Now silence looms on the other side. Ya'ari hears the breathing of the maker of elevators, who feels a sharp wound to his pocketbook.
"Now you're threatening me?"
"If you like, call it a threat."
"You know I can threaten you too."
"Obviously, everyone in this country has someone he can threaten. Nobody has immunity."
"You included."
"Of course."
"And this is how you threaten a man that a few minutes ago you said was a member of your family?"
"It's because you're a member of the family," Ya'ari says, laughing.
"Watch out, I'll complain about you to your father."
"You watch out, he's the one who gave me the idea of threatening you."
"So the two of you decided to ruin my weekend."
"Nothing will get ruined, Gottlieb, my friend. For the time being we're talking not about money, just time. What do those winds wandering in the tower want from us, after all? That we track them down with patience and concentration. To provide them an honorable exit."
OUTSIDE A HARD rain falls, a rapid downpour that began without warning, but the farm's great kitchen has been heated by cooking the dishes destined for the hungry band of scientists who will arrive tomorrow from the dig and stay for the weekend. Yirmiyahu's hand props up his head as if it might otherwise snap off from exhaustion and roll down the table between the greasy plates. His nighttime ride to the excavations — its purpose is still unclear to Daniela — was particularly fatiguing; Sijjin Kuang's friends, the stars and the moon, were hidden by heavy clouds, and she had to navigate by the trees and winds, which deceived her time after time. Now he can't keep his eyes open, and so he lumbers upstairs to his temporary room, while his sister-in-law stays at the big dining table and watches the chefs at work, smiling distractedly. The Africans are drawn to the mature white woman and are delighted to ask her to sample one newly cooked dish after another, until she, too, decides to go up to her room. The rain has ended as abruptly as it began, and a sparkling sun comes out to savor the world, but after her brother-in-law's scolding she dares not leave the compound by herself, even for a brief stroll.
She wonders if her visit has gone on too long. Today there was a flight from Morogoro to Nairobi, and from there she could have reached Tel Aviv by dawn tomorrow, with one stopover in Amman. But yet another connection, and in Amman of all places, had frightened Amotz, and she herself had thought it not quite right to make a consolation visit all the way from Asia to Africa for only three nights. If only she had a Friday newspaper, she could even enjoy the time off from her husband and home, but there's not a shred of newsprint to be found in any language, and she can only hope that by the time she returns on Monday Amotz will not have thrown away everything worth reading.
She asks the cooks if there might be a little transistor radio in the kitchen to link her to the wider world, and although they understand her request, they have no such device, but they promise her that the scientists arriving from the excavation site will be able to furnish her with up-to-date news. Out there in the canyon stands a big dish that collects stories of everything interesting and important in the world. However, in the meantime, she will have to do without connection to the world.
But what she cannot ignore is a worsening headache. Is it just an ordinary headache, or a symptom of the high blood pressure that she first developed after her sister's death? The family doctor was not overly impressed and saw it mainly as an emotional reaction, so rather than prescribe a daily medicine he recommended a daily walk and weight loss, and instructed Amotz to monitor his wife's pressure now and then.
A daily walk and losing weight do not much appeal to a woman disinclined to accept physical limitations on her free will. It's easier to roll up a sleeve and extend a bare arm to her husband, so he can strap the cuff around it and assure her that her sensations are harmless. But here on a remote farm in Africa, she must rely only on herself, and since two blood pressure pills are taped to her passport, there's no reason not to swallow one of them and bring the other back to Israel. She heads to her room, to her passport.
But before taking the pill, she decides to have a few words with the Sudanese nurse. Surely Sijjin Kuang must have an instrument like her husband's. She returns to the kitchen, where the cooks direct her to the camp clinic, a small shack in back of the main building that in colonial days had been a stable for horses. There she finds the Sudanese asleep on the mat-covered floor, wrapped in a black robe, her long body folded like a giant bird's. Without waking her, Daniela glances around the modest infirmary, which reminds her of the one at the school where she teaches. A glassed-in cupboard holds rows of jars and bandages and adhesives, syringes and bottles of disinfectant. On a small table lie a stethoscope and a number of gleaming instruments for probing the orifices of the human body, and there in the corner hangs the blood-pressure machine.
The sleeping nurse-driver is clearly recovering from her navigational adventures of the night before. Daniela quietly retreats to wait on a bench outside. Her headache has not let up; the little pill her husband gave her is tucked in her hand, and she wonders if she should just swallow it and do without the checkup. But she has the feeling that the touch of Sijjin's velvety desert fingers might do her even more good than the strong hand of her husband.
She closes her eyes, allowing the peaceful hum of nature to ease her pain a bit. Aromas from the kitchen flow to her through the pure, clear air. Her distaste for kitchen work always rouses her dormant female guilt, so she changes position, lying down on the hard bench and folding her hands beneath her head as a pillow. It can't be that Shuli hid things from her. After the tragedy she would call her sister two or three times a day to give emotional support and have long heart-to-heart talks. Had Shuli known, found out even indirectly, that Yirmi had spent a night on the roof of a Palestinian house in Tulkarm, she would have told her immediately. But Shuli hadn't known. When the couple's sex life came to an end, so did the complete openness.
Relaxation saturates her body, even on the hard bench. She grows drowsy, lulled by the rustle of native grasses. She believes she hears the faint sounds of a flute. Or maybe there is a radio here after all. A soft hand touches her. The Sudanese nurse, tall and serious, has placed a comforting hand on Daniela's shoulder and a finger to her own lips, warning her to keep silent. Don't budge, no sudden moves.
About twenty meters away stands an unfamiliar black animal, like a giant cat, its thick bristly tail erect, raising two front paws with very long curly claws. Its sharp narrow mouth, like a small reptile's, is thrust toward a gold-colored snake, which rises from the grass with a quivering tongue and audibly exhales, as if into a silent flute.
The two creatures are equally hypnotized, each wary of drawing nearer to the other. The black animal seems capable of subduing the snake with its jaws and claws, and might indeed be designed by nature to do so, yet it hesitates; perhaps it prefers to confront prey less audacious and dangerous. But how to back away from the snake without losing face? How to break off contact without damaging the dignity of its purposes? It therefore growls more loudly and bares its jaws, so that the snake will stop cocking its flashy head and coiling its body with that whispering hiss. But the snake, too, has its pride, and though it cannot swallow or digest such a big black cat, it would at least like to shut it up.
Sijjin Kuang silently leads Daniela into the clinic. It could take a while for those animals to find the courage to disengage, she tells her, keeping her voice down. Did you want me for something? And although Daniela's headache is gone, she asks her anyway to check her blood pressure and tell her if she should take the pill she has in her hand. The Sudanese nurse willingly complies. Unlike Amotz, she doesn't check her while seated, but has her lie down and asks her not merely to roll up her sleeve but also to remove her blouse.