“If you hadn’t left Ofer,” he said, with dark humor, “you might have talked us into staying. But don’t make snap judgments. Our new apartment is quieter and has more light. And it has another advantage for old people like us or pregnant ones like you…”
He pointed to the elevator, which brought them slowly to the fifth floor. The sight of the spacious apartment, with its familiar couches, armchairs, rugs, and bookcases, was reassuring to her. So was Hagit’s not being there.
“She’s at the beauty parlor,” Rivlin said familiarly. Taking advantage of this to establish facts on the ground, he took Galya to his study, placed her bag by the couch, and asked discreetly if she wished to wash up first or call Paris at once. She chose the former, and he led her to a large, colorfully tiled bathroom, asking wryly whether she remembered the WC in their old apartment, small and dark despite the glorious view outside. Her smile, which he had forgotten, made his heart twinge. He handed her a towel and a fresh bar of soap, as befitted an honored guest, and went to make her bed in his study, pulling out the convertible couch and spreading sheets and a blanket on it. Although the results were less grand than the royal bed made for Hagit’s sister, he regarded them with satisfaction. Now that the truth had arrived at his doorstep of its own accord, he meant to take good care of it.
Washed and refreshed, Galya gave the bed an approving glance and sat in the chair Rivlin offered her by the telephone. He wrote Ofer’s number for her on a piece of paper, then wondered out loud whether he shouldn’t speak to him first. After all, he said, he didn’t want his son to think he might be fantasizing again. She reddened at that, but agreed. She would get on the line if Ofer wished.
“I’ll leave you alone as soon as you do,” he promised her.
He dialed Paris. His son wasn’t in. There was no longer a Hebrew announcement on his voice mail, just a laconic French one, as if only routine calls were expected. Rivlin, however, chose to leave a complicated message. With one eye on the terrace across the street, on which now appeared his mother’s ghost with her bag of garbage, he told Ofer of Galya’s arrival and imminent delivery, and of the ticket to Israel awaiting him. He was still talking when a beep informed him that he had used up his recording space. “Did I say too much?” he asked his ex-daughter-in-law, who had been listening intently.
“You were fine,” she said, regarding him as if for the first time. Her old beauty, Rivlin saw, thought by him to have been lost, was still there. He glanced with amusement at the old woman across the street, her ear pressed to empty space to catch the sound of the approaching garbage truck. Did Galya remember his mother? She nodded slowly. “Would you like to see her?” he asked.
“But…” She shivered. “I thought…”
“Yes, she’s dead. But I’ve brought her ghost from Jerusalem. She’s across the street. I put her there to keep an eye on her….”
Galya did not smile. Apprehensive, she shifted her gaze from the old woman with the garbage bag to the idiotically grinning man at her side.
“But how are you, Yochanan?” she asked. “Are you better? You had us all worried at the bereavement.”
“Yes,” he confessed awkwardly. “It was a false alarm. But who is ‘us all’? You’re the only one I told.”
“You also told Fu’ad.”
“Did I? That seems unlikely.” Although he found it hard to believe that he could have made such a fool of himself with the maître d’, his memory forced to him to admit otherwise. “You’re right,” he said softly, chagrined. “I must have wanted him to know how desperate I felt. Well, suppose I did? Did he run to tell his boss?”
“Tehila? She’s not his boss any more.”
“How is that?”
“He quit his job a week ago. For good.”
“Fu’ad quit? But why?” He felt there was more to it than met the eye. “He was so proud of that job. How will Tehila manage without him?”
“Why can’t she? You know her by now. She’s become so strong-willed since my father’s death that it’s not only the staff she can manage without. It’s…” Galya paused, as if surprised by her own words. “It’s her own family too…”
20.
THE FRONT DOOR OF the duplex opened. Before it could shut again, Hagit’s voice traveled through the house in search of his. He quickly closed the study door and hurried downstairs to tell her about their surprise guest. Seductively painted by the beautician, her eyes regarded him with the infinite patience of someone used to assembling the facts before passing judgment. Not even the news that he had made the bed in his study could shake her repose. Not until he told her about the message he had left for Ofer did she turn on him.
“You knew I’d be home soon. Why couldn’t you have waited to ask me what I thought?”
Refusing to be put on the defensive, he threw his arms around her and passionately pressed his lips to hers. “Be careful,” he pleaded in a whisper. “She can hear us from upstairs. Have pity on her. And on me. What does it matter what message I left him? This isn’t in our hands. And neither of us can stop it. Why shouldn’t Ofer come? The truth will free him.”
She slipped gently, as though not to hurt him, from his pacifying arms. “The truth doesn’t always free. Sometimes it entangles. I wish you’d think more of Ofer and less of yourself.”
Stung by her rebuke, he hugged her even harder. A squeeze of her hand told him that Galya was standing at the top of the stairs. There was no telling how much she had heard.
Hagit hadn’t seen her since the divorce. Now, pale and big with child, she was gripping the railing as if warding off an attack of vertigo. It was no time to be critical. Hagit invited her downstairs, gave her a quick hug and kiss, and suggested she sit with her swollen feet on the low table. Galya asked for some coffee, which Rivlin went to prepare, leaving the judge to cross-examine her about the course and medical history of her pregnancy. She compared it to her own two pregnancies and asked warmly about the Hendels. How was Galya’s mother holding up? She would never forget her great love for Galya’s father. Although her courtroom experience had taught her never to trust appearances, this had seemed real. Of course, the most loving couples could be problems for their children… just look at Ofer. Or at Galya’s sister. Was she still unmarried?
Rivlin, having discovered that the milk was sour, came back from the kitchen to propose tea.
“But why tea?” Hagit protested. “We need fresh milk, for tomorrow too. You should run down and get some. And while you’re at it, pick up a cake, because something tells me we’ll have more guests from Jerusalem….”
Galya, the judge had discovered with her usual knack for ferreting out the truth, had not informed her family or even her husband of her trip. She had set out for Haifa without telling them.
For a moment, no one spoke. Hagit gave Rivlin, standing by the door with a shopping basket, a reproachful look. Uncharacteristically fumbling for words, she probed for the hidden logic of her ex-daughter-in-law’s actions.
“But how could you, Galya? Not that it’s any of our business… but still… and now of all times… are you aware of what you’ve done? How could you just go and disappear in your condition? Suppose you should… of course, you’re not alone… we’re here with you… but you’re not registered at any hospital… and your husband must be frantic with worry…”
“Don’t worry about Bo’az,” Galya reassured them. “He’s not the frantic type. He’s calm and collected and takes things as they come, sometimes a bit too much. He’s not like Ofer, who’ll run to the end of the world to find something to worry about. I suppose I’ve gone to the opposite extreme…” She laughed strangely. “Maybe I’ll need a third husband to find the golden mean.”