He drove with the clothes to the old-age home, where he found his mother-in-law alone by the garden pool, her cane beside her and a crumpled straw hat spangled with glass cherries on her head. Looking pale and drawn, she said she had come downstairs to intercept him before he woke the sleeping boy to scold him. “But I wouldn’t have done that at all!” he objected. “I’ll give him hell later, but now he can sleep all he wants. You should have seen what he did to us,” he added, wondering if she had guessed that he had spent the last few days with a woman. Still, he was sorry not to have warned her about the boy in advance, since they both knew he had a habit of going off without his key. “And without enough money,” declared the old lady. “What do you mean?” asked Molkho indignantly. “That’s what he told me,” she insisted. “He said you didn’t give him enough.” “But that’s ridiculous,” protested Molkho. “I always give him exactly what he needs, because he just loses the rest of it anyway.”
She nodded curtly when asked how she was. The endless summer, it seemed, was beginning to get to her too. The radio predicted cooler weather, she told him, but could you believe what they said? “Why not?” argued Molkho. “No one’s paying them to say it, so it must be true.” He handed her the bag of clothes, pointing out the double items. A long silence ensued while he waited for a cleaning woman to finish mopping the lobby in order to walk her back inside. “Until when will you be in the office today?” she asked. “Until noon,” he replied. “I’m taking a half-day off.” The cherries tinkled thoughtfully on her hat. He could tell there was something she wanted from him but was embarrassed to ask for.
THERE WAS GRUMBLING in the office at his lateness. No one gave him credit anymore. A new generation of secretaries clamored for his signature and decisions, for he was the only ranking official not away on vacation. He worked hard all morning, looking up toward noontime to discover that the papers on his desk were flapping in a sudden, dusty breeze.
His thoughts turned to the woman in his apartment. Later in the day he would bring her to the bus station, but first he would embrace her, though not so unequivocally as to keep her from guessing what it meant. He considered how best to deliver a kiss that would arouse neither resistance nor false hopes, and then he dialed his mother-in-law. “Has the boy turned over in bed yet?” he inquired, startled to hear that his son was already up, dressed, and on his way home. He rushed out of the office, stopped to buy a cake at a bakery, and drove home as fast as he could. Stepping into the apartment, he momentarily feared he had gone blind, for the living room was dark except for a few motes of light that fell through the lowered blinds and drawn curtains upon the rug and chairs. Apprehensively he made out Ya’ara’s suitcase in the kitchen door. She was chatting quietly with Uri and Gabi, who, washed and combed, was sitting in the easy chair like a defendant in juvenile court. “We waited to say good-bye to you,” said his counselor, rising to shake Molkho’s hand, a melancholy smile on his lips. “But what are you doing here?” asked Molkho, turning red as if from a reprimand. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting, but you needn’t have come,” he said to Uri, stunned by the thought that Ya’ara had asked him to. She sat in the corner in her old jumper and white bobbysocks, her little eyes watching him with fresh interest. “You should have let me know. I couldn’t leave the office sooner, because I’m temporarily in charge of the department.” Was I supposed to be making love to her all this time? he wondered, noticing their depressed look. Was that the secret plan I spoiled? “Why, I thought you’d sleep at least until tomorrow!” he said with a brave smile to his son. “How come you’re up so bright and early? And after giving me all those gray hairs last night too! Did you tell him about it, Ya’ara?” he asked his counselor’s wife, who sat there intently, her hands folded over her little belly. “Did you tell him he had me worried sick?” He went over to shake the boy’s shoulders and then stood there gripping them. But Uri and Ya’ara were already on their feet, preparing to depart. “So soon?” asked Molkho despairingly. “Won’t you at least have a bite to eat first?” But they had eaten and drunk before he came and were eager to get back to Jerusalem.
But he was not ready to part with them. At least he owed them a summation, some sort of grade that could be given to his days with her, which were certainly not uneventful. Hurriedly he began with their visit to Yodfat, relating his impressions of the place. “Why, they’re still waiting for you there!” he told his tall counselor, who stood with his head to one side. “They think of you and hope you’ll come back when you’re through with the phase you’re in.” Uri smiled and shook his head impatiently, gently steering Ya’ara toward the door while donning his broad, cowboyish hat. And yet on anyone else it wouldn’t look half so classy, thought Molkho admiringly. If they would wait for him to drink a glass of water, he told them, seeing their minds were made up, he would gladly drive them to the bus station: there was a bus to Jerusalem every hour on the hour, and they could still make the two o’clock one. “But why don’t we just take a cab?” asked his counselor. Molkho’s feelings were hurt. “The hell you will!” he snapped, no less startled by his language than they were.
In the busy station he was left alone with Uri while Ya’ara went to buy a ticket. “When shall we meet again?” he asked, feeling his old counselor softening. “It’s terrible not being able to phone you. How can you live without a phone? Suppose I have to talk to you!” When, asked his counselor, did he plan to be in Jerusalem again? “Soon,” answered Molkho eagerly. “Very soon. In fact, maybe even this Saturday. But how can I let you know?”
Uri stood thinking. “Please phone me,” Molkho urged as Ya’ara, tall and stately, approached from the ticket booth. He seized her hand ardently. “I’m counting on a call from you,” he said. But their bus was already pulling out and they rushed to board it without answering. As he was unlocking his car in the street outside the station a gust of cool wind announced the end of the heat wave. He thought of his mother-in-law. Had she felt it too? he wondered, proud of having told her that morning to put her trust in the radio.
DRIVING HOME, he felt a new wave of worry. Had his counselor come solely to bring Ya’ara back to Jerusalem, or had he also hoped—and failed—to receive a clear answer? In the house, he found Gabi half-naked in the kitchen, eating some yellow stringbeans from a pot. Recognizing them from the vegetable bin of the refrigerator, he realized that Ya’ara must have cooked them that morning and rejoiced that she had left him a memento. “Wait a minute,” he said to his son, “why don’t you warm them first?” But the boy kept on eating uncontrollably. “Are they that good?” asked Molkho excitedly, breading a cutlet and tossing it into a frying pan. “Didn’t Grandma ask you to join her for lunch?” “No,” answered Gabi. “That Russian friend of hers came with her daughter and I left.” He kept on eating hungrily, stringbeans falling off the fork as he shoveled them into his mouth. “Will you stop eating like an animal!” shouted Molkho, losing his temper. “Here, you can have all you want, but be civilized,” he said, bringing a plate and lighting a fire beneath the pot. But the boy, his bean-passion having abated, merely slumped in a chair and stared dully at his father dancing around the stove.