The more the hotel grew, the higher the Arab climbed the ladder of advancement and the more indispensable he became. He was a gardener, waiter, bellboy, and custodian all in one, a maintenance man who doubled as a tourist guide. Sometimes, coming home late at night, she found him in a tuxedo and bow tie at the reception desk; other times, in the middle of the day, she spied him through her window in nothing but his gym shorts, unloading fresh produce — fruit, vegetables, eggs, and poultry — from a truck. Once he brought her a week-old lamb, which was her pet until it went to the slaughterer.
No one ever met his wife or knew her name. She was said to be childless, a sickly older woman with whom he remained because she stood to inherit a large orchard of olives and figs. His real home was the hotel. He served it loyally and in a spirit of harmony and was often consulted by Galya’s father, who treated him more like a partner than an employee.
And then one day, while Galya was doing her military service, Fu’ad suddenly resigned. There had been no argument with Mr. Hendel, no demands, no reason given at all. He had simply announced one afternoon that he was leaving, and the next day he had a new job at a rival establishment nearby. Although everyone, especially Mrs. Hendel, was greatly upset by this and called for an explanation from Galya’s father, he himself, though failing to provide one, did not seem overly perturbed. And yet slowly it dawned on him that the Arab who had mysteriously abandoned the kingdom he had penetrated so deeply was dangerous.
At that period of her life, Galya had been living away from the hotel and had taken little interest in the incident. Only now, after leaving again and for good, had Fu’ad revealed to her what had happened the first time. Hendel, he told her, had lured him back with an offer that hinted at taking him into the business.
Even now, knowing what she did about her father, Galya told Ofer she could not but feel deeply for him. She still loved and even identified with the tall, lanky man who arrived one winter evening in Abu-Ghosh dressed not with his usual elegance, but disguised in jeans and an old jacket and hat. There, in a little coffeehouse in the square in front of the village church of St. Joseph, he coaxed Fu’ad into coming back. Convinced that the Arab had quit after uncovering his secret, he chose to confess all to him, the intimate stranger to whom alone the truth could be told.
Hendel, according to Fu’ad, displayed no feeling of guilt about what he revealed. He seemed less contrite than annoyed at the weakness, having nothing to do with sex, that had got him into his predicament. He had simply, he said, wanted to be nice to the daughter who had helped put the hotel on its feet. Though young, she considered herself his second-in-command and refused to share her ambition with anyone else. She did not want other men or love affairs in her life, which was dedicated to her work. This was why it was his duty, she told him, to make her less lonely, with an adult form of the love he had shown her as a child.
And so, Hendel told Fu’ad, he gave in, thinking it was just for one time, and became Tehila’s prisoner.
Fu’ad sat in the square of St. Joseph’s, listening silently to this confused and unbelievable account by a man he had once greatly respected. At first, determined to put more distance between them, he refused to reconsider his decision. Yet his former employer now made him a proposal so bold that it took his breath away; namely, to return to work, for double his old pay, as maître d’, future partner, and guardian of the secret which he was entrusted to make unknowable by both protecting and keeping in check what he alone knew.
For the first time in his life, Fu’ad could do something for a Jew other than serve him. At last, he thought, I can help the Jews without having to defeat them.
“Without having to defeat them?” Ofer asked in astonishment. “What does that mean?”
Galya spread her arms helplessly to acknowledge that she didn’t know. She shut her eyes with a grimace, as if the child inside her, too, were demanding to be told. In a frail voice, she asked her ex-husband to change places with her. She had felt what might be a first labor pain and needed better support than a pillow.
“God knows,” she said, easing her way into the Orientalist’s revolving chair. The computer at her back, switched off by Ofer, no longer radiated good cheer. “I didn’t ask him because I was afraid if I did he would never get to the point — which was, you’ll be surprised to hear…”—she paused to look at Ofer, hunched on the couch like a big rabbit preparing to jump—“… you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, Ofer, you. You’re the hero of his story, just as he is of mine.”
A week after that winter night in Abu-Ghosh, Fu’ad returned to work at the hotel — as maître d’ with a huge pay raise, though not yet as a partner. If Hendel’s main worry was to keep the secret from his wife, Fu’ad’s was now to keep it from Galya, the effect on whom, he feared, would be disastrous. And so when he was introduced one day to her fiancé, he was greatly relieved. Now, at least, there was someone to take her away from the danger zone.
He met the groom’s parents too, the professor and the judge. As did everyone at the hotel, he considered this new family connection a source of pride and threw himself into the preparations for the wedding. And yet it quickly became apparent that, far from intending to carry the bride off to his own world, the new husband was being drawn into hers. He was already dreaming of a role in the hotel, where he sought to involve himself in the management.
The Arab’s worries, far from decreasing, were now made worse. On top of everything, he had to keep Ofer’s curiosity and enthusiasm within bounds. And so that morning, when Ofer insisted on descending to the forbidden basement, he did everything to stop him. Yet unable to defy Mrs. Hendel, he had no choice but to toss her the ring of keys, while thinking resentfully, “Before I’ve even been made a partner, I already have a partner of my own.” Could he at least count on him to be discreet?
But Ofer’s indiscretion was soon apparent. Before long he had risked his marriage by choosing honesty over love.
“It was the honesty of love that made me do it,” Ofer murmured passionately. He suddenly regretted burning the letter he had written to Galya in Paris.
Fu’ad now faced a dilemma. Should he protect Galya’s marriage by telling her the truth, or protect her family and his hoped-for partnership? He chose the latter, not realizing that this was the greatest fantasy of all. Hendel, saying nothing, quietly hiked his pay again without telling Tehila.
“And so they gave you the boot,” Galya concluded, with an odd flourish. “You were driven from the hotel, from the family, from my life, and from my love. And two years later I found another husband, a very different one from you, who takes things as they come…”
“But how do you take things as they come?” Ofer pleaded in the darkness. “Explain that to me…”
“You just do. What shocked and outraged you wouldn’t have mattered to Bo’az, because he accepts all that’s twisted and perverse in life. He respects the privacy of others to a fault, even if they’re close to him — even if it’s his own wife. He’s never intrusive or clumsy. Even when we make love, he’s a world apart. If he had found out or guessed what you did — and perhaps he did — he would have kept it to himself. That’s why Fu’ad, although he’s not keen on him, is happy not to have to keep an eye on him or treat him as an obstacle.”