A Woman in Jerusalem by A. B. Yehoshua

Author:A. B. Yehoshua [Yehoshua, A. B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Published: 2007-08-05T17:00:00+00:00

6

BY NOW HE was not only disappointed but also worried. What is this, he asked himself. I’m being saddled with a dead woman as if I were her best friend or close relative.

But when he left the café, his mood brightened. The Jerusalem skies had cleared and it was getting warmer. He went to the bank and withdrew a hefty sum in foreign currency, using the owner’s credit card. On his way back from the travel agency to his mother’s place, he couldn’t resist a detour that passed his former apartment building. It was still standing, untouched by his dream. At midday he phoned his ex-wife and said:

“Listen to me before you hang up. I know it isn’t my day today, but tomorrow night I’m going abroad with the coffin of that cleaning woman. Our company wants me to represent it at the funeral and make a contribution to the orphan. In addition—”

“Get to the point,” his ex-wife said.

“I may be away for three days. That means I’ll miss next Tuesday again. I’d like to switch to today on a one-time basis.”

“We have plans for today.”

“Let me have just an hour, or even half an hour. I want to say a proper good-bye before I go. This isn’t a vacation or a pleasure jaunt. It’s a long, hard mission on the country’s behalf. Who knows that the next explosion in the street won’t get you or me?”

“Speak for yourself.”

“All right. It may get me.”

She yielded and gave him three-quarters of an hour to be with his daughter—provided, of course, that his daughter agreed and had the time for it.

A few hours later, he climbed the steps of the building into which he dreamed he had flung a nuclear weapon, rang the bell, then let himself in with his key. His daughter was sound asleep in her school uniform, her schoolbag tossed on the floor and one red rubber boot still on her foot. Loath to wake her despite his limited time, he looked at her slender figure, which since the divorce had seemed to refuse to mature, with both tenderness and concern. In the kitchen he found a clean plate beside a knife and fork, still waiting for the lunch she hadn’t eaten. He took some food from the fridge, put it on the stove to warm, and stood on a chair to reach a small storage space, searching for his old army boots, among other items, which he had put away there, after his discharge.

“What are you looking for, Abba?”

Her face bore the traces of sleep.

“A pair of good boots.”

“What for?”

He told her about his mission and the snow and ice that awaited him.

“Wow! I’d love to go with you.”

He climbed down from the chair and gave her a big hug. How he’d love to take her! But he couldn’t—and even if he could, her mother wouldn’t permit it.

He climbed back on the chair and found the boots, which were in good condition. Then he polished them while his daughter dutifully ate her lunch.

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