Friendly Fire (3 page)

But the woman persists. She feels entitled to a precise definition of this well-built man of more than sixty whose modish cropped hair is flecked with white. His dark eyes radiate confidence; his windbreaker, unfashionable and threadbare, adds a simple, unaffected touch.

"'My engineers?'" she repeats, in the quarrelsome tone that seems natural to her. "How many do you have altogether?"

"Ten or twelve," he answers quietly. "Depends how you count them." Then he disappears into the shadows of the garage. He glances at his watch. His wife has not even left the territorial waters of Israel and already his free-floating love is attracting strangers.

E
VEN THOUGH HER
husband is not at her side to safeguard her sleep in this unfamiliar place, her eyelashes drift downward, the photo album falls to her feet, and the engine noise insulates the intimacy of her experience. Then the warm aroma of something freshly baked rouses her, she opens her eyes and sees the young man in the next seat hungrily consuming his breakfast.

"Real desire," she had tossed at her husband almost offhandedly as they were about to part, and it's still not clear to her what she'd had in mind, what compelled her to say it at the last minute. Was it to hurt him for not insisting on coming with her, even though she really had wanted to go alone, or was it to strengthen his longing for her, leaving him with hopes for her return? Yes, he's right. She was responsible for his frustration. He wanted to, he tried, but she, despite her willingness to give him the pleasure he craved, hadn't considered it quite fair for him to be satisfied while her own desire was blocked by anxiety over the trip, and in any case she had never found sex so important, either in her youth or in maturity, and certainly not now, as she ripens into the third phase of her life, yet she knows that her husband's love needs to be requited more often. It's just that she's not always able to focus her energies at the expense of her own desires and the need to be good to herself.

She looks out the window. While she was sleeping the clouds broke into soft cottony tufts, and in the light of day she sees the desert plain kissing the gulf. Is this Africa? From her visit three years before, she remembers the arresting redness of the soil and the Africans wrapped in colorful fabrics walking upon it with barefoot grace. From the window of her brother-in-law's office, adjacent to the apartment where he housed them in violation of the rules—not only to save the cost of a hotel but also so they'd be together the whole time—she once saw her sister, early in the morning, buying milk and cheese from a plump African woman wearing a headdress with a flamboyant green feather. Daniela's heart reaches out now to her sister's slender silhouette, wrapped in an old woolen shawl she remembers from their parents' home.

The photo album of her grandchildren has made its way while she slept to the feet of her neighbor, who is now unwittingly stepping on it. She politely asks him to pick it up; he apologizes, saying that he hadn't noticed. The stewardess, who is already clearing away empty trays, asks whether she would still like her breakfast, and after a moment's uncertainty she decides not to decline. But when she removes the aluminum cover from the main course and tastes the first bite, she feels a wave of nausea, like the ones she felt so many years ago at the beginnings of her pregnancies. Her husband is always ready and eager to finish off her leftovers, indeed expecting that his wife will always leave him something of hers, and so even when she wants to clean her plate, she restrains herself and leaves him something symbolic, as a concrete expression of her fidelity. But now there is no one to rescue her from this repellent meal. And she senses the gaze that lingers on her abandoned knife and fork. Would it be a gesture of friendship to offer a total stranger food she has already tasted? After all, if she were younger, perhaps a young man would try to get to know her over such a meal. She offers him the tray politely and cordially. The young man hesitates and blushes. He seems like a well-brought-up fellow who does not eat from the plate of strangers.

"Why not eat it yourself? It's excellent..."

"Please take it." And giving him no time for second thoughts, with a sure motherly hand she calmly shoves the tray his way before the stewardess can pounce and remove it to her cart.

The young passenger grins with embarrassment, but the hunger of youth gets the best of him, and with sheepish care he wipes with a napkin the fork that has lately been in her mouth and plunges the knife into the omelet. She nods encouragingly, but does not want to commit herself to a chat occasioned by the odd kindness she has forced on him, and she therefore gathers up the newspaper that blankets her feet and begins to flip from pictures to text.

T
HE MAIN ENTRANCE
to the design firm is unlocked. Someone has arrived before him. His seventy-five-year-old accountant, who worked with his father for many years, is drinking coffee and enjoying a croissant, his face illuminated by the glow of the news he reads on the computer screen. A year ago, Ya'ari brought him out of retirement and back to active duty to assist in the expansion of the business and compliance with new tax regulations. The expensioner, unwilling to give up his afternoon nap, comes early to the office and disappears before twelve. Ya'ari is not sure that his productivity warrants the handsome salary he earns on top of his pension, but because the man remains loyal to Ya'ari's invalid father and now and then goes to play chess with him and keep him abreast of goings-on at the office, it's convenient to have him on the staff.

"What got you out of bed?" The accountant gathers the pastry crumbs from his pants and swallows them.

With nonchalant pride, Ya'ari tells of Daniela flying off that morning to her brother-in-law in Africa.

"To that consul?"

"Actually just a chargé d'affaires, and now not even that. Half a year after his wife died, they closed the mission for lack of funding and they retired him. But because living is so cheap in Africa, he decided to stay there, and now he does the bookkeeping for some research dig so he can build up his savings for old age. After all, in the Foreign Ministry they would never consider taking someone back out of retirement..."

But the pensioner is oblivious to the boss's subtle jab, so confident is he of his indispensability.

"What are they digging for?" he persists.

Ya'ari doesn't know exactly what his brother-in-law's team is digging for. When his wife gets back in a week, she will tell all.

The accountant eyes his employer a bit suspiciously. He still thinks of Ya'ari as the high school student who would come to the office after class to try out the new electric typewriter.

"You always travel together, so what happened this time? You weren't afraid to let your wife travel alone, never mind to Africa?"

Ya'ari is a little uneasy. The intimate tone bothers him, but since his father keeps his old employee up to date on family matters, he finds himself patiently explaining the reason for the rare separation. Daniela could take advantage of the Hanukkah break at her school, but for him it was hard to get away from the office, this week in particular when decisions needed to be made about changes in the Defense Ministry facility. Besides, it's not clear that Moran will be able to get out of his army reserve duty. Most important, his wife will not be alone there for a minute. Their brother-in-law will be with her and look after her the whole time.

"How old is your brother-in-law? Seventy? Older?"

"Something like that."

It turns out that Ya'ari's father talks about Yirmi now and then, with affection and sadness. But the accountant only met him once, at Ya'ari's wedding.

"At my wedding?" Ya'ari is amazed. "Thirty-seven years ago? You were there?"

Why not? The accountant was invited to the wedding along with other employees of the firm. And from that celebration he remembers the tall man who danced energetically all night with the two sisters...

"Yes, there was a natural joy in him, until the blow came..." Ya'ari mumbles, and goes into his office, which has shrunk during the firm's recent expansion—a process which involved tearing down their floor's inner walls and turning it all into one space. Only Ya'ari did not relinquish his private space, because this is where his father once sat and because he loves the view: a window on the backyard framing a big tree whose branches in recent years have intertwined with an unidentified plant that in springtime produces a riot of red flowers. He considers whether it may not be too early to phone his son and ask him to hop over to the tower on his way to the office and listen to the roaring winds. The fine line between a father's right and an employer's, which was clear between him and his own father, hasn't yet been fully defined between them, and his son has become preoccupied since the birth of the second grandchild, a moody boy who requires special attention and frequent visits to doctors. But because it seems to him that his son, too, has been unsettled by the idea of his mother heading off alone to Africa, he decides to call him now, if only to set his mind at ease.

"Hey, habibi," he says, when his sleepy son picks up, "I hope I didn't wake you. I just wanted to let you know Imma has taken off, but she promised to stay at the Nairobi airport until the connecting flight. So for the time being we can relax and hope the day will go smoothly."

S
HORTLY BEFORE THEY
land, the stewardess hands her a bag bulging with Israeli newspapers. "Ah," Daniela exclaims, "how nice of you not to forget, but why is the package so heavy? We only have three newspapers."

"I don't know," the stewardess apologizes. "I collected everything. Also the financial supplements and sports, want ads and real estate; I didn't know what you wanted for your Israeli and what you didn't."

"No problem ... thank you ... I'll find room for it."

And it is her hungry young neighbor who crams the bundle into her suitcase and helps her wheel it to the bus taking the travelers to the terminal. Here, he jokes, I've already paid you back for the meal you gave me. And with laughing eyes she says, you see, it wasn't for nothing that I strengthened you with an extra meal. Then the young man finally allows himself to express interest in the purpose of the trip of this genial older woman, and she tells him about her brother-in-law, who used to be some sort of chargé d'affaires, but doesn't get around to mentioning the death of her sister, because there is someone excitedly pushing toward her from the other end of the bus, calling out: Teacher, I don't believe it, is it you? In Africa?

This large, red-headed woman, no longer young, was her student long ago. For many years she has been living in Nairobi with her husband, a representative of a big construction company, but in all that time she has never forgotten the young teacher of English who managed so enjoyably to instill in her a knowledge of that all-important language. You won't believe it, chatters her former pupil, who looks not much younger than Daniela, I still haven't forgotten
King Lear,
which you taught us with patience and love. And back then English for us really was a foreign language and wasn't easy. When did you stop teaching? I haven't stopped, Daniela says, smiling wearily. I still teach in the very same school; I'm not quite as old as you think. No, God forbid, says the woman, embarrassed, I didn't mean that, they just say that teaching burns people out fast. But if you still have the energy and passion for Shakespeare, more power to you...

Daniela laughs. No, they removed Shakespeare from the curriculum a long time ago and replaced him with American short stories. But in recent years she hasn't been preparing students for the matriculation exams, but teaching in the lower grades. Lower grades? Why? There were some discipline problems with the older students. With you? Discipline problems? Her old student is amazed. We not only loved you, she says, we were afraid of you. It's true, smiles Daniela, who at times sensed her students' fear. But what can you do? Since my older sister's death I've become a bit slow and introspective, and there are students who take advantage.

Now her old student looks genuinely pained. But it's only temporary, she suggests, trying to console the teacher, who is not asking for consolation. Surely you'll go back to teaching the higher grades. Could be, Daniela replies, rolling her bag from the bus to the terminal. For the moment it suits me. It's easier and less time-consuming to correct the younger ones' exams.

When her former student, who herself has lately become a young grandmother, realizes that Daniela is headed not for passport control but rather toward the dreary transit lounge, where she is to wait more than six hours for her next flight, she urges her to go through the passport line now and spend the layover at her house. She has a nice big house, with a pleasant, quiet living room. True, the house is away from the city center, but she'll make sure her husband sends his driver to get her back to the airport in time.

Daniela hesitates. She really needs a rest, and the woman seems efficient and reliable. But the promise she made to her husband not to leave the airport silences her. If, God forbid, there should be a foul-up, some unexpected delay, how could she justify violating a promise, even one extorted from her at the last minute? Ever since her sister's death, his fears for her safety have grown more intense.

She looks at her student, now locating in her memory the flaming red hair. Really, why not go rest at her place? After all, what could happen? This is a responsible woman who's been living here a good many years and will surely take care to get her back in time for her flight. She looks down the hall leading to the transit lounge, which overflows with waiting Africans and their children, who are racing around among bundles and baskets. Spending six hours amid this multitude will not be easy. But it would be harder still to break her promise to Ya'ari. Does he know things about her that she doesn't see in herself? An increased absent-mindedness, a distracted depression that could lead her astray? The way she lost track of time in the duty-free shop still bothers her. True, she had wanted to make this trip alone, yet she had not believed that her husband would not insist at the last minute on going with her. So even if the promise she made to him now seems annoying and unnecessary, can she break it?