"Of course I do, you're yelling."
"I came upon that passage simply by chance — two or three months after we buried Eyal — and I was so moved I wanted to hug those exiles in Egypt from a distance of twenty-five hundred years. People who stood up bravely against the cursing crybaby, the professional killjoy, who also inflicted his name on me."
The road has become bumpy and is suddenly blocked. The driver goes out to inspect the wheels and finds them tangled in some thick vegetation with small purple flowers. Well, he says to his sister-in-law, with all this talk about the Queen of Heaven I neglected the earth, and didn't notice that we should have arrived at the farm a while ago. But not to worry. Don't panic. We'll find the right road, we're not far away. There's a walkie-talkie in the car, and also an old pistol.
NOFAR NOW HEARS for the first time about the old man's girlfriend, and listens with great interest to her sister-in-law's description. Ya'ari is astounded how from a few random details that he dropped last night at dinner Efrat has been able to concoct a whole story of long-standing infidelity. Wonderful, says Nofar to her father. How encouraging to know that we have such a romantic and sophisticated grandfather, and really, why not go have a peek at her? Given her age, tomorrow may be too late, and we'll all be sorry for missing a good story.
"Even if we're dying to peek at her," Ya'ari says, surrendering to his daughter and daughter-in-law, "that still doesn't mean she can or wants to peek at us at this very moment."
"If she really loved Grandpa," Efrat declares confidently, "she'll also be interested in meeting his granddaughter and great-grandchildren and their mother. Tell her this is only a short visit. No more than fifteen minutes. Just to see Yoel's unique elevator. And she shouldn't put herself out."
Devorah Bennett is surprised to hear Ya'ari's voice on the phone, after all they had scheduled their meeting for tomorrow.
Then it is Ya'ari's turn to be surprised; secretly, without saying a word to him, his father promised to come to her in person, to feel the vibrations of the elevator with his very own body, and to listen to the cat.
"You didn't know about your father's visit tomorrow?" The old woman is astonished.
"Not even a hint."
"Because your father is probably afraid you won't let him make the trip. So listen to me, young man, and permit me to call you a young man even if you are a grandfather, I insist that you come along so he won't roll down my stairs."
"Don't worry, I won't leave him, not even for a minute."
And of course, it would give Devorah Bennett great pleasure to show them his father's elevator, and get a glimpse of his family.
Nofar runs to her department head for permission to be released a teeny bit early from her shift. When she returns without her nurse's gown, she looks thin and pale, but squeezes with youthful joy between the car seats of her niece and nephew. It's nearly four o'clock, and wintry Jerusalem, soon to be deprived of its Sabbath, seems to be blending religiosity and secularism into one gray experience. Ya'ari parks the car right in front of the Old Knesset, drawing on his own faith that an Orthodox mayor will not countenance violating the Sabbath by the writing of a parking ticket. Nofar and Efrat unfasten the drowsy children from their seats and zip up their coats. And Nofar, who is especially attached to her little nephew, smothers him with hugs and kisses before picking him up and carrying him across King George Street.
"Why are you carrying him?" Ya'ari scolds his daughter. "He's very heavy."
"To me he's cute and light, and he enjoys being in my arms. Right, Nadi?"
The child says nothing, but hugs his young aunt tightly.
With considerable clamor Ya'ari leads his family up the stairs of the old Jerusalem building. Nadi insists on being carried up the stairs as well. You're spoiling him, grumbles Efrat. No problem, mutters Nofar, staggering under the weight of her favorite boy.
Devorah Bennett is pleased to have a gang of young people visiting her apartment at this gray Jerusalem hour. How did you arrange to get yourself such sweet grandchildren? she teases Ya'ari, as if sweetness has never been the strong suit in his family. The children are drawn to the sprightly old lady, who gives them squares of chocolate and leads them with the rest of the group to her bedroom, to show all of them the tiny elevator that their great-grandfather invented. In the corridor between the living room and bedroom they pass the consultation room; its open door reveals a dignified, heavy-set woman sitting inside, smoking a cigarette in a long holder. The hostess introduces her to the guests: This is Mrs. Karidi, a longtime patient who has become a friend, and now instead of my taking care of her, she takes care of me. The lady exhales a big smoke ring and with the throaty laugh of a veteran smoker waves it away.
In the bedroom the doors of the closet are also open, and a small grille is pulled back, and there is the tiny home elevator, now containing a small armchair. Come, children, let's go up to the roof, the grandfather says brightly to his grandchildren, and along the way maybe you'll hear the wailing of a starving cat. Neta is afraid to go in without her mother, but Nadi has faith in his grandpa and enters the elevator with him. Ya'ari closes the grille and presses the right button. And again it starts with a strong knock, and the vibration is accompanied by the hidden wailing the whole slow way to the roof.
The frightened grandson scratches his grandfather's hand, and Ya'ari draws closer to the toddler, and the child hugs his leg. Then, still clinging to each other, they go out on the roof to see the darkening city. A cold wind blows between the old water tanks, and Ya'ari lifts the child, so he won't trip over the black cables of the satellite dishes. There's the Old Knesset, he explains, pointing at the dark building. From down in the apartment they call out to Grandpa to shut the grille, so they can bring down the elevator. Then the whole group quickly gathers on the roof, led by the old girl, wrapped in a colorful blanket. Nofar and Efrat are thrilled, as if they were standing on the roof of the world, and Nofar is sorry because new construction has blocked the view of the Old City walls, where at night they light huge Hanukkah candles on David's Citadel. How many candles tonight? asks Efrat. Tonight, Neta reminds her, we light the sixth candle. So let's light them at home, says her mother. We need to be getting back.
Night falls rapidly. The first scattered stars appear through shreds of clouds, and lights go on in the streets. The Jerusalem air is chilly but dry, and a light wind is blowing, and everyone except Nofar is dressed appropriately. Again she sweeps her nephew into her loving grip and waves him in the air, not far from the railing. Enough, really, scowls her father, this child is heavy, you'll end up spraining your back.
And suddenly the veteran patient, Mrs. Karidi, also appears on the roof with a fresh cigarette burning in her holder. Like a round boat with a lone headlight shining on its prow, she glides her full bulk between the water tanks and satellite dishes, making for the edge of the roof to get a fine view of the world. Indeed, soon her smoker's raspy voice is heard, and a hand waves from afar. Children, she calls, come see the fire. And in fact the dignified lady has discovered a breach in the curtain of new construction that hides the Old City walls, that gives them a glimpse of six splendid torches that celebrate the holiday of Hanukkah.