It’s one o’clock in the morning.
Asya stirs slowly, sitting up in bed, her eyes closed. The phone rang and I didn’t hear it, when I stopped doing the night towing I put the phone back in the study. Only Dafi heard it. She’s still awake at night. At first she thought it was a wrong number and didn’t answer, but the ringing went on. She lifted the receiver and, unbelievable, she thought she was dreaming, the soft and wheedling voice of the headmaster she hates, her cruel persecutor.
She mimics him –
“Dafna? Is that you? Would you be so good as to call your father, I must speak to him.”
I go to the phone.
His whispering, urgent voice, sometimes a strange laugh, even at such a late hour of the night he uses the same pompous style of speech.
A thousand pardons. A misfortune has befallen him. His car is embracing a tree, ha, ha, the hood is crushed and bent. On the road from Jerusalem, near the airport. He has been hurt too, bruises and scratches on the face. Some wonderful Jews from the moshav Vardim took him in, bandaged him and gave him a drink. But now he wants his car towed to Haifa, to my garage. Is it possible? Will I be prepared to receive the unfortunate car? There is nobody he can trust but me, Adam dear friend, he has no other garage but mine … ha, ha …
Well then –
He has forgotten the address, he has simply forgotten the address, he whispers as if afraid to wake somebody beside him.
I say nothing.
“Adam?”
“Who is going to tow you?”
Nobody at the moment. His rescuers will try to find a towing service.
“Wait, I’ll come and tow you in.”
“Heaven forbid … such a distance … that wasn’t why I rang …” but I detect the relief in his voice.
“Where are you?”
No, he won’t tell me, he’s suddenly obstinate, he was very dubious about calling, he’s full of remorse, he woke the girl …
But I insist. Dafi’s fate is in his hands. Some day soon he must decide whether to expel her from the school or not. I shall tow him in, repair his car, accept no payment, for a few days he will be in my power.
Suddenly he begins to waver. On no account does he wish to be a burden. He already regrets calling me. Besides, a special kind of tow job is required here. His car, to tell the truth, is completely wrecked.
“That’s all right … just tell me exactly where you are, Mr. Shwartz. I won’t let anyone else tow you in … besides, they’ll overcharge you … do you have money to spare?”
He’s taken aback.
“Adam, dear friend, what can I do? Of course I shall have to pay you … I shall never agree to a free job … and anyway, what does money matter … the important thing is that I’m still alive …”
“Pity about the time …”
He tells me where he is, in a devious manner, as if he’s doing me a favour.
I phone Na’im. The old lady answers at once, as if she’s been waiting for the phone to ring. She’s an insomniac too. The wakefulness of this survivor from the last century never ceases to amaze me.
“Has something happened? News of Gabriel?”
“No … please wake Na’im. I shall be coming to pick him up soon, we’re going to tow a car.”
“I thought you’d stopped doing the night work.”
“This time it’s a friend of mine who’s in trouble.”
“Shall I make coffee for you?”
“No, thank you, I’m in a hurry.”
Meanwhile Asya has got out of bed and is making coffee. Dafi is beside her in the kitchen, insisting on knowing all the details, disappointed that he’s got off with just cuts and scratches.
“I wish he’d been killed, the monster …”
And we’re so tired we don’t even tell her to shut up.
“You’re driving to Lod for him? What’s the idea?” Asya is amazed.
“It’s for Dafi … so he’ll think twice before expelling her …”
“It won’t do any good … I know him … he’ll expel her … and she deserves it too.”
Dafi listens in silence, quietly chewing a piece of bread, her hair falling over her face, her face puffed up, lately she’s really gone to pieces.
“Pity he wasn’t killed …” she whispers again.
“That’s enough.”
She’s beginning to get on Asya’s nerves. Asya paces about the kitchen in an old nightdress. Suddenly I remember the dream I had.
“You woke me up in the middle of a dream.”
Asya looks at me.
“What was the dream?”
“I don’t remember.”
But as I’m accelerating down the hill, I remember the dream, I even smell it. I was in a big hall, at a sort of meeting, crowds of people were wandering about there, Gabriel among them, his head shaved, pale. I was angry with him, spoke to him harshly, he turned and went away …
A thin silhouette outside the old lady’s house, a flickering cigarette. Na’im is already waiting. These last months he’s grown a lot taller, grown a great mop of hair, matured. Chain-smoking, buying himself new clothes, and all the time taking money from me. I don’t care. A strange boy. What does he go through in the silence with the old lady, whole days? I’ve ruined him completely. This power that money gives me, I must put my mind to him, return him to his village.
The lights are on in the old lady’s house. She’s looking out of a window, her face white, like the face of a corpse come to life.
“Your sweater, Na’im,” she shouts from above and throws the sweater down to the pavement.
“I don’t need it,” he mutters, embarrassed, angry, but he picks the sweater up from the ground.
I get out of the car, wave to her.
“She’s in love with you.”
He turns around to me quickly.
“Who?”
“The old lady.”
“The old lady,” he says softly, seriously, “is way off her rocker.”
I say nothing. There’s a new tone to his voice, cynical, decisive.
We arrive at the garage, Na’im jumps down to open the gate. The watchman is asleep in his shelter, the little dog in his arms is asleep too, they don’t notice us coming in, changing vehicles, leaving the Dodge and climbing aboard the tow truck. Na’im loads a box of tools. Quietly we close the gate behind us, the dog opens his eyes, looks at us affectionately, wags his tail and lays his head on the watchman’s chest.
A clear summer night. The sea lies calm. A grey colour to the sky. The truck runs slowly. I’m very tired. Na’im is silent beside me. I ought to ask him a little about his life, but I haven’t the energy to talk. Now and then I feel him staring at me. Perhaps he would like to say something to me, but he holds back.
We reach the scene of the accident after two hours. From a distance I see the headmaster, pacing back and forth on the road as if he’s walking the corridors of the school, his head wrapped in a sort of white turban, a tall ghostly figure. He shakes my hand, embraces me, his torn shirt stained with blood. “Adam, dear friend, such a catastrophe, never before have I been in an accident …”
He shakes Na’im’s hand as well, ruffles his hair, gives him a little hug, as if he’s one of his pupils. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s an Arab. We walk together arm in arm, treading on glass splinters and fragments of metal. Where is the car? To my astonishment I find it hanging on a tree, as if he had been trying to climb the tree with it. It’s incredible, I can’t help smiling, it’s actually hanging there caught in the branches.
I see the smile on Na’im’s face.
“The car is hopeless …” He follows my gaze.
“No car is hopeless. Only people are.”