AMOSOZ
499
is booming, and all we do is sit here slowly evaporating in the sun.
There's a charming pedestrianized street now in Rishon Le-Zion with
galleries, artists' clubs, restaurants, and the other streets are brightly lit and
full oflife, people come back at midnight from a night out in Tel Aviv
and
fill
the cafes and talk about new directions in the theater, here all we
can do is have a game of backgammon, watch TV and go to bed with the
birds. The aerobics teacher says: If only they'd link us up to the cable
television, like everyone else . And her husband, the lieutenant colonel,
adds bitterly: You can be sure of one thing, darling, that those settlers in
the territories will get cable TV long before us, we're at the back of the
queue as far as they're concerned, if we're in it at all. Noa says: We could
bring that display here too. We could rig up some spotlights and turn the
corridor of Founders' House into an art gallery. And why shouldn't we
invite an art historian from Beersheba occasionally to give a lecture?
As for me, I go round the room serving the drinks in a gesture of
democratic politeness, emptying the ashtrays, offering the occasional an–
ecdote from the Caribbean islands or an example of Indian humor. Most
of the time I just sit and listen. Trying to guess what sort of judgment
Noa will pronounce after the guests have left: good or bad, hot or cold,
desperate. And it's she who says to me, You're such a summer-up. Don't
sum up, just watch.
At midnight or twelve-thirty the guests disperse, promising that we'll
meet again next Friday. Noa and I clear away and wash up and then sit
down for another half an hour or so over a glass of mulled wine in winter
or an iced coffee in the summer. Her blonde hair masks half her face from
me, but her printed dress leaves her shoulders bare and they are delicate
and fragile like leaves turning brown in the autumn, in places where they
have autumn. At moments like these, when we are exchanging views
about the acquaintances who have left, I still have an urge to take a shawl
and cover her shoulders that are punctuated with a tiny brown birthmark
near her soft nape. I start to woo her in my usual way, that enjoys wait–
ing. Drawn by the scent of honeysuckle. Sometimes we go on talking till
half past two at the kitchen table about the wonderful sights we used to
go and see at weekends in the Cordillera del Litoral. Until Noa interrupts
me in mid-sentence and says, That's enough talking, let's make love, and
then she undoes my belt and undresses us both and lays her head in the
hollow of my shoulder and puts my fingers to her lips. Our life is quiet
and steady. The sitting-room rug is white and the armchairs are light–
coloured too. Between them is a black metal standard lamp. There are
houseplants in the corner. We have separate bedrooms because it turned
out that we sleep differently.
