But when evening came and darkness filled the house, I saw that the two of us were alone here for the night and panic seized me. Suddenly I thought, he’s not a little child, he’s a big boy, he has a dark and dangerous face. He could steal my gold coins, attack me, if not he then his brothers, these people always have big brothers. He will open the door to them in the night. This boy has already broken into the house once. Why did I have to be so foolish, wasn’t it better before, when things were quiet? Four bolts I put on the door and Mrs. Goldberg has perfect hearing. I was well protected and now I have let the enemy inside.
Strange thoughts began to confuse me.
I asked him to read me something from the paper, to see how he would read, perhaps his voice might reveal something of his intentions. I gave him the article by Dr. Rosenblum, who uses short sentences and simple ideas. He began to read, reading very clearly, and the gist of the article that we hit upon was something I have known for years, that the Arabs have no thought other than to destroy us all. That was all I needed now, to put the idea into his head. And he actually paused, thought for a moment, looked up at me and said, “Do you think I want to destroy you?”
“Of course,” I wanted to say, “but you can’t, thank God.” But I said nothing. He was so sweet when he asked that question, full of sweetness. Again I remembered Gabriel and how he disappeared, all so quickly. Then the idea occurred to me of asking him to kiss me. Once he’d kissed me he couldn’t use violence against me in the night and I’d be able to sleep peacefully, he might perhaps steal something small, but nothing worse than that. I watched him, sitting there, brooding, plotting. I said, “Come here, give me a kiss.” The little bastard couldn’t believe his ears, but he controlled himself, he couldn’t refuse an old woman like me and he came and touched my cheek with a flutter of his hot lips. Perhaps my first kiss in fifteen years. So sweet. I sent him off to bed. I’d hidden the key to his room beforehand, so he couldn’t lock himself in and make plans. He put on his pyjamas, got into bed and went to sleep. I washed, put on a nightdress, switched off the lights and sat down in the dining room, listening to his breathing. Eight o’clock, nine, ships’ sirens in the harbour. I went into the bedroom to look at him. He lay sprawled there on the bed, flushed with sleep. I tidied his clothes a little. Ten o’clock, eleven, and I’m still dozing in the armchair in the dining room, waiting, perhaps the telephone will ring. At eleven-thirty the lights in the bay go out, I go to his room. He’s in a deep sleep, the blanket slipping off the bed. I cover him up. Suddenly I bend down and kiss him lightly. What can I do? So sad.
I go back to the dining room, still hoping for a call.
DAFI
What’s the time? Nearly midnight. I’ve slept two hours and wakened. Dark in the house. A light and simple wakening, that’s what’s been frightening me lately. My sleep is like straw in the wind, leaving no traces.
Daddy’s going out to work tonight, between midnight and two he must be on call. I heard it all yesterday, I know all about it. Looking for the lover at night and through the window I see the tow truck parked at the kerb, the yellow crane like a finger pointing at the sky. I get out of bed and put on the clothes that I got ready during the evening. Corduroy trousers, woollen vest, warm sweater. I’ve decided to go with him. Hiking boots, a scarf. Winter clothes that I’ve never worn in winter. Just pray that some car will have an accident, or break down.
I get dressed in the dark, outside the moon moving fast against broken clouds. The water sounds in the gutters but you can’t see the rain. I think of a car on its way from Tel Aviv to Haifa. I even see its shape. Its colour — bright blue. I think of the driver and I see him, a young man, very sexy, in a black golf shirt, looks a bit like a gym instructor. Beside him a small woman, his wife or his mistress, very sweet. They’re coming home from a play or a party, the radio plays soft dance music, he lays a hand on her shoulder, caressing her, the other hand rests lightly on the wheel. I see the speedometer — a hundred and twenty kilometres. He leans towards her and kisses her, but the lady isn’t content with a kiss, she leans over and lays her head on his shoulder, distracting him. They’re talking about themselves, about how charming they are, and meanwhile the rain sets in (I see it, the moon is hidden, the sky grows dark, rain lashes the windows) and he simply misses the bend, crash, the car smashes through the iron fence between the lanes, the bumper is crushed, the door caves in, the lights shatter, the woman screams, the brakes squeal, the car nearly overturns but ends up on its side. They’re alive. Just a few scratches and bruises. I go on quietly dreaming as I lace up my shoes. I see the man climbing out through the window and helping his lady friend to get out. Running and flagging down a car coming the opposite way, giving the details, a few minutes later the phone rings in the control room. The bored duty clerk takes down the details, looks in the register to see who’s on call. I see it there, Daddy’s name, and beside it our phone number. She lifts the receiver and dials.
My heart misses a beat. At this very moment the phone rings. I freeze. This is crazy. The dream is becoming reality. I run to the phone in the study. I pick up the receiver and say, “Yes?” but Daddy has beaten me to it with the receiver beside his bed. I hear the particulars. BMW, 1972 model, registration number so-and-so, three kilometres south of the Atlit intersection. Daddy writes it all down in the little notebook that I put beside the phone for him yesterday. I go into the bathroom right away, wash my face, clean my teeth and come out expecting to give Daddy a surprise but the house is in darkness, as if he’s already gone. I go quickly into their bedroom, God Almighty, he’s asleep again, the bedside lamp’s switched off. I rouse him, shaking him roughly. “Daddy, are you crazy, have you forgotten? You’ve got a tow job to do.” He sits up in bed, confused, bleary with sleep, he suddenly looks old. “What’s the matter? What is it?” He thought he dreamed it. “Lucky that you’re awake.” Mommy stars under the blanket. He starts taking off his pyjamas in a hurry, stripping almost naked in front of me, completely befuddled. I run to the kitchen, put water in the kettle to make some coffee. Daddy goes into the bathroom, comes out dressed.
“Come on, Daddy, the coffee’s ready.” He smiles. “Dafi, you’ll make a wonderful wife.” I phone the old lady’s house to wake Na’im, curious to see how he’ll react to the sound of my voice, but it’s the old lady who answers.
“Good evening, could you wake Na’im, please? Daddy is on his way to collect him.”
“But who are you?”
“I’m his daughter, my name’s Dafi.”
“Dafi? What sort of a name is that?”
“Short for Dafna. Sorry, it’s so late. We’re on our way.”
“Who is we?”
“Daddy and I … please hurry … wake him up and tell him to wait outside.”
“All right, all right, no need to get excited, young lady.”
Daddy still doesn’t realize that I intend to go with him, he looks at the details written on a page torn from the notebook, his eyes half closed, you can tell it’s years since he’s seen what the world looks like at midnight. Drinking his coffee, smiling at me affectionately. Doesn’t realize that I’m sitting beside him in an overcoat, drinking coffee, ready to leave. He puts the dirty cup in the sink, bends down and kisses me hurriedly. “There now, I’m off. Thanks for the coffee.”
I stand up at once.
“I’m coming with you.”
“What?”
“What difference does it make to you? I can’t sleep. I’m coming with you. I want to see how the towing is done.”