“Skip that stuff,” Dov said.
“Well, go to Eilat. That place is full of guys like you. You can do whatever you like and nobody will bother you. If you slug someone, the guy won’t start yelling for the cops, only slug you back. I’ll give you my jeep; you can pay me later. In Eilat you’ll look up this guy I know working at the airport and he’ll help you find tourists you can drive out to the desert, show them around. Tourists like taking pictures and bouncing their guts in jeeps; it makes them feel like adventurers. And you’ll be making enough for a man to live on.” He poured himself a shot of brandy. “Sorry. Enough for two men to live on. When winter comes, you’ll come back here and pay me my share.”
“All right,” Dov said, getting up. “I’ll call our hotel and find out what time we have to check out. I want to leave tonight.”
Women turned their heads to stare at him as he walked across the room, but he didn’t notice the looks they sent him. He resembled a man walking across a cornfield and parting the stalks with his hands.
“Funny, isn’t it?” the stout man turned to Israel. “The way a woman can hurt a man.”
“Yeah,” Israel said.
“When did he see her last?”
“A year ago,” Israel said. “Maybe more.”
“And he still thinks about her?”
“I guess so.”
“She really got to him,” the stout man said. “He’s like a blind man now. Why did they split? Did he ever tell you?”
“No. He never talks about it. Not even to me.”
“Tell him to stop thinking about her. There are plenty of other women around, thank God. Tell him I said that.”
“Tell him yourself,” Israel said. “Why wouldn’t you give me a job?”
The stout man looked at Israel for the first time since he’d walked into the restaurant. He placed his glass on the table and said, “You should go away. You aren’t suited for this country and you don’t like it. Dov loves it. Too bad he’ll come to such a stupid end.” He gazed into the distance; his eyes were red and tired. “When I came to Israel, the man who worked in a kibbutz drying swamps, building roads, or planting orange groves was considered the number one hero. Now it’s the rich American Jew who comes here to invest his money and won’t even bother to learn ten words of Hebrew. So I, too, decided to start making money. Why not? I don’t like to appear a fool. I’m telling you to go away. Take my advice, sonny boy.”
“I’ll get used to it,” Israel said.
“Yeah, you might get used to this country. But you won’t learn to like it.”
Dov came back and sat down. It was dark now and a huge moon was hanging low over the sea, but the beach was still crowded and the heads of swimmers dotted the broad white waves far away from land.
“We might as well stay the night,” Dov said. “They charge you anyway if you check out after six.” He turned to the stout man. “Where’s your jeep?”
“Outside. I came in it. I knew I had to give you this last chance. Even though you’ll let it slip through your hands, you dumb bastard.” They watched his swarthy, meaty face and his thick fingers playing with the glass. “What does your dad do, Dov?”
“He lives with my brother.”
“And how is he? Has he changed a lot?”
“He’s eighty now. You don’t change at that age.” Dov rose, taking the jeep’s registration card and the car keys from the stout man, but he didn’t walk away yet. For a moment he stood there, not looking at the sitting man, and finally said, “Give me an advance. I need money for gas. I’ll pay you when I come back for the winter.”
“Don’t you want my dentures too, Dov?” the stout man asked, but he reached into his pocket.
A while later he watched the two men cross the street and climb into the jeep, and for the first time he noticed how much they resembled each other. “This is how it had to be,” he said aloud to himself. “That’s why I came here. To give him my jeep and my money, knowing he’ll waste it all.”
“Will you pay the bill, sir?” the waiter asked.
The stout man turned to him. “Why do you bother to ask? Has the big guy who was here ever paid you?”
“There was a time when he settled his bills,” the waiter said, adjusting his dirty cummerbund. He had a huge nose and a thin, tragic face. “She brought him down.”
“Yes,” the stout man said. “She did.”
THEY ENTERED THE ROOM AND CLOSED THE DOOR. IT was difficult to breathe; even though they had walked a very short distance and climbed only one flight of stairs, they were both sweating profusely. Dov dropped his wet shirt to the stone floor. Outside somebody was singing in a high, shrill voice; whenever a bus roared past, the noise drowned out the song, but then it rose again.
“It’ll be like this until morning,” Israel said. He threw himself on one of the beds, first tossing the blanket covering it to the floor.
“Is that the beggar on the corner of Ben Yehuda Street?”
“Yes.”
“The blind one?”
“Yes.”
Somebody knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Dov said.
A man slipped into the room; it was the desk clerk. He held a towel in his hand and every five seconds or so he’d wipe his face and arms with it.
“What do you want, Harry?” Dov asked.
“You left something in the shower yesterday, Dov,” the man said. “Something you often use. Here, I brought them.”
Dov turned slowly in his direction and took the two leather wrist straps the man held out to him; they were old and dark with sweat. He looked at them for a moment and then gave them back.
“I won’t be needing them again,” he said. “I’ve found myself an easy job.”
“You didn’t use them for work,” the desk clerk said.
“I told you, I won’t need them,” Dov said. “You can keep them or throw them away.”
“No,” Israel said, holding out his hand to the desk clerk. “Hand them over. I’ll take them.”
“But Dov said I could have them,” the desk clerk said.
“Listen, Harry,” Israel said, “the guy who was staying here before us left something behind. I’ll give it to you if you give me the wrist straps.” He reached under his pillow, pulled out a shirt and showed it to the desk clerk.
“Okay,” the man said. He grabbed the shirt and gave Israel the leather straps. But he didn’t leave yet. His gaze wandered around the room, and when he saw their canvas bag standing in the corner, he pointed to it and asked, “Is that all you have? The two of you?”
“Whenever I have to carry it, I wish we had even less,” Dov said.
“We also have a jeep,” Israel said. He pulled the clerk’s towel out of his grasp and wiped his own face and shoulders with it before giving it back. “Now go away, we want to get some sleep. Hang that shirt in your closet together with all the other stuff you took from guests who couldn’t pay their bills.”
“I will,” the desk clerk said, reluctantly moving toward the door. “So now you have a jeep and that bag. Good night.”
“Good night, Harry,” Dov said.
When the desk clerk left, Dov propped himself on his elbows and turned toward Israel. “Why did you give him your own shirt? What do you want the straps for?”
“They might come in handy.”
“I don’t want that to happen,” Dov said. He watched Israel climb off his bed, untie the canvas bag, and put the two wrist straps, old and dark with sweat, inside. Then he looked at his wrists; two lighter rings showed where he used to fasten the straps. “My bones were always too weak. My muscles are too strong and my bones too weak.” He paused. “I once read a book about a man who had the same problem. Strong muscles and weak bones. I don’t remember what book it was. I’ve forgotten all the books I ever read.”