“Kif el-hawa?” Rashid asked.*
“El-jow.† Mysticism needs peace of mind. In this country everyone just wants to hear the next news bulletin.”
He stubbed out his cigarette, cleared the dishes from the table, and suggested dessert. He would bring them ice cream and coffee.
“We’ll have neither,” Rivlin declared, getting to his feet. “We just came to see if you were still alive. It’s time we got back to the memorial.”
“But what do you mean, Professor?” Fu’ad said, taken by surprise. “Aren’t you going to say hello to the management?”
Rivlin felt a ripple of unease.
“We can’t today. Another time.”
“But how another time? I’ve told Tehila you’re here. And she said I should keep you here until she’s free, because she’s busy with all the guests whose tours were canceled. Bihyat Allah, ya Brofesor, hatta la y’hib amalha minnak.”‡
Something gnawed at him.
“Tell her another time. I’ll be back.”
Yet even as he said it, he knew he would never be back. The chapter of the hotel had ended.
“I can’t do that,” Fu’ad said.
“Of course you can,” Rivlin told him. “We came for you this time, didn’t we, Rashid? And for you only.”
“I’m honored, Professor.” Fu’ad put down the dirty dishes on the table and pressed his hands to a grateful heart. “I appreciate it. But that isn’t something I can tell Tehila.”
“And Galya?” The image of the lost bride flashed before him as though in an old dream. “Why isn’t she here?”
“In a snowstorm in the ninth month of pregnancy? She’s enormous. You could visit her, but I wouldn’t recommend it. She rests in the afternoon. This is her first child, and she’s nervous. You’ll see her at the circumcision.”
“All right,” Rivlin said impatiently. “Rashid and I have to go.”
But Rashid didn’t move. The always polite and reserved maître d’ was physically blocking his path. As though pleading for dear life, Fu’ad said:
“I can’t let you go, Professor, without your at least saying hello to someone in the family. Go see Mrs. Hendel. I’m sure she’s up by now. You haven’t spoken to her since the week of the bereavement.”
“Next time,” Rivlin replied, laying a friendly hand on Fu’ad’s shoulder. But the maître d’ stubbornly stood his ground. “I mean it,” Rivlin said more softly. “How is Mrs. Hendel doing?”
“Still falling apart,” was the cruelly candid answer. “There’s nothing left for her here. Her son is in America with his family, and if we didn’t find someone to play cards with her now and then, she’d have only her own depression to keep her company. Maybe the new grandson will cheer her up. But that will be no substitute for a man who treated her like a princess. And she’s not going to find another one in this hotel, because there’s no one here but Christians looking for God.”
Rashid grinned.
“Come,” Fu’ad said, grabbing the Orientalist by the hand. “Do me a favor and say hello to Mrs. Hendel. She’ll be grateful that you haven’t forgotten her like so many of her old friends. I’ll send up coffee and cookies. Tehila will come if she has time.”
“All right.” Rivlin blinked anxiously. “But only for a minute. And leave Tehila out of this. Another time…”
And again he knew there would never be another time.
From the stuffy, overheated room on the third floor, the snowy garden looked like a fairy tale. Gently he gathered the widow, delicate from falling apart, in his arms. Her new, unresisting gauntness made her large eyes that demanded his sympathy shine more brightly than ever. Although it was afternoon, her bed was unmade. Her hardly touched breakfast was still on the table. A black silk nightgown sticking out from beneath the quilt made the Orientalist feel a slight sexual qualm. His amiable smile gone from his face, Fu’ad quickly restored order, carrying the dirty dishes to the hallway, deftly making the bed, and folding the nightgown and putting it in a drawer.
“It’s the professor, Mrs. Hendel,” he said as he exited. “He’s come to say hello and have coffee with you.”
She offered him a small chair by her side. “I suppose I should be insulted that you forgot all about me while coming to visit my daughters,” she said.
“All in all,” he answered, turning his chair to face the garden, “I’ve been here twice since the bereavement. The second time, you weren’t here.”
“I wasn’t?” She seemed astonished to hear it.
“You were in Europe with Galya.”
“Oh, yes,” she remembered. “That was when you tried to sleep here.”
He smiled. “You see?” he said. “You know everything.”
“Everything?” She bowed her pretty head sadly. “Far from it. I only know what I’m told.”
“Well,” the Orientalist said, “I had no place to sleep in Jerusalem, and I remembered Yehuda telling me that I could always have an available room. It was foolish of me.”
“Not at all!” Moved by his mention of her husband, she regarded him with bright, solicitous eyes. “He meant it. And while he lived, he was as good as his word. The promises he made, he kept. He didn’t want this hotel turning into the railway station it’s become. Of course, he wanted to succeed and make money. But he also wanted this place to be about more than just work. That’s why he always left an extra room for family or friends. Now that Tili is in charge, all that has changed. You’ve seen how full the place is. She overbooks so much that she has to put up guests in her own wing.”
“Yes.” Rivlin grinned. “I got the basement.”
“I heard about it. And about how you ran away in the middle of the night. It made me mad. I said to her, ‘Tell me, Madame Manager, have you no sense of shame? If you can’t treat an important guest well, it’s better to turn him away.’ But nothing fazes her. She’s as tough as nails. And her father’s death only made her tougher. He would never have dreamed of risking the hotel’s reputation. Tehila couldn’t care less. I sometimes wonder how I ever gave birth to someone so brash. She’ll ride roughshod over anyone.”
“Yes.” Rivlin nodded. “My wife is sometimes like that, too.”
“Your wife?” The revelation startled her. “Perhaps….” She thought it over. “I suppose I did feel that kind of backbone in her, even though you never gave us the chance to get to know her. But she’s more gracious about it, a true lady. She’s cultured and has boundaries. Tili is a wild woman. You wouldn’t believe how afraid I’ve always been of her, even when she was a child…”
“I assure you, I would.” Rivlin laughed candidly. “I’m afraid of my wife sometimes, too. Not that it stops me from loving her.”
Mrs. Hendel’s face darkened with sorrow. The thought of her former in-laws’ love for each other, so palpable the first time she met them, made her feel the loss of her husband even more keenly. Only lovers, she told Rivlin, know love when they see it. “That was something I used to say to my husband. ‘I trust Galya’s choice of Ofer,’ I told him, ‘because his parents are like us. They’re loving and close. Ofer and Galya won’t have to improvise, because they have models.’ Only…”
“Only what?”
“Only then…”
“Then what?”
“You know.”
“No, I don’t!” he said heatedly. “And none of you will tell me. And that’s why I can’t help Ofer to get unstuck…”
“But I don’t know anything, either. I asked Galya a thousand times and never got an answer. Even on our trip to Europe, when we shared a double bed at night. I said to her, ‘Gali, maybe you were embarrassed to tell your father, but now that he’s gone, learn from your sister, who’s embarrassed by nothing. Tell me what happened…’”