“And what do they say about someone who makes his living driving tourists around for a few measly pounds? Just look at him. Couldn’t he be doing something else?”
Dov drove past them again and again they saw the tourists’ terrified faces.
“No,” Israel said. “Let Dov stay here and do whatever he wants. I can’t imagine this country without him. And Dov would die if he had to go away. I’m sure of that. Just like old peasants die when they have to leave their farms and move to the city.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she said. “Let everybody go to pot his own way. Where can I get something cold to drink?”
“There’s a stand by the hotel,” he said. “It’s run by a guy named Jack who speaks six languages. Unfortunately, he has nothing interesting to say in any of them. Put your sandals on: you can cut your foot on something walking barefoot.”
He watched her walk away, then picked up a newspaper. A moment later someone touched his arm; he looked up.
“Israel Berg!” a man said. “Don’t you recognize me?”
“Sure,” Israel said. “We worked together in Herzliya. You’re a bricklayer, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” the man said. “Now I work here. Where’s Dov Ben Dov?”
“Here, in Eilat. He just drove by with some tourists. Didn’t you see him?”
“No. What’s new with him?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell him I’m here.”
“I will.”
“Don’t forget, okay?”
“I won’t.”
“Do you remember my name?”
“I’ll tell him I met that bricklayer from Herzliya. Dov will know who I mean. He’s got a good memory.”
“What makes you think he’ll remember me?”
“I didn’t say I thought anything.”
“Why not?”
“Because thinking is my weak point,” Israel said. “Look, I’d like to take a nap now.”
“How can you take a nap if you’re with a woman? That would be rude.”
“Then I won’t take a nap,” Israel said.
“What’s that woman like?”
“Like other women,” Israel said. “Though I’m sure she thinks herself different.”
“Where’s she from?”
“Europe.”
“You’ll go to bed with her?”
“I already did.”
“And how was it?”
“Great. That’s why I’m so tired. I’d like to take a nap. For at least five minutes.”
“I’ll leave you then.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll tell him, won’t you?”
“Sure.”
“You won’t forget?”
“No.”
“You’ll tell him it was me?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I’ll be going then,” the man said. “Hey, I just realized something. You know what?”
“No,” Israel said. “But I’m sure it must be important.”
“I just realized that that woman and Dov would make a fine couple,” the man said.
Israel raised himself on his elbows. “You think so?”
“Yes,” the man said. “Dov is a big man, and she’s rather petite. They would look nice together. My mother was also shorter than my father, and my sister is much shorter than my brother-in-law. Has Dov seen her?”
“Yes.”
“And? What did he say?”
“He told her his name and that was it. You must have forgotten that Dov has a wife.”
“Had a wife.”
“Dov still has a wife,” Israel said. “And she’ll come back to him when he wants her to. He won’t even have to whistle to make her come running. It’ll be enough if he just thinks to himself that he wants her back; she’ll know.”
“How come you’re so irritable? A young man like you? Well, I’ll be going now. Just tell Dov I’m here, okay?”
“I will,” Israel said.
Israel did not look again at the man who stood before him hoping their conversation would continue; instead, he looked toward the hotel where he could see Ursula walking back in his direction, then he moved his gaze to where the jeep was and saw Dov drinking a bottle of beer. Finally, the man left; Israel placed a newspaper over his face and lay down on the sand. He heard Ursula approach and sit down next to him.
“Are you asleep?” she asked him softly.
“No,” he said. “I’m thinking. I’m thinking about leaving Israel and getting back to studying planes. It won’t be easy for me to leave. I’m trying to imagine Dov’s reaction. We’ve been together a long time.”
“He can’t stop you,” she said. “He’ll just have to accept your decision.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“He’ll have only himself to blame.”
“Dov can’t understand why his wife left him,” Israel said. “He spends a lot of time mulling over it, but I know he’ll never find the answer. Is he really to blame himself for that?”
She looked at him, at his slim body and handsome, alert face, then turned her head away.
“So it’s like I thought after all,” she said. “You want to be like him. Like Dov Ben Dov. Maybe with time you’ll manage to adopt or emulate all his good points and virtues. But you’ll never have his vices. And you’ll have only yourself to blame for that.” She stood up and held out her hand to him. “Come, let’s go have some coffee.”
They left the beach and started walking toward town. They stopped at the nearest café. Ursula sat down at an outdoor table and Israel went inside. There was nobody there; a red beaded curtain hung stiffly at the end of the room.
“Does anybody run this place?” Israel asked loudly after standing by the bar for a while.
The red curtain swung open and a portly man stepped behind the bar. He placed his elbows on it and looked at Israel.
“I run it,” he said.
“You don’t run it well,” Israel said. “You should stand behind the bar and wait for customers. Give me two coffees.”
“There’s no coffee here,” the man said.
“What do you mean?” Israel asked. “Your coffee-maker is hot.”
“You’re mistaken.”
Israel touched the espresso. “It’s hot,” he said.
“You’re that friend of Ben Dov’s?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want you to drink coffee in my place,” the man said.
“Why?”
“That’s my business. Just like this place is mine. Don’t you understand Hebrew, mister? How long have you been in this country?”
Israel didn’t answer.
“I want to know why you won’t sell me coffee,” he finally said. “You don’t think you can insult me for no reason, do you?”
The man began to walk away, but then came back and faced Israel. He was heavy, fat, and white, as if the sun beating down on everything for fourteen hours a day had never touched his skin.
“I don’t like your type,” the man said. “Does that satisfy you?”
“No.”
“I was with Abraham Stern. Do you at least know who that was?”
“Sure.”
“No, you don’t,” the man said. “He was a man who wanted to fight. Who waited all by himself on the rooftop while police surrounded the house.” He paused and then said, “There was no way they could have gotten him alive.”
“I don’t see what this has to do with my coffee,” Israel said. “Everybody in this country knows that Stern was a hero.”
“But there is no street named after him,” the man said. “What happened to your face?”
“Is that what’s bothering you?”
“Not only that. Don’t ever come here again. Neither you nor Ben Dov. I don’t want any brawls in my place.”
“Should I tell him that?”
“Why ask? Don’t you tell him everything? You tell him to settle your scores for you, don’t you? But I don’t like it when a Jew is hit in the face and he won’t defend himself. It reminds me of something I left behind. Something I don’t want to go back to. You can tell him all that. I’m not afraid of him. I was never afraid of anything or anybody.”