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remember, that he had omitted to inquire who the lady was and why
she had asked if he would agree to see her. So I settled him back in
his chair, kissed him on the forehead, and told him my name .
"Of course," He smiled with childlike cunning. "Of course, you
are Ilana. My son's widow. At Simferopol they were all killed. Not
one of them was left alive to observe the beauty of the fall. Soon the
snow will start and
we-dayosh!-we
shall ride on. Out of this vale of
tears! Away from rotting generals who drink and play cards while
the women are dying. And who are you, my lovely lady? What is
your name? And · your business? Abusing the male sex? And for
what purpose did you request that I should grant you an audience?
Wait! Do not tell me! You came about the gift oflife. Why did we
defile it? Why did we curdle our mother's milk? You may have done,
madame, but not me. Me, my revolver-down the drain. I threw it
away and that is the end of that. So, may God be with us, and may
we rest in peace .
Liu liu liu.
Is that one cradle song? Or deathbed
song? So, be off with you now. Go. Only this do for me: Live and
hope. That is all. Look at the beauty of the fall in the forest before
the snow. So? Two kopecks and that is all? I shall even give you
three."
With these words he rose, bowed low before me, or rather bent
down and picked up one of my chrysanthemums, dirty with dust and
yogurt, and delicately proffered it to me: "Only do not get lost in the
snow."
And without waiting for an answer or saying good-bye he
turned his back and strode toward the building, as upright as an old
Red Indian. My audience was at an end. What more was there for
me to do but to pick up my sticky chrysanthemums, put them in the
trash can, and take the bus back to Jerusalem?
The last of the daylight was still glimmering in the west be–
tween serrated clouds on the sea horizon as I sat on the half-empty
bus on my way back from Haifa. The memory of his brown hand,
gnaded like a volcanic slope, would not leave me: how like yet unlike
your own stiff, square hand . I had an almost tangible feeling that his
hand was resting on my knee all the way from Haifa. And I found its
touch consoling. When I got home, at quarter to ten in the evening,
I found Michel asleep on a mattress at the foot of Yifat's bed, fully
dressed and with his shoes on. His glasses had slipped onto his
shoulder. I woke him in alarm and asked what had happened. It
transpired that in the morning, after I had left, when he had dressed
Yifat and was on the point of taking her to the nursery, on a sudden
