"In other words," Absalom Vilkazi elaborates, "a stone that has swallowed up another, more ancient, stone, whose erosion in a particular spot indicates that it was not just any stone but rather served as an implement, a tool in the hands of an Australopithecus boisei. Even if he himself was removed from the chain of evolution en route to the great destination of the creation of man, his spirit has nonetheless not disappeared; it continues to exist."
"His spirit?" she whispers.
"Perhaps you have forgotten, dear lady," the South African geologist says in a triumphant tone, "that two and a half million years ago our Africa was naturally joined to Asia and Europe. No sea or ocean separated them. And our Australopithecus boisei, whose traces we are seeking — this great African ape who despaired of his future on this continent — traveled from Africa to Europe and contributed the genes of the bulimic 'eating machine' to the civilization that developed there."
She looks closely into his eyes to see if there is a spark of humor.
"Now you are joking."
"Why?" the South African says innocently, even as mischievous laughter dances in his eyes.
His youth, flowering in the morning light, appeals to her. His English sounds natural and fluent, even though with his parents he probably speaks Zulu or Sesotho. Without a doubt, Daniela thinks, the elimination of apartheid has made this black man stand taller, and now, as he is confident in his identity, he is trying to challenge smug and prosperous Europe as an equal. And suddenly her heart aches over Moran, confined by the army, who doesn't understand that the conflict that poisons his homeland also diminishes his stature and undermines his identity, and in her train of thought Nofar and Efrat and Neta and Nadav are linked with Moran, and with beloved former students, and with the youngsters she'll return to after the Hanukkah vacation. Here they are in her mind's eye, sitting in the classroom decorated with posters and newspaper clippings, and among them she can make out the heartbreaking shadow of her nephew, who has descended from Jerusalem to the coast and joined her class to claim his place in the tears now clouding her gaze.
Absalom Vilkazi senses the unhappiness that suddenly silences the white lady, older than his own mother, and he is worried that she interprets the absurd migration of the prehistoric ape to Europe as an insult to her intelligence. And he therefore takes the liberty of gently laying a pacifying hand on her shoulder, as he does with his mother, and says, I was only joking, I apologize.
"YOU'RE AT OUR house?" Moran is surprised when his father picks up the phone. "Did something happen?"
With businesslike conciseness Ya'ari informs him of his spontaneous volunteering for the post of babysitter and very considerately spares him the tale of his children's nighttime rampage.
"But which party did she go to?"
"I didn't ask and she didn't say. I only made sure she had her cell phone with her, because it always makes me nervous when she goes around without it."
"So why did you stay till the morning? You fell asleep and didn't realize she had come home, or she's still not back?"
"No, no, what's the matter with you? What a thought! She's here, but asleep. She got back after midnight and begged me not to drive home at night, then was so quick to open up the sofa that I gave in."
"You're also impressed by her aggressive pleading?"
"Why aggressive?"
"Not important."
"Why not important?"
"Forget it, Abba… it's not important… keep talking." Ya'ari senses his son's deep disappointment in himself, in his wife, maybe even in his father.
"What's going on, son?" he says softly.
He's sick of it. This inane punishment in the name of solidarity is getting on his nerves. Yes, at first he was a little glad for the enforced detachment from the world, from Efrat, the kids, the office, and, sure, a demanding father too. It was nice to be able to nap in midmorning, or before dinner, without accounting to anyone. But over the past two days his tranquillity has evaporated. Last night he kept tossing on his smelly army mattress, his mind loaded with nonsense, such as how to save his white queen from the black knights of that harebrained adjutant.
"Ah," Ya'ari says, laughing, "the redhead already drafted you to play chess with him?"
"After I started beating him at backgammon."
"Wait a second, Moran, you want to say something to the children? They're here with me in the kitchen, eating cornflakes. Looking at me."
"No, Abba, not now, there's no time, I'll see them soon anyhow. Just do me a favor, go into Efrat's room and get her out of bed. Because if she doesn't start getting organized to leave, she won't make it here to see me. We're attached to a base of recruits, and visiting hours are strict. Only till early afternoon. Tell her to hurry. The drive won't be so simple; it's been raining cats and dogs for the last few hours."
"In Tel Aviv it's actually like spring, clear blue skies. This country isn't as tiny as people think. So listen, I have an idea. I'll bring everyone to you in my car… it'll be safer in all respects."
"But will you have patience for all of us after not sleeping all night on the sofa?"
"It wasn't so bad; it even turned into a bed at three in the morning."
Despite the authorization that he received from his son, Ya'ari does not even consider entering Efrat's bedroom, but instead knocks hard on the door. When he is persuaded that she has regained consciousness, he conveys her husband's instructions in a stern no-nonsense tone.
"Oh, Amotz, it would be wonderful if you would drive us."
"And even more wonderful if you would finally get up on your feet."
The two grandchildren are glad that it won't be their mother driving them to their father, but Grandpa, in the big car, and so they don without argument the clothes chosen by their mother, and like two little bear cubs, clumsily bundled in warm coats, they agree happily to help Ya'ari move the child seats from car to car and show him how to strap them into place. Meanwhile Efrat proves that when she wants to, she can be quick and efficient even in the morning hours, and she prepares sandwiches and peels vegetables, spreads hummus inside pitas, adds oranges and little bottles of chocolate milk. And when she comes down to the car with the big cooler, pale and without makeup, wearing clunky sneakers, threadbare jeans, and an old oversize battle-dress jacket that seems intended to obscure her figure, it occurs to Ya'ari that she means to punish herself and join in her husband's confinement.
Even on this wintry Sabbath morning the coastal road is packed. There's no knowing whether it is the children dragging their parents into the nervous traffic or the guilt-ridden parents dragging their children to amusements and shopping on the day of rest. But the northerly rains reported by Moran are now compounded by a stiff wind from the east, which buffets the car with such force that Ya'ari has to hold the wheel with both hands. Since there are no tapes in his car of simple Israeli songs likely to distract the children, Efrat attempts to entertain them with a game of Opposites, and Ya'ari gathers that opposition is well entrenched in his daughter-in-law. Quickly and effortlessly she comes up with nouns and adjectives, confident that each word has an antonym her children will know.
And so the highway slips northward between day and night, hot and cold, dry and wet, summer and winter, smart and stupid, tall and short, ceiling and floor, happy and sad, clean and dirty, straight and crooked, husband and wife, sun and moon, door and wall, dead and alive. And since Neta already knows the answers, she fires them off before her little brother can even come close, and although his mother and grandfather try to make her give the toddler a chance, his sister is incapable of curbing her enthusiasm for opposites, and Efrat apparently doesn't want to deprive her of the pleasure.