The waiter brought a cup of coffee and a plate with a piece of bread with a slice of meat.
“You didn’t order coffee, did you?” the insurance agent asked.
“Never mind,” she said. “I’ll drink it. The waiter has been here for just three years.”
“It’s not healthy to drink so much coffee,” he said. “But here in Israel, one simply has to.”
“Oh, I like being reckless,” she said. “Same as those men who own the motorboats. Pass me the sugar, please.” He handed her the sugar bowl and she heaped two spoonfuls into her cup and then added a third one. “I like my coffee very sweet,” she said. “How does that German saying about coffee go?”
“Coffee should be dark as night, sweet as sin, and strong as love,” he said. His tired face twisted into a gloomy smile. “Funny it’s the Germans who say that. Germans don’t know anything about coffee.”
Israel entered the café and came over to their table; seeing him, the insurance agent said good-bye and left.
“What did he want?” Israel asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “But if I had wanted to buy insurance, he could have sold it to me. He’s from Berlin, and I asked if anybody spoke German. Do you have your passport?”
“You still want me to go away with you?”
“Has anything changed?”
“No,” he said. “Nothing has changed. And nothing will. I can’t go with you.”
“Is it because of something Dov said?”
“No,” he said. “It’s because of what everybody will say. When an American goes to Paris and stays there for thirty years, drinking himself blind and telling everybody he doesn’t like America, everybody considers him a charming eccentric for as long as his money lasts. But if a Jew goes somewhere, everybody begins to act surprised. Nobody really knows why it’s so. But that’s the way it’s always been.”
“It’s exactly the same thing Dov told me yesterday when he got his doors mixed up.”
“If two people say the same thing, it means there’s something to it,” he said. “But it’s not only the two of us who think this way.”
“You’re wrong,” she said. “People can live wherever they want as long as they have money or work. It’s not like you say. You just lack the strength to leave Dov and start leading your own life.”
“Maybe,” he said. “Words don’t mean much. Look, stay here as long as you want. And come again as soon as you can. Nothing will change during your absence.”
The waiter placed a cup of coffee in front of Israel.
“It’ll change,” she said. She gazed for a moment at the next table, where the insurance agent had left his newspaper on the way out; then she picked up the sugar bowl. “How much sugar do you take?” she asked.
“None,” he said.
“Take some,” she said. She put one and then another spoon into his cup. “Things change,” she said.
“I have to go,” he said. “Dov has been showing tourists around all day, but some want to see King Solomon’s mines by night, in artificial light, although you’d think that after all those hours in the sun they’d have enough light until the next day. So I have to drive them there.”
“Will you come over tonight?”
“Yes,” he said. “As soon as I take those tourists back to their hotel.”
“What time?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know when they’ll have enough. They might not like the mines at all. They might sleep throughout the trip and I may have to talk aloud to myself to stay awake.”
He got up.
“So you don’t want to go away with me?” she asked.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I said I didn’t,” he said. “The truth is I simply don’t think it’s possible for me to leave.”
“You’re afraid to leave Dov alone?”
“Nothing will happen to him as long as he doesn’t beat up somebody,” he said. “But all he needs to start a fight is some excuse. He’s got reasons enough.”
He went out and walked up to the jeep parked by the curb. Dov was leaning against the hood, drinking beer straight from the bottle.
“Where are those guests?” Israel asked.
“In the Eilat Hotel,” Dov said. “The man’s name is Borgenicht.” He took the car keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Israel.
“I’ll drive you home,” Israel said.
“Did I say I wanted to go home? I’m not going back there until they all go to sleep. My father, my brother, Esther. Want some beer?”
“Yes.”
Dov passed him the bottle.
“I’ll get drunk today,” Dov said.
“You’ll feel dreadful tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? I feel dreadful today. I’ve been feeling dreadful half my life, and a bottle of brandy is only eight pounds.”
“Wait for me,” Israel said. “We’ll get drunk together. That’ll cost us sixteen pounds.”
“No,” Dov said. “Spend the night with your girl. You got me into an awful fix yesterday.”
“They got me into an awful fix,” Israel said. “Your father, your brother. And Esther.”
“Esther is a big, foolish child,” Dov said. “You shouldn’t listen to her gibberish.”
Israel smiled. “Dov.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t you really understand anything? Do I have to open your eyes for you every time?”
“Don’t,” Dov said. “I beg you, don’t explain anything to me. You told me yesterday what I was supposed to do and I’ve never felt as bad as today. Don’t tell me anything more. There’s nothing you could say in the whole world that would interest me. Is there any beer left?”
“Some.”
“Let me have it.”
Israel returned the bottle to him.
“I won’t stand it here much longer,” Dov said. “I have to leave.”
“We’ll both leave.”
“But each of us will go his own way.”
“That’ll happen only if you want it to happen,” Israel said. “Otherwise I’ll stick with you.”
“Don’t you want to go to Europe anymore?” Dov asked. “Don’t you want to start a new life?”
“No,” Israel said. “I have to let this one run its course first.”
Dov didn’t say anything; he threw the bottle into the dark and must have hit someone with it, because they heard a curse.
“You’re still young,” he finally said. “Maybe elsewhere you could lead a better life. I don’t know. I can’t advise you. It could work both ways, you know. I can’t say. I’ve never been to Europe.”
“I’m a Jew,” Israel said. “That’s what they ask you about first, and only then about your age. I was in Europe, so I know.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Nothing. I’ll stay here. We both will.”
“I want to go away,” Dov said. “I’m fed up with Eilat. I’m fed up with my father, my brother, his crazy wife. I want to get drunk.”
“Wait for me,” Israel said. “We’ll get drunk together.”
“What about Ursula?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she’ll get drunk with us.”
“If I had the money, I’d get this whole town drunk,” Dov said. “The whole goddamn town together, the rabbis, the mayor, and the three hundred miners working in King Solomon’s mine. And all those fucking tourists who come here and pretend they like my country, I’d get them drunk, too. So they’d all feel awful tomorrow. The way I do today. I slept three hours last night, that’s it. And tonight I won’t sleep any more than that. I’ll get this whole goddamn town drunk, and then we’ll go away.”