"What is this in reference to?" she asked.
"His time at Shoresh Theater," I said.
I had better luck on my third stop, a squat, two-story building near the corner of Yona Hanavi and Hakovshim. On one side gaped a vacant lot littered with building debris; on the other stood a stately building whose outer walls were pocked with bullet holes, which it appeared to wear proudly. The War of Independence had marked its share of buildings just as it did its share of people.
The apartment faced the street and had a small balcony with a metal railing that looked too flimsy to lean on. Two women lived there, and both were actresses.
The first, Edith Bachner, was a curvy brunette. The second, Nitza Weinraub, had hair the color of coal. Both were twenty-six.
They led me into a small living room whose walls were crammed with framed pieces of embroidery that showed a good deal of enthusiasm but little talent.
"We both love it," Edith said, seeing me staring at their creations. "Don't we love it, Nitza?"
Nitza nodded vigorously. "Edith taught me how. Now I can't get enough of it."
The two women sat side by side on the sofa, their legs crossed identically. They were the same height and build, both attired in white cotton dresses, and they had similar features—rounded smooth faces, small blunt noses, large brown eyes—so it was like looking at an orchestrated scene. They had lived together in this apartment when the murder had taken place. Two single women who worked together, lived together, and, apparently, embroidered together.
They had both played in King Lear and had sat next to each other in Café Kassit.
"How long did you work with Anna?" I asked, once I told them why I was there.
"Two years," they said, in near unison.
"We began working for the theater in 1944," Edith said.
"In the summer," Nitza contributed.
"Was she a nice person?" I asked.
"Very. Much nicer than..." Edith stopped in mid sentence, clamping her mouth shut like a child trying to catch a secret by its tail.
"Who?" I prompted.
They exchanged a glance. Then Nitza screwed up the courage to say, "Dahlia Rotner."
"Nicer in what way?"
"In every way. She would smile more often, ask us how we were doing, and wouldn't chastise us if we made a mistake during rehearsal or, God forbid, a show."
"Did Dahlia ever chastise you in front of others?" I asked, remembering that Ofra Wexler had made a similar complaint.
"That's the only way she did it," Edith said. "It wasn't to help us do better, like she pretended, but to punish us for making a mistake."
"She did it to me a few times. She made me cry." Nitza's face crumpled as the memory hit her, and Edith patted her arm. "I was glad when she got injured."
"Don't say that," Edith said.
Nitza lowered her eyes. "I know it's terrible, Edith, but I was. I don't wish that sort of injury on anyone, but at least it got her away from us."
I said, "Did it surprise you that Anna was picked to take over for her?"
"Why would it surprise us?" Edith asked.
"Someone told me Ofra Wexler would have made a better choice." I did not mention that it had been Ofra herself.
"She would like to think so, that's for sure," Edith said. "But I was glad it was Anna. Ofra isn't very nice either."
"She's full of herself," Nitza said. "Anna didn't look down at us. And she was so beautiful. Every dress looked good on her. Varda, our costume maker, is a wizard when it comes to dresses, and Anna looked dazzling every time she walked on stage."
"And she was warm," Edith said. "She wasn't stingy with praise, and if we made a mistake, she would tell us so gently, privately, in a way that didn't make us feel bad."
"Ofra is cold," Nitza said. "The only time I saw her exhibit any real emotion was when they told us Anna died. Remember how she cried, Edith?"
Edith nodded. "I felt sorry for her. I actually hugged her. Nothing like that has happened before or since. But I did see her show emotion a few times before that."
"When?" I asked.
"Whenever Anna would go on stage to the sound of applause at the end of a play. I could see the envy on Ofra's face. Could almost feel it."
"Is Ofra a good actress?"
Another glance was exchanged; then Nitza sighed. "Yes, I guess she is. But she's not fit to be the leading lady. She's not glamorous enough."
"Like Anna? Like Pnina Zelensky?"
"Exactly."
"Was Dahlia Rotner glamorous?"
"Dahlia wasn't beautiful like Anna or Pnina," Edith said, "but when she was on stage, it was difficult to look away. I watched her perform before I joined the theater. Afterward, I couldn't remember the faces of any of the other actors, just hers. And what a voice she has. The sort of voice that gives you goosebumps or makes you cry for the character she's portraying. I haven't spoken to her in five years, but I remember that voice clearly."
"I admired her, too," Nitza said, "but I didn't like her one bit."
Which seemed the usual mixture of emotion engendered by Dahlia. Did I not feel the same way?
"Did Anna talk about herself, about her life?" I asked.
The two women shook their heads. "She would ask a lot about us," Nitza said, "but I don't remember her saying all that much about herself. Strange, but I never thought about it before."
"Me neither," Edith said, and I got the impression that these two women were fully capable of talking endlessly about themselves, to the point of not noticing if someone did not share a single personal detail in return.
"She would often look sad," Edith said. "I thought it was because of what happened to her family. You know about her family?"
"Yes," I said.
"That's what it was, I think."
"What about men? Did you ever see her with one?"
"Men would approach her all the time," Nitza said. "Good-looking, nicely dressed, educated men, but she would turn them all down. I never understood why. I remember teasing her about it, but she would just laugh and shrug it off."
"You remember where you were when she died?"
"Here," Edith said, and Nitza nodded. "And then we got to the theater the next day for rehearsal and the police were there."
"I thought there'd been a break-in," Nitza said, her eyes rounded and slightly fearful as she relived that moment. "But then I saw Isser, and I knew by his face that something much worse had happened."
"His face?"
"It was gray, totally gray, and his eyes had this haunted look to them. I was sure something must have happened to Dahlia, but then I learned it was Anna. It, it..." Tears sprang to her eyes, and Edith patted her arm again and murmured something soothing.
"Were they fond of each other?" And when they stared at me blankly, I added, "Isser and Anna?"
"Yes, they worked beautifully together," Edith said. "Isser even became nicer."
"Nicer?"
"He used to be much more strict when Dahlia was still working."
"When she was in charge, you mean," Nitza said.
Edith shot her friend a disapproving look, as though she'd said something she shouldn't have. "Once she was gone, once Anna took over, Isser became mellower, not so quick to criticize."
"Like he'd been strict before only because he was following Dahlia's lead," Nitza said.
"Some people say the theater suffered when Dahlia stopped performing," Edith said. "But in many ways, it became a better place to work."
"But it did suffer financially, didn't it?"
They both shifted uneasily. "It's a temporary thing," Edith said with exaggerated lightheartedness. "I have faith in Isser."