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“Are you still listening? Should I go on?”

“Of course.”

And she did. The secretary, a nameless woman of about thirty who had once been briefly married, was planning to kidnap a baby and took a bus to some new section of Jerusalem to look for one. A description of it that sounded very much like the neighborhood in which Dina and Asi lived. She attached herself to a woman with a baby carriage and followed her into a supermarket. The descriptions grew more and more detailed.

On the other side of the wall the noises grew louder. Kedmi was snorting now. How like him to come like an animal. Had we not always felt, though, that Ya’el, for all her docility, had in her a tough, dark kernel of passion? She never even got through high school. The snorting sounds reached a comical crescendo. A lunatic scene. Afraid that Dina would hear, I crossed quietly back across the room and leaned my body against the wall to cushion the sound.

But she was too absorbed in her own bizarre story to hear anything. The flow of words didn’t stop. Descriptions of counters, of foods, of shopping lists. There was something undeveloped, held in, still juvenile about the emotions she was expressing but she definitely did have talent. The power to titillate with language, to let a plot slowly unfold. Only what was this fantasy of hers really about? What was she getting at?

Beyond the wall I heard Ya’el’s soft sobs and Kedmi’s devilish laugh. Dina took off her glasses and glanced up with a troubled look. I felt myself go red. She studied me severely, puzzled to find me standing with my back to the wall.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“You’re still with me?”

“Of course I am.”

But my thoughts strayed. Don’t pin your hopes on me I said to her I’m not a stand-in for the man you don’t believe in and never will. And I can’t love the second woman any more than I do the first. A waste of time. And out of guilt you let her have it. Out of fear that you’d make a dreadful mess. Disgrace yourself. The tears formed a lump in my throat.

The woman quickly paid for two liters of milk and went to the checkroom, by the counter of which stood the baby carriage. With one motion she lifted the infant and hurried outside to the bus stop, where she boarded the first bus. A description of the sky. She changed buses, got off again, and climbed the stairs to her apartment. A thorough description of a stairwell, on which stood a bucket and a mop. She laid the kidnapped baby in her bed. More straightforward narrative, the pace quickened. But what a weird plot!

I sat down again in the chair. A small tuft of absorbent cotton lay on the floor and I picked it up absentmindedly and rolled it between my fingers. Strange as it was, Dina’s story moved me. She continued to read, her blue eyes deepening a shade, her soft breast rising and falling with her breath, her cheeks rosy with color, her voice growing stronger and more intense. A description of the night passed by the woman in her apartment with the crying, kidnapped child. Suddenly a knock on the door. An unexpected visit from her father, an old pest in a fedora, a slightly bohemian type. With a start I realized that he was partly modeled on me. The woman hid the baby in the bathtub. She turned the radio on full blast and finally managed to get rid of the old man.

My fingers were coated with slime. I stared at them. The absorbent cotton oozed a living, sticky jelly that might have been a squashed butterfly or a worm. I shuddered. One of Gaddi’s cocoons must have fallen on the floor and was now crushed between my fingers. I hurried to throw it in the wastebasket and to wipe my hand on a piece of paper.

But Dina hadn’t even noticed. She went on with her obstinate narration, continuing the story. Days went by and the woman remained imprisoned in her little apartment, afraid to leave it for anything. Only at night did she venture out to get food. Time passed, no one came to look for the child, and little by little the suspicion dawned on her that it might be slightly retarded. An odd, messy denouement. Possibly symbolic. An ending that didn’t really end.

It was getting darker out. The day had turned. The pages rustled in Dina’s hands as she collected them, still avoiding my glance. She took off her glasses and stretched herself, a feverish glow in her cheeks.

“You were bored.”

“I most certainly was not!”

“Then talk!”

Confusedly I began to relate my impressions, analyzing the story like a student before a professor, telling her what I thought of it. She listened tensely, hanging silently on every word, her fingers playing with the edge of the blanket. I tried to be honest while also being careful what I said. “I’m overwhelmed…. Awfully moved…. You have great power…. I need to read it again…. The end isn’t clear…. Still unresolved….It needs more thought…. A slightly childish fantasy, but complex…. It’s true that there are repetitive passages, but there are also unforgettable descriptions, such as the one of the bucket and mop at the bottom of the stairs…And at the same time there’s something frightening about it…That moment when the father arrives and she puts the child in the bathtub….I was scared of her then, of what she might do…”

She looked up, intrigued. “You were scared of her? How odd!”

“Yes. For a moment I thought that she was going to kill the child.”

“Kill it?” She seemed amused. “And you never once felt sorry for her during the entire story?”

“Sorry? No… something else… I’ll have to think about it…”

All at once she stood up radiantly, very satisfied, even blissful. She hugged and kissed me, pressing herself against me.

“And I was so afraid of what you would say…”

“You were afraid of me? But why, silly girl?”

“We’ll miss you a lot… Tsvi was right…”

I stood there distractedly stroking her cropped hair. Yes, parting was going to be harder than I’d thought. You’ve made a happy man of me today.

“The only one who doesn’t care is Asi…”

“Oh, no, he does too. He’s just too proud to admit it.”

All of a sudden she let go of me, ran to her bag, pulled out her pad, leafed through it, and wrote something down. So infantile. I looked down at my stained fingers, on which was smeared something shaped like a wing. I went to the bathroom to wash my hands. A few more hours. And I had let Naomi have my share. Soon she would be free, might even remarry. Where does the thought keep coming from? On again off again. I washed my hands thoroughly, looking at myself in the dark mirror: the tired face, the dry, gray hair, the bloodshot eyes. I took my toothbrush and cleaned my teeth. Phantasmagoric. A few more hours. Perhaps I should shave, the flight would be a long one. And there dawn had broken by now. Connie was counting the hours. Not a young woman anymore and soon to have a child. And me with my bridges burned. Disinherited. Homeland why weren’t you a homeland. I left the bathroom and passed down the hall, peeking in on Gaddi, who lay open-eyed in bed with a suffering look on his face. I kissed him without a word and returned to my room. Dina was still on the bed in stockinged feet, her glasses back on, rereading her story, pleased as punch with it. An ambitious little thing. One of your do-nothing won’t-work don’t-want-children scribblers. He’d have his hands full with her. Fantasies. I went to the living room. The house like the still echo of a no longer thrumming bowstring. Outside it really was gray now. Maybe it would rain. I went to the bathroom to pee. My face shook and was gone in the dim toilet. What really do you want? Five million just like that as though it weren’t mine. Back in the hallway I bumped into Kedmi in his undershirt, drowsy, sour-smelling, sleep-disheveled, smiling to himself as he stepped into the bathroom.