And I eat and eat and as I eat I fall deeper and deeper in love, falling in love for real with all my heart and soul, I could kiss that white foot of hers that’s swinging there in front of me all the time.
“The food wasn’t too sweet for you?”
“No … it was fine,” I go red all over.
“But you drink coffee with sugar?”
“Coffee, yes.”
And she goes out to make coffee for me.
Such a clear day, it’s like the winter’s over. Music on the radio now, waiting for the new talkers to come and take over from the old talkers who’ve gone away for a rest. And I’m head over heels in love already. No longer any need even to look at her. She’s there in my heart. Drinking coffee. A crazy life. Like it’s not me. And she watching me and watching me like she’s never seen a man eating before.
“Do you hate us very much?” I suddenly heard her say.
“Hate who?”
Of course I knew what she meant but it was weird, her of all people starting to talk politics.
“Us, the Israelis.”
“We are Israelis too.”
“No … I mean the Jews.”
“Not so much now.” I tried to give her a straight answer, seeing her pretty face, her fair hair. “Since the war, after they beat you a bit, we don’t hate you so much now …”
And she laughed, she liked what I said.
“But that cousin of yours … that terrorist …”
“But he was a little crazy …” I interrupted her in a hurry, I just didn’t want her to talk about Adnan.
“And do you hate us?”
“Me? No … never.” It was a lie because sometimes the Jews do get on my nerves, they never pick you up when you’re hitchhiking, they pass you by even in the rain when you’re alone on the roadside.
And then the phone rang. She ran to answer it. Must have been a friend of hers because she stood there talking for maybe half an hour. Laughing and talking, she suddenly started talking in English so I wouldn’t understand, talking dirty maybe. I heard her too, “A sweet little Arab” she said, and she said more things about me that I didn’t catch. And I sat still in my chair, not moving. Eating some more salted fish and chocolate, staring at the empty candlesticks, wondering if it was all right to get up. Looking at the furniture, at a newspaper lying on a chair, reading the headlines.
At last she came back, surprised to find me still sitting there.
“Have you finished?”
“A long time ago.”
“Then you can go. Daddy said he wouldn’t need you any more. He said you should have a meal and go home. He’ll see you at the garage.”
So, that’s it, all over. Give the labourer a meal and send him home. I stood up quickly, took my pyjamas and went to the door. “Have you got money for the bus?”
“Yes”— though I hadn’t.
“Do you know where the bus station is?”
“Yes. But I’ll walk.”
I felt so sorry it was all over, even though I had no idea how it could go on.
“Would you like me to walk with you?”
As if she understood, as if she was sorry too.
“If you like,” I said casually, though I could’ve fallen at her feet and kissed them.
“Then wait a moment.”
And she went to put her shoes on. And we set off together, a really strange pair. People turned to look at us, because she was pretty and nicely dressed and I was in my working clothes, all dirty and crumpled by the rain. Walking fast and not talking much. We started going down the hill. She showed me some steps going down the hill in the middle between flowers and trees and bushes and grass like a path in the Garden of Eden. She went down first and I followed. We hardly talked. Just once she stopped me and asked me when we Arabs get married, that is, at what age. And I said, “The same as you,” and we carried on walking. But halfway down the hill she met two boys, friends of hers who were really pleased to see her. She told them, “This is Na’im.” And they didn’t understand who I was but they told me their names, which I didn’t catch, and it was like she realized only then how different I was, all dirty, and she said, “You can find your own way from here.”
“That’s O.K.,” I said.
And I left her chatting with her friends, and I remembered I hadn’t thanked her for the meal but I didn’t go back, just looked up and saw her still talking to them and they turned and she started climbing back with them. They disappeared. The air all around full of scents. A spring Sabbath, people in their best clothes and little children running about.
There was no bus at the bus station. A van from the next village took me to within a few kilometres of my village. I walked the rest of the way, waving to the men working in the fields as usual. Where we live, they work all the time, they never rest. And suddenly I felt a lump in my throat, from happiness or misery I don’t know which and I started to cry, out loud, like an engine switched on. So much excitement the last two days. I cried on the empty road, collapsing on the wet earth like I was sorry I was an Arab and even if I’d been a Jew still nothing would have come of it.
DAFI
He’s fast asleep and here I am, stuck in the house because of him. A beautiful day outside. I phoned Tali and Osnat in the morning, telling them not to come around, they might have found him entertaining but I didn’t want him to be bothered by a lot of girls all at once. Mommy and Daddy got up early and went off somewhere leaving me here, to give him his breakfast and send him home. It’s all ready, I’ve taken everything out of the fridge and put it on the table and I’ve opened a can of sardines too and a can of beans so he can choose what he wants and not grimace like he did yesterday when they gave him gefilte fish. I don’t want any trouble with him and I don’t want him to think he’s being kept without food because he’s an Arab. The pan on the stove, oil, matches, two eggs, water in the kettle. He’s only got to place his order, I’ll light the stove and the meal will be there, like a short-order service. If Mommy saw how good I am at organizing things she’d make me cook breakfast every Sabbath. But he just goes on and on sleeping, does he think this is a hotel? I’m getting all worked up. I’ve changed my clothes twice. First I put on a dress but I’m never sure if it makes me look fat from behind. Then I put on my long kaftan but then I took it off because it really looked a bit much, and I put on the jeans that I wore yesterday with a thin sweater, no point in trying to hide what can’t be hidden anyway. I switched on the radio at full volume, maybe the music quiz will wake him up. But he’s about as lively as a corpse. I’m not going to sit at home all day. At eleven o’clock I knocked softly on the study door a few times and in the end I decided to go in as if I was looking for a book. There he was, sleeping peacefully, in his wonderful pyjamas, dead to the world. He’s had quite long enough, I decided. He can catch up on his sleep at his mother’s house. I went to him and touched him, right there on the face. Why not? After all he’s one of Daddy’s workers and I too have a bit of authority here. At last he opened his eyes.
“Mommy and Daddy have gone out and they told me to make breakfast for you. How do you like your eggs?” I said in a hurry.
And he lying there with his head still on the pillow, I was already wishing I hadn’t made that offer. In the end I persuaded him to eat a scrambled egg because that’s what I cook best. And the little bastard, still lying there in bed, asked me not to put sugar in it, because it seems yesterday the gefilte fish was too sweet for him. He made me mad.
What can I say? People get used to anything. He didn’t seem a bit impressed when he came out of the bathroom and saw the table covered with good things, all for him. Yesterday he was crying and wailing like a stray dog and now he sits there upright and proud, eating like a gentleman with his mouth closed. Congratulations. Taking this and refusing that. He’s got a mind of his own. And I fuss around him, buttering his bread for him, changing the dishes. I don’t know why I’m doing all this. I don’t know any other person who’s had service like this from me and it’s not going to happen again either. I feel tense as hell. I’ve already forgotten the resemblance to Yigal. That really was an absurd idea. Now in his dirty overalls he looks older, there’s even the first signs of a moustache and a beard on his face. Eating at great speed, it’s all right for him because he’s so thin. There’s something relaxed about him, even though he blushes every two minutes for no reason. Saying “Very nice, thank you” but really hating us of course, like all of them. Buy why? Hell, what have we done to them? Surely things can’t be that bad. So suddenly I asked him, to his face, how much they hate us. He didn’t know what to say, started to mumble, explaining that since the war, after they beat us a bit, it wasn’t so bad. Beat us a bit? They must be out of their minds.