They went down the dining-room steps, which were lined with two rows of well-trimmed myrtles, and past an old cistern on which Shomron, the watchman’s partner, was stretched out. Shomron eyed the two creatures who trailed behind Zahara. They looked weird, their clothes were weird, their speech was weird; everything about them was weird. He was debating whether or not to bark at them. He jumped toward Zahara and looked into her eyes for a clue. Zahara didn’t notice. He began scratching with his right hind leg, as he always did when he couldn’t figure out what to do. He shook his ears and considered: Does Zahara want me to bark at these twolegged creatures who have latched onto her, so she can scold me, thus demonstrating that she is protecting them from me? But no, I won’t raise my voice, and I won’t abandon my good manners. That may be how Zahara is, but that’s not how I am. He flexed his ears, relaxed his leg, and continued to watch the odd pair that tagged along at Zahara’s heels, their mouths in constant motion, producing incessant noise. He understood that she was ignoring him because of them. He stood up on all fours, rounded his tail, and opened his mouth wide but made no sound, observing to himself: They deserve to be bitten rather than barked at. He settled down again at the other end of the cistern, keeping an eye on Zahara’s retinue.
Zahara pointed out two matching structures, more attractive than the others and somewhat separate from them, surrounded by an expanse of green grass spread with diapers and other such items. Zahara said to her father and mother, “See that house there, to the left, with the red roof? Father, if you insist on looking down, you can’t see it.” Father Manfred said, “What is that over there, in that box that looks like a hut? Rabbits? There really are rabbits? I haven’t seen a rabbit since I came to this country. The red roof you were talking about — what is it? Didn’t you mention a red roof?” Zahara laughed gaily and said, “That red roof is the roof of the house chosen by all four village babies — among them your grandchild, who happens to be my son — as their home. Now, Father, you know what I’m showing you. Mother already understands.” Henrietta nodded and walked briskly toward the porch, where there were four cribs covered with netting.
Zahara ran to one of the cribs, took out a tiny creature, held him in her arms, and lifted him up so her parents could see him, saying, “This is my son.” She took him out quickly, picked him up quickly, lifted him quickly, showed him to her parents quickly, said he was her son quickly — all before her parents could make a mistake and look at some other baby. Henrietta handed her purse to her husband. Manfred looked at her questioningly. Why had she handed him the purse, and what was he supposed to do with it? Henrietta took her daughter’s child and stared at him as hard as she could. Then she leaned over him, lifting him close to her eyes, and bent her head over him until his eyes met hers. Anyone who saw his stare would say it was no random stare, that it was deliberate, that Dan knew who she was. Henrietta said nothing. She watched him without a word. As she watched, something occurred in her heart that she had never been aware of before and could not identify. Days later, she understood that a new love had possessed her at that moment. Grandma Henrietta stood gazing at her daughter’s son, with no thought of relinquishing him, ever. Zahara stood across from her, gazing at her son cradled in her mother’s arms. After a bit, she cooed to him, “Dandani, this is your grandma. And here, on the sidelines, is your grandpa. How about you, Grandpa, aren’t you interested in your grandson?” “Me?” Manfred retorted in alarm, “I’m afraid to hold him. He might cry.” Zahara laughed and said, “If he cries, let him cry. He’s used to it. Take him, Father. You’ll see how delightful he is.” Manfred stretched out his arms and said, “Come, come to Grandpa.” Zahara laughed. “He’s clever, but he doesn’t know grandfather language, and he doesn’t know how to walk either. Put down the purse, Father. I’ll hand Dan to you.” Zahara took her son from her mother’s arms and handed him to her father. Grandfather Manfred was trembling. He finally said, “I’m afraid he’ll fall. You take him, Mother.” Zahara said, “Which mother do you mean, my mother or his mother? Come, Dani. If you want Grandpa Manfred to pay attention to you, you’ll have to enroll in the university.”
The dog suddenly leaped out of his spot and, with a yelp of excitement and pleasure, began to run. As he ran, he turned his head to announce that the workers were coming back from the fields. The paths were soon humming with voices.
The woman in charge came out of the children’s house and stationed herself on the grass, holding an infant in each arm. Children stood behind and in front of her, waiting for their parents, who were returning from the fields. Some stamped their feet impatiently; others did tricks to show Mommy and Daddy what they could do. Before they knew it, these children were scooped up. One was on his father’s shoulders and another on his father’s head, having appropriated his father’s hat for himself. One was buried in his mother’s arms. A little girl was stroking her mother’s cheeks and saying, “Love your mommy?” All sorts of pet names and personal dialects were heard.
The workers were all back from the fields. The unmarried men and women ran to the showers, and those with families rushed off to see their children, stopping briefly at the office to ask for mail. Not all the children in Ahinoam were from that settlement. The kvutza was still young and hadn’t produced many children yet, but, since its climate was so pleasant, several children from less comfortable settlements were spending the summer there.
The entire village was bustling. In one corner, a father was carrying around a child. In another, a mother nursed a baby. Nearby, a young man pranced around with a little girl whose father had been killed on guard duty. Next to them, someone was standing on his head, clapping his feet together. Slim girls with cropped hair, dressed in men’s clothing, their shoulders like those of young boys, gurgled at their infants. Alongside each such girl was a suntanned boy with a peeling nose. The setting sun cast its final light, as it did each day, releasing specially created colors in a band that extended around the village from the westernmost reaches of the world. Birds were heard returning to their nests with a final chirp before hiding themselves among the branches for the night. The rabbits scurried around in their box and were suddenly still. A gentle breeze blew. All this lasted less than a minute. Then the bell was heard, announcing dinner.
From all the houses, huts, and tents, they assembled, filing into the dining room. Some had come to eat; others waited. The dining room was small, and there were two shifts, one entering, one leaving. Zahara was occupied with her son, so she didn’t come to supper. Avraham-and-a-half was busy helping Zahara, so he didn’t come to supper. But her father and mother were seated under the clock, between the windows and across from the door, in a spot reserved for important guests, from which they could see everyone in the kvutza.
The Herbsts were in the midst of a circle of young men and women. Some were cutting vegetables; some were spreading margarine on their bread. Some drank tea; others gulped water. Some were calm; others noisy, either behaving as they had learned to at home or demonstrating their liberation from bourgeois table manners. They all ate their fill. Then someone looked up from his bowl and, seeing the Herbsts, leaped up and went to sit with them. Others followed, welcomed them, poured their tea, peeled their cucumbers, sliced their radishes, made them salad and sprinkled it with oil and salt, and handed them dishes, the salt-shaker, the cruet of oil, urging them cordially to enjoy everything. As Herbst picked up his tea and was about to drink, a pretty young woman came running with sugar she had obtained especially for the guests. Someone asked, “Has Zahara been informed that she has guests?” Someone else answered, “By the time a speedy fellow like you makes a move to go tell Zahara, it will be time to tell Zahara’s grandchild that his grandpa and grandma are here.”