram, on the earth's surface, began to dart back and forth.

The Hula Valley turned golden at their feet, flooded with sunlight. The fish hatcheries glistened and the peach groves blossomed pink. Ora lay facedown and told a story to the belly of the earth and tasted the clods of soil and knew they would not sweeten, would be forever bland and gritty. Dirt ground between her teeth, dirt stuck to her tongue, to the roof of her mouth, and turned to mud. Snot ran from her nose, her eyes watered, and she choked and gargled dirt, and she beat her hands on the ground at either side of her head, and a thought drove like a nail, deeper and deeper into her mind-she had to, she had to know what it was like. Even when he was a baby she used to taste everything she made for him to make sure it wasn't too hot or too salty. Avram, above her, breathed rapidly, twitching, and absentmindedly bit the knuckles of his tightly clenched fists. He wanted to take hold of Ora and pull her out, but he did not dare touch her. He knew the taste of dirt in his eyes and suffocation in his nose and the sting of clods thrown from above-one of them, the bearded black man, had had a shovel, and the other one had used his hands to rake piles of earth dug from the pit. Avram himself had dug it, his hands covered with blisters. He had asked them to let him wear his socks on his hands. They'd laughed and said no. He'd been digging for over an hour and still couldn't believe they were going to do it. Three times already they'd made him dig his own grave, and at the last minute they'd laughed and sent him back to the cell. And this time, even when they tied his hands behind his back and shackled his feet and pushed him inside and told him to lie there without moving, he refused to believe it, perhaps because they were just two lowly soldiers, fellahin, and the dhabet dhabet, the officer, wasn't even there this time, and Avram still hoped they wouldn't go through with something like this on their own. He did not believe it even when they started throwing in handfuls of loose earth. First they covered his legs, very slowly and with strange carefulness, then they piled earth on his thighs and stomach and chest, and Avram squirmed and jerked his head back, searching for the dhabet dhabet who would order them to stop, and only when the first handful of dirt hit his face, on his forehead and eyelids-he can still remember the shocking slap of a clump landing straight on his face, the sting in his eyes, specks trickling quickly down behind his ears-only then did he realize that this time it might not be another show, another stage in the torture, but that they were actually doing it, burying him alive, and a ring of cold terror tightened around his heart, injecting paralyzing venom: time is running out, you're running out, one moment from now you'll be gone, you won't be anymore. Blood burst from his eyes and from his nose, and his body convulsed under layers of earth, heavy, heavy earth, who knew it was so heavy and burdensome on the chest, and his mouth shut to keep out the dirt, and his mouth ripped open to breathe in the dirt, and the throat is dirt and the lungs are dirt, and the toes stretch to inhale, and the eyes pop out of their sockets, and suddenly inside all this like a slowly crawling translucent worm, a sad little worm of thought about the fact that strangers, in a strange land, are pouring earth on his face, burying him alive, throwing dirt into his eyes and mouth and killing him, and it's wrong, he wants to yell, it's a mistake, you don't even know me, and he grunts and struggles to open his eyes to devour one more sight, light, sky, concrete wall, even cruelly mocking faces, but human faces-and then, above his head to the side, someone takes a photograph, a man stands with a camera, it's the who would order them to stop, and only when the first handful of dirt hit his face, on his forehead and eyelids-he can still remember the shocking slap of a clump landing straight on his face, the sting in his eyes, specks trickling quickly down behind his ears-only then did he realize that this time it might not be another show, another stage in the torture, but that they were actually doing it, burying him alive, and a ring of cold terror tightened around his heart, injecting paralyzing venom: time is running out, you're running out, one moment from now you'll be gone, you won't be anymore. Blood burst from his eyes and from his nose, and his body convulsed under layers of earth, heavy, heavy earth, who knew it was so heavy and burdensome on the chest, and his mouth shut to keep out the dirt, and his mouth ripped open to breathe in the dirt, and the throat is dirt and the lungs are dirt, and the toes stretch to inhale, and the eyes pop out of their sockets, and suddenly inside all this like a slowly crawling translucent worm, a sad little worm of thought about the fact that strangers, in a strange land, are pouring earth on his face, burying him alive, throwing dirt into his eyes and mouth and killing him, and it's wrong, he wants to yell, it's a mistake, you don't even know me, and he grunts and struggles to open his eyes to devour one more sight, light, sky, concrete wall, even cruelly mocking faces, but human faces-and then, above his head to the side, someone takes a photograph, a man stands with a camera, it's the dhabet dhabet, a short, thin Egyptian officer with a large black camera, and he takes meticulous pictures of Avram's death, perhaps as a souvenir, to show the wife and kids at home, and that is when Avram lets go of his life, right at that moment he truly lets go. He had never let go when he was left in the stronghold alone for three days and three nights, nor when the Egyptian soldier pulled him out of his hiding place, nor when the soldiers put him on a truck and beat him within an inch of his life with fists and boots and rifle b.u.t.ts, nor when Egyptian fellahin stormed the truck on the way and wanted to attack him, nor in all the days and nights of interrogations and torture, when they denied him food and water and withheld sleep and made him stand for hours in the sun and held him for days and nights in a cell just large enough to stand in, and one by one they pulled out his fingernails and toenails, and hung him by his hands from the ceiling and whipped the soles of his feet with rubber clubs, and hooked electrical wires to his t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es and nipples and tongue, and raped him-throughout all this he always had something to hold on to, half a potato that a merciful warden once snuck into his soup, or a bird's chirping he heard or imagined every day at dawn, or the cheerful voices of two little children, perhaps the prison commander's children, who once came to visit their father and chattered and played in the prison yard all morning; and above all, he had the sketch he wrote while he was on duty in Sinai, until the war started, with its complex plots and multiple characters, and he kept returning to a secondary plot that had never preoccupied him before he was taken hostage, but this was what saved him over and over again. It was the story of two neglected children who find an abandoned baby, and to his surprise Avram found that the imaginary characters did not fade while he was a prisoner the way the real people did, even Ora and Ilan, perhaps because the thought of the living people was intolerable, and quite simply crushed his remaining will to live, whereas thinking about his story almost always pumped a little more blood through his veins. But there, in the ugly yard next to the prison's concrete wall, with its hedges of barbed wire, and now, with the gaunt officer who took another step closer and leaned right over Avram to capture the last moment before all of Avram was covered with earth and swallowed up in it, Avram no longer wanted to live in a world where such a thing was possible, where a person stood photographing someone being buried alive, and Avram let go of his life and died.

Back and forth he walked wildly by Ora's body, grunting and shouting and tugging at his face and beard with both hands, yet at the same time a thin voice whispered inside him: Look at her, look, she can go all the way into the earth, she isn't afraid.

Ora had, in fact, quieted a little, as though she had learned how to breathe in the belly of the earth. She had stopped slamming her head and beating her hands. She lay still, and very quietly told the earth things that came to her, nonsense, little bits of it, things you'd tell a girlfriend or a good neighbor. "Even when he was little, a year or younger, I tried to make sure that everything I gave him to eat, every dish I made for him, looked pretty, because I wanted things to be nice for him. I always tried to think not only of the flavors but also the colors, the color combinations, so it would be cheerful for him to look at." She stopped. What am I doing, she thought. I'm telling the earth about him. And she realized with horror: Maybe I'm preparing her for him, so she'll know how to take care of him. A great weakness filled her. She was on the verge of fainting, and she sighed into the belly of the earth and for a moment she was a tiny, miserable puppy snuggling into a large, warm lap. She thought she could feel the earth softening a little, because her scent grew sweeter, her deep exhalation came back to Ora. She took her in and told her how he liked to make figures out of his mashed potatoes and schnitzel, little people and animals, and then of course he would refuse to eat them because how could he, he would ask sweetly, eat a puppy or a goat? Or a person?

Suddenly two hands took hold of her, grasped her waist, rocked her, and pulled her out. She was in Avram's arms. It was good that he'd come with her, she knew. One minute longer and she would have been entirely swallowed up in the ground. Something nameless had pulled her down and she was willing to crumble into dirt. It was good that he'd come, and he was so strong, with one yank he uprooted her from the earth and charged away from the pit with her on his shoulder.

He stood there, confused, and let her slide off his body so she stood opposite him, face-to-face, until she collapsed in exhaustion. She sat cross-legged, her face covered with dirt. He brought a bottle of water and sat down in front of her, and she filled her mouth and spat out doughy globs of earth, and coughed, and her eyes streamed. She wet her mouth and spat again. "I don't know what happened to me," she mumbled, "it just came over me." Then she turned to look at him. "Avram? Avram? Did I scare you?" She poured water into her hand and wiped his forehead, and he did not pull back. Then she ran her wet hand over her own forehead and felt the cuts. "It's okay, it's okay," she blathered. "We're all right, everything will be all right."

Once in a while she checked his eyes and sensed a shadow slip away into a thicket of darkness, and she did not understand. She could not understand. He had never told her anything about that place. She kept smoothing over his forehead for several more minutes, rea.s.suring, offering tenderness and promises of goodness, and he sat there accepting and absorbing and did not move, only his thumbs flicked back and forth over his fingertips.

"Stop, enough, don't torture yourself. We'll come to a road soon, we'll put you on a bus and you'll go home. I should never have brought you here."

But the softness in her voice-Avram felt it and the blood ran out of his heart-the softness and the compa.s.sion told him that something he had deeply feared, for years, had happened: Ora had despaired of him. Ora was giving up on him. Ora had accepted the failure that he was. He let out a bitter, toxic laugh.

"What is it, Avram?"

"Ora." He turned away from her and spoke in a dim, throaty voice, as if his own mouth were full of earth. "Do you remember what I told you when I got back?"

She shook her head firmly. "Don't say it. Don't even think it."

She took his hand and pressed it between her bleeding palms. It amazed her that for the last few minutes she had been touching him so often, with such ease, and that he had not resisted, and that he had grabbed her waist and lifted her out of the ground and run with her across the field. It amazed her that their bodies were acting like flesh and blood. "Don't say anything. I don't have the energy for anything now."

When he'd come back from captivity, she had managed to get on the ambulance that took him from the airport to the hospital. He lay on the stretcher, bleeding, his open wounds running with pus. Suddenly his eyes opened and, upon seeing her, appeared to focus. He recognized her. He signaled with his eyes for her to lean down. With his last remaining strength he whispered, "I wish they'd killed me."

From around the bend in the path came the sound of singing. A man was singing at the top of his lungs, and other voices dragged behind him without any charm or coordination. "Maybe we should duck between these trees until they pa.s.s," Avram grumbled. Only a few moments ago they had awoken from a slumber of total exhaustion, on the side of the path and in full daylight. But the walkers had already revealed themselves. Avram wanted to get up, but she put a hand on his knee: "Don't run away, they'll just walk by, we won't look at them and they won't look at us." He sat with his back to the path and hid his face.

At the head of the small procession walked a tall, skinny, bearded young man. Locks of black hair hung in his face, and a large colorful yarmulke covered his head. He danced and flung his limbs around in excitement as he sang and cheered, and ten or so men and women straggled behind him, hand in hand, zigzagging and daydreaming, mumbling his song or some feeble melody. Every so often they waved a tired foot, collapsed, b.u.mped into one another. Wide-eyed, they stared at the couple sitting by the path, and the leader pulled his procession around the two and joined it in a loop and did not stop singing and hopping around. When he waved his arms up high, the others' arms were drawn up in spasmodic surprise, and the whole circle collapsed and then tied itself back up, and the man grinned, and as he sang and danced he leaned over to Ora and asked in a quiet and utterly businesslike tone if everything was all right. Ora shook her head, nothing was all right, and he examined her injured, dirty face, and looked to Avram and a crease deepened between his eyes. Then he looked back and forth as if searching for something-as if he knew exactly what he was looking for, Ora felt-and saw the pit in the earth, and Ora unwittingly tightened her legs together.

He quickly went back to his enthusiastic rocking. "A great trouble has befallen you, my friends," he said, and Ora replied in a small voice, "You could certainly say so." The man inquired: "Trouble from man or from the heavens?" Then he added quietly, "Or from the earth?" Ora replied, "I don't really believe in the heavens," and the man smiled and said, "And in man, you do?" Ora, slightly won over by his smile, said, "Less and less every day." The man straightened up and led the fumbling circle around them, and Ora tented her eyes from the sun to turn the dancing silhouettes into people. She noticed that one of them had odd-sized legs, another's head was strangely tilted to the sky and she thought he might be blind, and one woman's body was bent almost to the ground. Another woman's mouth was wide open and drooling, and she held the hand of a gaunt albino boy, who giggled with vacant eyes. The circle turned heavily on its axis, and the energetic young man leaned over again and said smilingly, "Guys, why don't you come with me for an hour or so?"

Ora looked at Avram, who sat with his head bowed and seemed not to see or hear anything, and she said to the man, "No thanks."

"Why not? Just an hour, what do you have to lose?"

"Avram?"

He shrugged as if to say, Your call, and Ora turned sharply to the man and said, "But don't talk to me about the news, you hear me? I don't want to hear a single word!"

The man seemed to lose his equilibrium for the first time. He was about to give a witty reply, but then he peered into her eyes and said nothing.

"And no proselytizing either," Ora added.

The man laughed. "I'll try, but don't come crying if you leave with a smile."

"I won't complain about a smile."

He held his hand out to Avram, but Avram got up without touching the hand, and the man, still dancing around her, helped Ora hoist her backpack up and announced that he was Akiva. He stood Avram in the middle of the line and Ora at the end and went back to shepherd his confused herd.

Avram held the hand of the hunchbacked old lady, and with his other he grabbed hold of the albino boy, and Ora took the hand of a bald woman with thick blue veins snaking up her legs. She kept asking Ora what was for lunch and demanded that she give her back the cholent cholent pot. They all climbed up a little hill, and Avram kept turning his head back to check on Ora, and she would give him a shoulder-shrugging look: Beats me, I have no idea. Akiva looked back encouragingly, and sang a grating tune very loudly. They continued this way, up and down, and both Ora and Avram delved into themselves, blind to the abundant beauty around them, yellow beds of spurge, purple orchids, and terebinths blossoming in red. Nor did they notice the intoxicating nectar that the spiny-broom flowers had begun to emit in the heat of the day. But Ora knew that it was good and restorative for her to be led this way, led by the hand, without having to think about where to put down her foot for the next step. Avram knew he wouldn't mind going on like this all day, as long as he did not have to see Ora suffering because of him. Maybe later, when they were alone, he would tell her that he might be willing, perhaps, for her to tell him a little about Ofer, if she had to. But he would ask her not to start talking about him directly, not about Ofer himself, and that she talk about him carefully and slowly, so that he could gradually get used to the torture. pot. They all climbed up a little hill, and Avram kept turning his head back to check on Ora, and she would give him a shoulder-shrugging look: Beats me, I have no idea. Akiva looked back encouragingly, and sang a grating tune very loudly. They continued this way, up and down, and both Ora and Avram delved into themselves, blind to the abundant beauty around them, yellow beds of spurge, purple orchids, and terebinths blossoming in red. Nor did they notice the intoxicating nectar that the spiny-broom flowers had begun to emit in the heat of the day. But Ora knew that it was good and restorative for her to be led this way, led by the hand, without having to think about where to put down her foot for the next step. Avram knew he wouldn't mind going on like this all day, as long as he did not have to see Ora suffering because of him. Maybe later, when they were alone, he would tell her that he might be willing, perhaps, for her to tell him a little about Ofer, if she had to. But he would ask her not to start talking about him directly, not about Ofer himself, and that she talk about him carefully and slowly, so that he could gradually get used to the torture.

Ora looked up and a strange happiness began to gurgle inside her, perhaps because of how she had spoken into the earth-she could still taste it on her tongue-or perhaps because always, even at home, after she had these outbursts, when enough was enough, when her guys had really crossed the line, a physical sweetness always spread through her body. Ilan and the boys would still be looking at her in shock, frightened, full of peculiar awe and so eager to appease her, and she would spend several long minutes floating on a pall of satisfaction and deep pleasure. Or perhaps she was so happy because of the people in the procession, who imbued her with a dreamlike tranquillity despite their strangeness and forlornness and their broken bodies. From dust we were taken From dust we were taken. She suddenly felt it down to the roots of her flesh. Just like that, from pure mud. She could hear the pat-pat pat-pat sound of her own self being scooped out by the handful, back at the dawn of time, out of the muddy earth, to be sculpted-too bad they were stingy and did such a poor job with the b.o.o.bs, and they made her thighs too thick, completely disproportionate, to say nothing of her a.s.s, which this year, with all her desperate binge-eating, had really flourished. When she had finished denigrating her body-which was, incidentally, delightfully attractive to Akiva, judging by the glimmer in his eye, and this was not lost on her-Ora smiled to think of how Ilan had been sculpted: thin, strong, upright, and stretched out like a tendon. She longed for Ilan here and now, without thinking, without remembering or resenting, just his flesh boring into hers. She felt a sudden yearning in the sting. She roused herself quickly and thought of how Adam was sculpted, how delicately and meticulously they had worked on his face, his heavy eyes, his mouth with all its expressions. Her hand ran longingly over his thin body with the slightly hunched back that seemed almost defiant, and the cloudy shadows on his sunken cheeks, and the prominent Adam's apple that somehow gave him a scholarly look. She also thought about her Ada, making room for her, as always, and imagined what she would look like today if she were alive. Sometimes she saw women who resembled her on the street, and she had a patient who looked like her, a woman with a herniated disc whom she treated for a whole year, working miracles on her. And only then did Ora dare to think about Ofer: strong, solid, and tall he had emerged from the lump of mud-not immediately, not in his first years, when he was small and meager, little more than a huge pair of eyes and bony ribs and matchstick limbs, but later, when he grew up, how beautifully he had risen from the mud, with his thick neck and broad shoulders, and the surprisingly feminine ankles, such a delightful finish to the oversized, powerful limbs. She smiled to herself and looked quickly at Avram, ran her eyes over his body, examined, compared-similarities, dissimilarities-and was overcome with joy in the depths of her gut. It occurred to her, incidentally, that Avram fit in with this crowd quite well, and it seemed to her that he was also finding unexpected relief, because a new smile, the first smile, was spreading on his lips, almost a smile of exaltation. But then a shock wave ran through the hobbling procession, hands pulled back and disconnected, and Ora watched with alarm as Avram's mouth opened wide, his smile broadened, ripped open, and his eyes glimmered and his hands waved wildly, and he kicked and jumped like a horse and grunted. sound of her own self being scooped out by the handful, back at the dawn of time, out of the muddy earth, to be sculpted-too bad they were stingy and did such a poor job with the b.o.o.bs, and they made her thighs too thick, completely disproportionate, to say nothing of her a.s.s, which this year, with all her desperate binge-eating, had really flourished. When she had finished denigrating her body-which was, incidentally, delightfully attractive to Akiva, judging by the glimmer in his eye, and this was not lost on her-Ora smiled to think of how Ilan had been sculpted: thin, strong, upright, and stretched out like a tendon. She longed for Ilan here and now, without thinking, without remembering or resenting, just his flesh boring into hers. She felt a sudden yearning in the sting. She roused herself quickly and thought of how Adam was sculpted, how delicately and meticulously they had worked on his face, his heavy eyes, his mouth with all its expressions. Her hand ran longingly over his thin body with the slightly hunched back that seemed almost defiant, and the cloudy shadows on his sunken cheeks, and the prominent Adam's apple that somehow gave him a scholarly look. She also thought about her Ada, making room for her, as always, and imagined what she would look like today if she were alive. Sometimes she saw women who resembled her on the street, and she had a patient who looked like her, a woman with a herniated disc whom she treated for a whole year, working miracles on her. And only then did Ora dare to think about Ofer: strong, solid, and tall he had emerged from the lump of mud-not immediately, not in his first years, when he was small and meager, little more than a huge pair of eyes and bony ribs and matchstick limbs, but later, when he grew up, how beautifully he had risen from the mud, with his thick neck and broad shoulders, and the surprisingly feminine ankles, such a delightful finish to the oversized, powerful limbs. She smiled to herself and looked quickly at Avram, ran her eyes over his body, examined, compared-similarities, dissimilarities-and was overcome with joy in the depths of her gut. It occurred to her, incidentally, that Avram fit in with this crowd quite well, and it seemed to her that he was also finding unexpected relief, because a new smile, the first smile, was spreading on his lips, almost a smile of exaltation. But then a shock wave ran through the hobbling procession, hands pulled back and disconnected, and Ora watched with alarm as Avram's mouth opened wide, his smile broadened, ripped open, and his eyes glimmered and his hands waved wildly, and he kicked and jumped like a horse and grunted.

After a moment he stopped himself, buried his head back down between his shoulders, and walked on, dragging his feet and swaying from side to side. Akiva looked at Ora questioningly, and she motioned for him to keep going. Then she forced herself to walk on too, shocked by what she had seen in Avram, by the sliver of secret revealed to her from inside him, as though for an instant he had allowed himself to try out a different possibility, a redemptive one. He had looked so distorted, she thought, like a boy playing with pieces of himself.

After a while they reached a small moshav hidden behind a hill and a few groves. Two rows of houses, most with tacked-on balconies and flimsy storehouses, were ab.u.t.ted by chicken coops and feed silos and separated by yards piled with crates, iron pipes, old fridges, and all sorts of junk. Avram's eyes lit up as he scanned the options. Concrete bomb shelters jutted out of the ground like snouts, covered with lettering in chalk and paint, and here and there a rusty tractor or a pickup truck with no wheels was propped up on blocks. Among the patchworked houses, the occasional sparkling new building stood out, towering castles of stone with turrets and gables and signs announcing luxurious guest rooms in a charming Galilee atmosphere, including Jacuzzis and shiatsu ma.s.sage. Adults and children started to pour out of the houses as they arrived, shouting, "Akiva's here! Akiva's here!" Akiva's face lit up, and he stopped at various houses to deliver a member of the gang to a woman or a child. At every house they asked him to come in just for a moment, for something to drink or nibble, and lunch would be ready soon, but he refused: "The day is short and there is much work to be done." "The day is short and there is much work to be done." He walked the length of the main street-it was the only street-in this fashion, until he had dispersed his flock and was left only with Avram and Ora, whom no one came to claim. Children and young boys walked beside them and asked who they were and where they came from, and whether they were tourists or Jews. They agreed among themselves that they were Jews, albeit Ashken.a.z.im, and wondered about their backpacks and sleeping bags and about Ora's scratched, dirty face. Mangy, malcontented dogs ran after them and barked. They both longed to get back to their path and their solitude, and Ora could barely hold back the talk about Ofer, but Akiva was somehow unwilling to let them go. As he talked and jumped around he seemed to be searching for a place where he could help them, and between waving to an old man and giving a quick blessing to a baby, he told them that for him this was both a mitzvah and a living. The local council had arranged a special job for him as "gladdener of the dejected"-that was what his pay stub actually stated-and he did this every day, six days a week. Even when they cut his salary in half this year, he did not cut down on his work; on the contrary, he added two hours a day, He walked the length of the main street-it was the only street-in this fashion, until he had dispersed his flock and was left only with Avram and Ora, whom no one came to claim. Children and young boys walked beside them and asked who they were and where they came from, and whether they were tourists or Jews. They agreed among themselves that they were Jews, albeit Ashken.a.z.im, and wondered about their backpacks and sleeping bags and about Ora's scratched, dirty face. Mangy, malcontented dogs ran after them and barked. They both longed to get back to their path and their solitude, and Ora could barely hold back the talk about Ofer, but Akiva was somehow unwilling to let them go. As he talked and jumped around he seemed to be searching for a place where he could help them, and between waving to an old man and giving a quick blessing to a baby, he told them that for him this was both a mitzvah and a living. The local council had arranged a special job for him as "gladdener of the dejected"-that was what his pay stub actually stated-and he did this every day, six days a week. Even when they cut his salary in half this year, he did not cut down on his work; on the contrary, he added two hours a day, "For one must multiply acts of holiness, not diminish them." "For one must multiply acts of holiness, not diminish them." Besides, he said, he remembered Avram from the pub on HaYarkon Street. Back then, neither of them had a beard, and Akiva's name was Aviv, and Avram sometimes used to belt out "Otchi Tchorniya" and Paul Robeson songs from behind the bar. If he remembered correctly, Avram had developed a fairly interesting theory about the memories that old objects had, whereby if you put together all sorts of junk, you could make them play out their memories. "Did I remember correctly?" "You did," Avram grunted, and glanced at Ora evasively. Ora p.r.i.c.ked up her ears, and Akiva walked quickly and told them that he had found religion five years ago. Before that, he was getting his doctorate in philosophy in Jerusalem. Schopenhauer was half G.o.d for him, the love of his life-or actually, the hatred of his life. He let out a green-eyed laugh. "Do you know Schopenhauer? Such a masking of the divine face! Such total blackness! And you, what about you guys? What's with the gloom and doom?" Besides, he said, he remembered Avram from the pub on HaYarkon Street. Back then, neither of them had a beard, and Akiva's name was Aviv, and Avram sometimes used to belt out "Otchi Tchorniya" and Paul Robeson songs from behind the bar. If he remembered correctly, Avram had developed a fairly interesting theory about the memories that old objects had, whereby if you put together all sorts of junk, you could make them play out their memories. "Did I remember correctly?" "You did," Avram grunted, and glanced at Ora evasively. Ora p.r.i.c.ked up her ears, and Akiva walked quickly and told them that he had found religion five years ago. Before that, he was getting his doctorate in philosophy in Jerusalem. Schopenhauer was half G.o.d for him, the love of his life-or actually, the hatred of his life. He let out a green-eyed laugh. "Do you know Schopenhauer? Such a masking of the divine face! Such total blackness! And you, what about you guys? What's with the gloom and doom?"

"Forget it," Ora laughed. "You won't cheer us up with a blessing or a dance, we're a really complicated case."

Akiva stopped in the middle of the street and turned to face her with his vivacious eyes and his strong high cheekbones, and Ora thought, What a waste.

"Don't be condescending," he said. "Everything here is really complicated too, what did you think? These are things that can break the strongest faith. In this place you'll hear stories that only the most misanthropic author could write, maybe Bukowski on a really bad day, or Burroughs jonesing for a fix. And if you're a believer, where does that leave you, hey?" There was no jocularity on his face. His lips trembled for a brief moment, in anger, or from heartbreak. Then he said quietly, "Once, when I was like you, maybe even a lot more cynical than you-a Schopenhauer freak, you know?-once I would say about these kinds of things: G.o.d is cracking up with laughter."

Ora pursed her lips and did not reply. She thought to herself, Shut up and listen, what harm could it do to gain a little strength, even with his help? Do you have such reserves of strength that you can pa.s.s up even a drop of reinforcement? For a moment she considered offhandedly pulling out her shiviti shiviti from her blouse, so he'd see that she too had an elated Jewish soul. Oh, you miserable woman, she rebuked herself. You beggar. Or maybe it was just that this Akiva was arousing something in her, despite his tzitzit and all his jumping around and his religious nonsense. from her blouse, so he'd see that she too had an elated Jewish soul. Oh, you miserable woman, she rebuked herself. You beggar. Or maybe it was just that this Akiva was arousing something in her, despite his tzitzit and all his jumping around and his religious nonsense.

Akiva wiped the anger off his face with both hands, smiled at her, and said, "Now, ladies and gentlemen, we shall go to Ya'ish and Yakut's house to cheer them up, and maybe we'll cheer ourselves up as well."

Even before they arrived, a small, round, laughing woman came out to them, wiping her hands on her ap.r.o.n and calling, "Oh my, we've been waiting so long, we could've died! h.e.l.lo, Akiva! h.e.l.lo mister and missus, such an honor, really. What happened to you, lady, did you fall, G.o.d forbid?" She kissed Akiva's hand, and he put his palm on her head and blessed her with his eyes closed. The house was dark, despite the midday hour, and two young boys were dragging a table with a chair on it across the room to replace a burned-out lightbulb, and there was great rejoicing when they walked in. "Akiva brought the light! Akiva brought the light!" When the family members saw Ora and Avram, they fell silent and looked at Akiva for guidance. He waved both arms and sang, "Hineh ma tov! Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity!" "Hineh ma tov! Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity!" Avram was quickly seated in an armchair with much fanfare, and Ora was taken by a big-boned woman to the bathroom, where she washed her face and hair for a long time, flushing out streams of mud. The woman stood watching her with kind eyes, then handed her a towel and some cotton wool and gently applied yellow iodine to her cuts and sc.r.a.pes. She said it was good that it stung, that meant all the germs were burning off, and then she took Ora back to the living room, washed and placated. Avram was quickly seated in an armchair with much fanfare, and Ora was taken by a big-boned woman to the bathroom, where she washed her face and hair for a long time, flushing out streams of mud. The woman stood watching her with kind eyes, then handed her a towel and some cotton wool and gently applied yellow iodine to her cuts and sc.r.a.pes. She said it was good that it stung, that meant all the germs were burning off, and then she took Ora back to the living room, washed and placated.

Meanwhile, from the bustling kitchen, there had emerged a silver platter adorned with little silver fish around the edges, bearing sunflower seeds, almonds, peanuts, pistachios, and dates. Then came a round copper platter with gla.s.ses of tea in delicate silver holders, and the lady of the house urged Ora and Avram to snack, saying lunch would be served soon. With some horror, Ora noticed a muscular young man with both legs amputated, darting around on his arms with amazing speed. Akiva explained that the three boys in the family were born deaf-mute, and it was from G.o.d: "The girls came out all right, praise G.o.d, but not the boys. Something hereditary. And that one you see there, Rachamim, the youngest, he decided in childhood that the handicap wouldn't get in his way. He went to high school in Kiryat Shmonah, got all Bs on his finals, and had a profession as a bookkeeper in a metal factory. Then one day he got sick of it and decided he wanted to see the world." Akiva turned to the young man and announced: "Isn't that true, Rachamim? You were a real jet-setter, hey? Monaco?" Rachamim smiled and gestured with one hand at his no-legs and made a warmhearted yet terrifying cutting motion, and Akiva explained that two years ago, in Buenos Aires, Rachamim was working in a quarry when a heavy machine flipped over and crushed him. "But even that didn't stop him," Akiva said as he leaned over and put his arm around Rachamim's shoulders. "Last week he was back at work in the moshav, doing night shifts as a guard in the egg storeroom, and G.o.d willing"-he gave Ora a look that denied his grin-"next year we'll marry him off to a kosher Jewish girl."

They were urged to have lunch at this house too, and this time Akiva did not immediately reject the offer. He hesitated, closed his eyes, and consulted with himself, using broad hand gestures, and murmured, "Let thy foot be seldom in thy neighbor's house; lest he be sated with thee, and hate thee." "Let thy foot be seldom in thy neighbor's house; lest he be sated with thee, and hate thee." The others crowded around him and yelled out, "No! They won't be sated with thee and they won't hate thee!" Akiva's eyes lit up, and he raised his right hand and called out musically to the housewife: The others crowded around him and yelled out, "No! They won't be sated with thee and they won't hate thee!" Akiva's eyes lit up, and he raised his right hand and called out musically to the housewife: "Make ready quickly three measures of fine meal, knead it, and make cakes." "Make ready quickly three measures of fine meal, knead it, and make cakes." The swarm of women dispersed and hurried to the kitchen, and Ora guessed from his look that he had accepted the invitation because this house was slightly less poor than the others and could withstand the burden. The swarm of women dispersed and hurried to the kitchen, and Ora guessed from his look that he had accepted the invitation because this house was slightly less poor than the others and could withstand the burden.

Akiva himself went into the kitchen to make sure they didn't go overboard, and Ora and Avram were left in the room with a few of the family members, mostly girls and young children. There was utter silence until one boy plucked up the courage to ask where they were from. Ora told him she was from Jerusalem and Avram was from Tel Aviv, but originally he was also from Jerusalem, and when he was a little boy he lived in a neighborhood near the shuk shuk. But they were not impressed with her folkloric image of Jerusalem, and a thin young girl who was very pale and bundled up asked with some alarm, "You're not married?" The others giggled and shushed the impudent girl, but Ora said softly, "We've been friends for over thirty years." Another boy, with thin side locks tucked behind his ears and long black eyes like a young goat's, jumped up and protested: "Then why didn't you get married?" Ora said it just hadn't worked out that way and resisted saying, It seems we weren't meant to be together. Another girl giggled and held her hand over her mouth as she asked, "So did you marry someone else?" Ora nodded, and an excited whisper frothed up the room. All eyes were drawn to the kitchen to seek help from Akiva, who would certainly know how to behave in such a situation. Ora said, "But I don't live with him anymore," and the girl asked, "Why? Did he divorce you?" Ora ignored the painful blow, although it was like a punch in her stomach, and said, "Yes," and without being asked, she added, "I'm alone now, and Avram, this guy, is my friend, and we're hiking around the country together." Something a little unctious, the same thing that had tempted her to specify "Jerusalem" and "a neighborhood near the shuk," shuk," now compelled her to add, "Our beautiful country." now compelled her to add, "Our beautiful country."

The thin pale girl persisted with a stern expression. "And this man, does he have a wife?"

Ora looked at Avram, waiting for an answer, and he hunched over and stared at his fingers. Ora thought about the earring that looked like a horseman's spur, and the purple hairs in the brush in his bathroom, and when his silence persisted, she answered for him, "No, he's alone now." Avram gave an imperceptible nod, and a shadow of worry pa.s.sed over his face.

Other men and women came into the house, placed dishes on the table, and brought chairs. The thin boy with the goat eyes jumped up and asked, "But what's the matter with him? Why is he like that? Is he sick?" Ora said, "No, he's sad," and everyone looked at Avram and nodded understandingly, as if all at once he had been deciphered and was now clear and simple. Ora said boldly, "His son is in the army, in that campaign that's going on now." A coo of understanding and sympathy spread through the room, and blessings rolled off tongues, for this particular soldier and for our Defense Forces in general, and there were declarations, and G.o.d curse the Arabs, with everything we gave them they still want more, all they think about is killing us, for Esau hated Yaakov for Esau hated Yaakov, and Ora, with a very broad smile, suggested that today they not talk about politics. The difficult girl furrowed her brow in surprise: "That's politics? That's the truth! It's from the Torah!" Ora said, "Yes. But we don't want to talk about the news today!" But we don't want to talk about the news today!" An unpleasant silence congealed in the room, and at that moment, fortunately, Akiva came back from the kitchen and announced that the food would be ready soon, and meanwhile they should rejoice, An unpleasant silence congealed in the room, and at that moment, fortunately, Akiva came back from the kitchen and announced that the food would be ready soon, and meanwhile they should rejoice, "For he who eats without rejoicing in Hashem, it is as if he eats sacrifices of the dead." "For he who eats without rejoicing in Hashem, it is as if he eats sacrifices of the dead."

His arms and legs were already flying, and he started to sing and dance around the whole room, clapping his giant hands over his head and sweeping up one boy after the other. He s.n.a.t.c.hed an eight- or nine-month-old baby out of a girl's lap and proceeded to wave him in the air. The brave baby was brown and chubby: he was not scared at all, and he laughed out loud, and his laughter infected everyone. Even Avram smiled, and Akiva's eye picked it up, and in a graceful wave he danced over to Avram and placed the baby in his lap.

Within the joyful commotion Ora felt a thin frosty line stretch instantly around Avram as his body hardened and fossilized. His hands enveloped the outline of the baby's body without touching him. From her side of the room she could feel Avram's limbs retreat into the sh.e.l.l of their skin, far from the baby's touch.

The baby was completely absorbed in the revelry around him and in Akiva's wild dancing, and did not pay the slightest attention to the distress of the person in whose lap he had been dropped. His curvy brown body rocked cheerfully to the rhythm of the song and the clapping, his arms moved around as though he were conducting the tumult, and his fleshy mouth, a perfect little red heart, opened wide in a bright smile, and immeasurable sweetness poured forth.

Ora did not move. Avram stared straight ahead and seemed not to see anything. His heavy head with its stubbly beard was suddenly dark and foreign behind the baby's illuminating face. There was something almost intolerable in the scene. Ora imagined that this was the first time since his captivity that Avram had held a baby, and then it occurred to her that it might be the first time in his life. If only I had brought Ofer to him when he was a baby, she thought. If only I had come to him, unannounced, and placed Ofer in his arms, just like that, naturally, with utter confidence, as Akiva did. But it was now, with the actual picture before her, that Ora could not imagine Avram holding Ofer in his arms, and she wondered how he had caused her to erect a total barrier within herself between him and Ofer.

The baby must have been incredibly even-tempered; he reached out and grabbed hold of Avram's hand, which was lying lifelessly next to his hip, and he tried to hold it up to his head. When he found it too heavy, he twisted his face angrily and reached his other hand out. With great effort he pulled Avram's hand up and moved it this way and that like a conductor's baton, and it seemed to Ora that the baby had not grasped that he was holding a person's hand, and moreover, that he was sitting on a living human being. His distress grew when he noticed the hand's fingers and began to study then, and then play with them, but he still did not look back to see who the hand belonged to and in whose lap he was sitting so intimately. He simply folded and bent the unfamiliar fingers at their joints, wagged them in his hands as though they were a soft hand-shaped toy or a glove, and every so often he smiled at Akiva dancing before him and at the women and the girls who came and went from the kitchen. After he had carefully examined the gentle fingers and wondered about their fingernails and a fresh scratch he found-Ora remembered the way Avram used to torture himself with endless hand flexes, struggling to tone his muscles-the baby turned over Avram's hand and explored its soft palm with his finger.

Everyone was now busy setting the table and distributing bowls of food, and no one apart from Ora was watching. The baby put his lips to Avram's palm and made a soft, truncated bleating sound: "Ba-ba-ba." "Ba-ba-ba." He utterly delighted in the sound and the tickling sensation on his lips. Ora herself felt a teasing hum in her throat and mouth. Inside her, a voiceless murmur also bleated, He utterly delighted in the sound and the tickling sensation on his lips. Ora herself felt a teasing hum in her throat and mouth. Inside her, a voiceless murmur also bleated, Ba-ba Ba-ba.

With both hands the baby held the limb and played with it on his rosy mouth, wrapped his cheeks and chin in it, gave himself over to the apparently pleasurable touch of the hand-Ora remembered, she remembered Avram's amazingly thin skin, astoundingly soft, all over his body-and the baby's dark eyes focused somewhere in the s.p.a.ce of the room, and he was consumed with pure wonder at his own voice echoing through the sh.e.l.l he had made. Within the hubbub around him he listened only to his voice coming from outside and inside at the same time, as if hearing the first story he had ever told himself. He seemed to sense that with Avram it was good to tell stories, Ora thought. Avram did not move, and hardly breathed, so as not to disturb the baby, but after a while he shifted and straightened up a little in the chair, releasing his body, and Ora saw his shoulders soften and open and his lower lip tremble slightly in a movement that only she noticed because she knew to antic.i.p.ate it-how she had once loved these reflections of his subcutaneous turmoils, and the way every emotion left its mark on him, and the way he used to blush like a girl. She wondered if she should get up and rescue him by taking the baby, but she could not move. From the corner of her eye she could see that Akiva had also noticed what was going on, and that as he danced to and from the kitchen he constantly monitored the situation. He did not look worried or fearful for the baby, and her heart told her to trust his calmness.

She leaned back and allowed herself to sink into Avram, who finally turned to her and gave her a complete, lingering look, the look of a living person, and Ora felt then, right in the palm of her hand, the baby's breath, and how without even touching her the baby was imprinting her with the stamp of his warm, damp vivacity. Her hand closed over the burning secret, the kiss of another human's inner being, a tiny human in a diaper. Avram gave her a very slight nod of recognition, of acknowledgment. She replied with a similar nod, and for the first time since leaving home, and in contradiction to the despair that had consumed her only a few hours ago, when she had buried her face in the earth, she now had the thought that things might be good, and that perhaps she and Avram, together, were doing the right thing after all. But it was then that the baby started crying. He spread his chubby arms and cried at the top of his lungs, his face lit up in bright purple insult, and Ora dashed over and took him. As she did so, Avram let a few quick words escape, but she did not hear them properly because of the crying baby, or because of a slight shock that hit her when she touched the place where the baby's body had sprung from Avram's-and what she thought he said was, "But start from a distance."

She smiled awkwardly, confused by his words. Start what? And why from a distance? The baby's mother hurried in from the kitchen, her face red from the stove, and apologized for leaving the baby with Avram. "We turned you into a baggage claim! Any minute now he'd be calling you daddy." She laughed at how the little one had already been pa.s.sed around, keeping everyone busy. "Not one minute of quiet from this one," she complained affectionately. "Hungry, Daddy?" she asked, and Ora noticed that Avram was nodding distractedly, but he quickly pulled himself together and looked away from the mother, who sat down nearby and deftly pushed the baby under her blouse, where his head disappeared.

Ora thought about Ofer, and the terrible pain from last night subsided. Akiva walked through the room with a large bowl, humming a tune, and looked at her out of the corner of his eye as if he knew now why he had dragged them all this way. Her gaze was drawn to the baby, whose tiny fist kept opening and closing as he sucked eagerly, and she knew that Ofer, wherever he was, was safe and protected now. She repeatedly played through her mind what Avram had whispered, and then she understood.

Start from a distance?

He nodded once and looked away.

She sat down, crushing her fingers together, suddenly feeling fl.u.s.tered and a little frightened. He sat down opposite her. The room bustled and hummed around them, and for a long time they both watched something out there, in a time that had no time.

Should we stay for lunch? Ora asked Avram soundlessly, with only her lips moving. Ora asked Avram soundlessly, with only her lips moving.

"Whatever you want," he whispered, salivating at the dishes.

"I don't know, we just fell on them out of nowhere-"

"Of course you'll stay for lunch!" The housewife laughed-an unfortunately expert lip-reader. "What did you think, that we'd just let you go? It's an honor for us to have you eat here. All of Akiva's friends are our guests."

But start from a distance, he warned her, and she doesn't know what kind of distance he needs, whether he meant distance in time or s.p.a.ce, and besides-what is distant for him now, where he is? She walks behind him, looks at the worn heels of his ancient Converse sneakers, so unsuited for this nature walk, and resists asking when he's planning on finally switching to Ofer's heavy hiking boots, which dangle from his backpack. But perhaps they would be too big for him, she thinks, and perhaps that's what worries him. He had, and still has, small hands and feet-footlets, he used to call them, my footlets and handlets my footlets and handlets-which always embarra.s.sed him, and of course that was the reason he called himself Caligula, "little boot." She remembers how he marveled at the way her b.r.e.a.s.t.s fit perfectly in his cupped hands, although today they probably would not, having been suckled by two children and the mouths of many men-but not that many, in fact. Let's see. What is there to see? You know exactly how many, but some wicked little creature inside her has already started to count them off on its fingers as she walks: Ilan is one, Avram is two, and Eran, the Character, makes three-no, wait, four, with that Motti guy she brought home one night to the house in Tzur Hada.s.sah, years ago, who sang in the shower at the top of his lungs. So that makes four men. Fewer than one per decade, on average. Not a monumental achievement, considering there were girls who by the age of sixteen-but forget about that now!

The air bustles and hums. Flies, bees, gnats, gra.s.shoppers, b.u.t.terflies, and beetles hover and crawl and leap from the foliage. There is so much life inside every particle of the world, Ora thinks, and this profusion suddenly seems threatening, because why should the abundant, wasteful world care if the life of one fly, or one leaf, or one person, were to end at this very moment? The sorrow of it makes her start talking.

In a soft, flat voice she tells him that until recently Ofer had a girlfriend, his first one, and she left him, and he still hasn't gotten over it. "I really liked her. You could say I adopted her a bit, and she adopted me, too. We became very close, which was probably a mistake on my part, because it's not good to get so close to your boys' girlfriends"-well, this is really useful information for him, she thinks. "Everyone warned me, but Talia, that was her name, I just fell in love with her as soon as I saw her. And by the way, she wasn't all that beautiful, although to me she was, she had-she has has, I have to stop thinking about her in the past tense, I mean she's still around, she's still alive, right? So why do I ..."

For a few seconds the only sounds are their footsteps, the path crunching under their feet, and the buzzing hum. I'm talking to him, Ora thinks with astonishment. I'm telling him these things, I don't even know if this counts as starting from a distance, but it's the farthest from Ofer that I can be now, and Avram's not running away.

"And Talia's face...how can I describe it to you"-descriptions were always your thing, she thinks at him-"a face with strength, and character. A strong nose, full of personality, and big lips, which I love, and a large, feminine bust. And she had wonderful fingers." Ora giggles and waves her own fingers before her eyes. They used to be lovely too, until recently, when their joints grew thick and crooked.

In her wallet, secretly, behind a little picture of Ofer and Adam with their arms around each other-it was taken the morning Adam enlisted; they both had long hair, Adam's dark and straight, Ofer's still golden, curly at the edges-she keeps a picture of Talia. She can't bring herself to remove it, and she's always afraid Ofer might find it and get angry. Sometimes she pulls it out of its hiding place and looks at it. She tries to guess what sort of children might have been born from a combination of Talia and Ofer. Occasionally she slides the photo into the empty clear plastic slot that, until six months ago, had contained a picture of Ilan, and looks from the boys to Talia and back again, imagining Talia as her daughter, and then it dawns on her: it looks so possible and natural.

"She's a totally levelheaded girl. She even has a bit of an old person's bitterness. You would have liked her"-she smiles at his back-"but don't think she was so...how should I put this? She wasn't the easiest person. Well, what do you expect, that Ofer would choose someone easy?"

She thinks the back of his neck grows denser between his shoulders.

They are walking down a riverbed on a worrisome rocky slope-a double-X trail, the boys would have called it: Extra Extreme. When they started their way down and she saw Avram slip and grab on to a jutting rock, she mumbled that she hoped this was just a little deviation from the path and immediately winced at the echo of her words in his mind and wondered if someone inside him would say, in that clownish nasal voice and with a wicked trollish smile: Avram is actually quite fond of little deviations Avram is actually quite fond of little deviations. But she felt no voice or echo of a smile in him, and his eyes did not glimmer, and perhaps there really was nothing there, no one. Get that through your head already, she told herself, and just accept it.

Now they're on an escarpment of slippery rocks, which pulls them deep down into a gorge, and that too is a word that once would have tickled him and prompted him to say something gorgey, gorgeous, gorging gorgey, gorgeous, gorging, to delight in the way his tongue touched the roof of his mouth...Stop-She cuts herself off. Let him be, he's really not inside there anymore. But on the other hand, he clearly has been listening to her for the last several minutes as she talked about Ofer. He isn't brushing her off the way he usually does, so maybe he really is giving her an opening, a crack. And for her, these sorts of cracks have recently become a familiar nesting spot. She is now a creature of the cracks. After living with two well-armored adolescent boys, and lately, seeing Eran, who allocates at most ninety minutes a week to her, this seems easy.

"She became part of the family immediately," Ora continues as they descend, and she holds back a little sigh, because something changed at home when Talia came, when she started having meals with them and staying over and even going on vacations abroad with them (all of a sudden I had someone to go to the bathroom with when we were on trips, she remembers). But how can she tell him this? How can she describe to a man like him-that apartment of his, the darkness, the solitariness-the slight shift that occurred in the balance between men and women at home, and her feeling that womanhood itself had been given, for the first time perhaps, its rightful place in the family? How can she recount something like that, and what could he, in his state, understand? And what business is it of his anyway? Truth be told, she does not yet feel ready to admit to him, to an almost stranger, how amazed she was, and how it taunted her even to see how this young woman effortlessly attained something she herself had never even tried to demand from her three men: their full recognition of the fact that she was a woman, her discrete self-definition as a woman in a house of three men, and the fact that being a woman was not just another of her annoying whims, nor a pathetic defiance of the real thing, which was how the three of them often made her feel. Ora quickens her steps, her lips move soundlessly, and a slight headache starts to hum, as in her high school days when she faced a page full of equations. What Talia had brought about, G.o.d only knows how, through the very light motions of her being! Ora snickers to herself, because even Nicotine, the family dog, of blessed memory, experienced a slightly embarra.s.sing change when Talia was around.

"I was very hurt when she left. And you know, I felt something just before it happened. I felt it before anyone else did, because she stopped coming over whenever she had a spare moment. She avoided me, and suddenly she didn't have time to sit with me over morning coffee, or just chat on the balcony. Then she came up with the idea that maybe she wouldn't do her army service and would go to London for a year instead, to sell sungla.s.ses and make some money and study art and experience things. And when she said 'experience things,' I immediately told Ilan that something was going on. Ilan said, 'No way, she's just dreaming a little, she loves him, and she's a girl with a good head on her shoulders. Where else would she find a guy like him?' But I was nervous, I had the feeling that all of a sudden her plans did not include Ofer, or that she was getting a little tired of him, or I don't know what"-that she'd run her course run her course with him-"and Ofer was totally surprised when it came, he was really in shock, and I'm not sure he's out of it yet." with him-"and Ofer was totally surprised when it came, he was really in shock, and I'm not sure he's out of it yet."

Ora purses her lips. You saw it all, you with your eagle eye-she stabs herself and twists the knife around-the only thing you missed were the signs in Ilan. He ran his course ran his course with you. with you.

How happy she used to be, Avram thinks and glances at her face. She used to be such a giggler. He remembers how he came to visit her when she was in basic training, at Bahad 12. He walked along the edge of the parade ground, suddenly finding it difficult to stand proudly upright in front of all these hundreds of girls-in his fantasies, the legendary city of girls had a constant soundtrack of sighs and damp moans and longing gazes, but this one buzzed like a hornet's nest of giggles and sneers, sideways Cleopatra eyes-and s