“Obsession…” scoffs his mother, sipping her herbal tea. In the vast round bed she looks like a dwarf. “An obsession to convince yourself you are a cousin of such a man,” she says.
Manuel smiles sheepishly but carries on. If his ancestors persecuted New Christians and tortured those unable to prove the purity of their blood, then it is his responsibility to cleanse their sins by giving shelter to undocumented people of dubious origin — namely, illegal foreign workers.
“Obsession…” his mother says a third time, but now her tone suggests she has not merely come to terms with her younger son’s obsession but rather enjoys it.
From the corridor comes the ringtone of the cell phone abandoned in the folds of the monk’s robe. Manuel hurries to answer it, and his voice is heard in the distance, tense and excited. Moses smiles at the elderly hostess, nods his head in friendship, says nothing. David, steadily drinking wine, seems enchanted by the place he has implausibly landed, and he asks the director if he can take pictures of the room and the round bed with the old lady parked in its midst.
Moses refuses firmly. “No,” he warns the young man, “do not photograph here, or anywhere else either. You have come to Spain for one picture only, which you will take in total secrecy. Limit your artistic passions to Israel, or come back to Spain on your own. As a cameraman you are here for me and subject to my orders.”
The young man blanches. His eyes spring open, and he clenches his jaw. But he restrains himself and does not respond. Though the words were spoken in Hebrew, Doña Elvira senses the aggressive tone, and to calm the Israelis she dims the lights with a switch hidden by her bed. The darkness that minimizes her wrinkles enables the director’s practiced eye to spot the signs of her former beauty that time has not erased.
“You, madam,” says Moses in English, “are still very beautiful.” Manuel returns from the corridor in time to repeat Moses’ words in Spanish.
Doña Elvira does not smile or thank the guest; she throws him a sharp look. “Beauty is still important to you,” she says and rings for the housekeeper, who arrives instantly, clears the dishes, and slides the lady’s table back into the side of the round bed. Then, as they watch, she quickly and skillfully readies the bed for the night’s rest. She tucks the old woman in a big blanket, spreads pillows around her in a circle, and crowns the remains of ancient beauty with a little white cap. The Israelis rise from their seats as the housekeeper is about to turn out the lights. But Moses is not done. He quietly approaches the actress’s bed and says, “Yes, Doña Elvira, beauty is always important to a man, and especially at a hard time. And you know that a hard time awaits me.”
Manuel guides the director and the photographer to their room and despite the early hour advises them to go to bed. Chances are the moment may be tonight.
“So soon?” Moses is confused. Manuel reports that a moral tug of war is taking place between financial temptation and the perversity of the quid pro quo. Although there is great hesitation, the people realize others will jump at the opportunity and they will lose out, and they say nighttime would be better for them than day. “After all,” says Manuel, “the original Roman Charity took place in darkness; a prison cell is always dark.”
Pondering the word original, Moses nods: “Who is the woman? Have you seen her?”
“I’ve never seen her. I only saw her husband.”
“Husband,” says Moses, “she has a husband?”
“Of course. If she is a nursing mother with a baby, there has to be a man, the baby’s father. Pero, the nursing daughter in the Roman story, is not a holy virgin, and the father of her baby may have known that she went to the prison to save her father.”
“Amazing,” says Moses. “I have read and learned much about Roman Charity but have never come across any mention of the husband of the benevolent daughter.”
“I exchanged a few words with the husband, and he will be there to supervise the photography and stand guard lest any harm befall his wife.”
“But what harm could I do?” Moses protests. “My hands will be tied.”
“Of course… of course. I also showed him pictures from art books. He is fearful, nonetheless, because it all seems odd to him. Understandable, no?”
“The fear is natural and appropriate, I feel it too, and perhaps you do as well. The crucial thing is for the photographer to remain calm.”
They go into their room. The young Toledano sets up his bed on the rug in the corner, padding it with blankets and pillows, but the director decides to take a long shower. On returning, he finds that the photographer has turned the light off and burrowed beneath the blankets.
Moses appreciates the darkness. When he gets under the covers, he describes the details of the atonement to the young Toledano, its reasons and purposes. That way the photographer can be prepared mentally, not be surprised or confused. He is willing to undergo this debasement not only to renew his partnership with Shaul Trigano but to bring about Trigano’s reconciliation with Ruth and persuade her to stop ignoring her illness.
From the sound of the young man’s breathing, Moses senses the emotion of his listener. A long silence followed by a low voice: “All you’ve just said I’ve known all along, so nothing will shock or confuse me. I was surprised that a director of your caliber was willing to atone for what was lost long ago in the imaginary world of another artist. It seems, though, that despite all the films you’ve made without Trigano, collaboration with him is important to you. You are obviously prepared to tie your hands and suck from the breast of a complete stranger, who symbolizes another woman, a woman who made many people miserable.”
“Many people?”
“Look, I don’t need to tell you that my father’s addiction to her ruined my mother’s life. And when he died because of her, we were so angry with him that a long time passed before we could speak his name in the house. But if you’re willing to humiliate yourself tonight for that woman, my collaboration can be a gesture toward my father, atonement for having hated him because of his love.”
“In which case, it’s a good thing I picked you for a partner.” Moses plucks the hearing aids from his ears, tucks them in their little box, and covers his face with the blanket.
MOSES’ FATIGUE CONQUERS his anxiety, so at three in the morning he needs to be shaken awake to restore his soul to reality. At first he has a hard time understanding that the reality is Spanish, and that he is being summoned to perform the deed that is his sole reason for being here. Manuel wears layman’s clothes, no robe and no cross. Why? The Israeli is disappointed, not least out of concern for his own welfare in dark alleys. But the opposite is the case: they are going to a mixed neighborhood, also home to immigrants from North Africa, and Manuel deems it unwise to raise suspicions that a man of the Church is there to influence Muslims to convert. In that case, it might have been better to invite the man and his wife here and take the photograph in one of the rooms, says Moses. But Manuel cannot entangle his mother or the housekeeper in this story. There is always a chance that someone will be struck with remorse after the picture is taken and will come here and demand the film, or try to extort more money. Manuel believes it best that those involved in the matter not know of any specific place they could return to. Besides, he was careful not to reveal to them the national origin of the photographer and the man to be photographed. He merely spoke in general terms about artists from a faraway continent who wished to re-create a classical picture for a modern museum in their country.