Real Estate Agent?"
Then he said: "You look a bit worried, Yossi." And he added: "Pop into my office when you have a moment, maybe on Friday afternoon. You and I need to have a word."
But when I put out feelers about what we needed to have a word about, I couldn't extract the slightest hint from him.
"Come," he said, "we'll talk, coffee's on me."
This exchange heightened my sense of disquiet. Something that I ought to be doing, or to refrain from doing, weighed on me and clouded my thoughts, but what that thing was I could not think. So I set off for The Ruin. But I didn't go straight there. I made a slight detour, via the school and the avenue of pine trees next to it. It suddenly struck me that the strange woman who had appeared to me in that out-of-the-way garden behind the Village Hall had been trying to give me some sort of a clue, maybe a vitally important hint, which I had refused to take heed of. What was it that had scared me so? Why had I run away from her? But had I really run away? After all, when I turned back to look, she wasn't there. It was as though she had faded into the evening twilight. A thin, erect figure dressed in strange traveling gear, with a walking stick in one hand and a folded raincoat draped over her other arm. As though it were not June. She had looked to me like a hiker in the Alps. Maybe Austrian. Or Swiss. What had she been trying to say to me, and why had I felt the need to get away from her? I could find no answer to these questions, nor could I imagine what it was that Benny Avni wanted to talk to me about, or why he couldn't simply raise the matter when we had met in the little square by the bus stop, but had invited me to call on him in his office at such an odd time, on Friday afternoon.
A smallish package wrapped in brown paper and tied with black cord was lying on a shady bench at the end of Tarpat Street. I paused and bent over to see what was written on it. There was nothing written on it. I picked it up cautiously and turned it over, but the brown paper was smooth and unmarked. After a moment's hesitation I decided not to open the package, but felt I ought to let someone know I had found it. I didn't know whom I should tell. I held it in both my hands and it seemed heavier than its size would have suggested, heavier than a package of books, as if it contained stones or metal. Now the object aroused my suspicion, and so I replaced it gently on the bench. I ought to have reported the discovery of a suspicious package to the police, but my cell phone was on my desk at the office, because I had only gone out for a short walk and didn't want to be interrupted by office business.
Meanwhile, the last light was slowly fading, and only the afterglow of the sunset shimmered at the bottom of the road, beckoning to me, or warning me to keep away. The street was filling with deeper shadows, from the tall cypress trees and the fences surrounding the front gardens of the properties. The shadows did not stand still, but moved to and fro, as though bending down to look for something that was lost. After a few moments the streetlights came on; the shadows did not retreat, but mingled with the light breeze that was moving the treetops as if an unseen hand were stirring and blending them.
I stopped at the broken iron gate of The Ruin and stood there for a few minutes, inhaling the scent of the oleanders and the bitter smell of the geraniums. The house seemed to be empty, as there was no light in any of the windows or in the garden, just the sound of crickets among the thistles and frogs in the neighboring garden and the persistent barking of dogs from farther down the street. Why had I come here without phoning first to make an appointment? If I knocked on the door now, after dark, the two women would be bound to be alarmed. They might not even open the door. But perhaps they were both out—there was no light in the windows. So I decided to leave and come back another day. But while I was
Then he said: "You look a bit worried, Yossi." And he added: "Pop into my office when you have a moment, maybe on Friday afternoon. You and I need to have a word."
But when I put out feelers about what we needed to have a word about, I couldn't extract the slightest hint from him.
"Come," he said, "we'll talk, coffee's on me."
This exchange heightened my sense of disquiet. Something that I ought to be doing, or to refrain from doing, weighed on me and clouded my thoughts, but what that thing was I could not think. So I set off for The Ruin. But I didn't go straight there. I made a slight detour, via the school and the avenue of pine trees next to it. It suddenly struck me that the strange woman who had appeared to me in that out-of-the-way garden behind the Village Hall had been trying to give me some sort of a clue, maybe a vitally important hint, which I had refused to take heed of. What was it that had scared me so? Why had I run away from her? But had I really run away? After all, when I turned back to look, she wasn't there. It was as though she had faded into the evening twilight. A thin, erect figure dressed in strange traveling gear, with a walking stick in one hand and a folded raincoat draped over her other arm. As though it were not June. She had looked to me like a hiker in the Alps. Maybe Austrian. Or Swiss. What had she been trying to say to me, and why had I felt the need to get away from her? I could find no answer to these questions, nor could I imagine what it was that Benny Avni wanted to talk to me about, or why he couldn't simply raise the matter when we had met in the little square by the bus stop, but had invited me to call on him in his office at such an odd time, on Friday afternoon.
A smallish package wrapped in brown paper and tied with black cord was lying on a shady bench at the end of Tarpat Street. I paused and bent over to see what was written on it. There was nothing written on it. I picked it up cautiously and turned it over, but the brown paper was smooth and unmarked. After a moment's hesitation I decided not to open the package, but felt I ought to let someone know I had found it. I didn't know whom I should tell. I held it in both my hands and it seemed heavier than its size would have suggested, heavier than a package of books, as if it contained stones or metal. Now the object aroused my suspicion, and so I replaced it gently on the bench. I ought to have reported the discovery of a suspicious package to the police, but my cell phone was on my desk at the office, because I had only gone out for a short walk and didn't want to be interrupted by office business.
Meanwhile, the last light was slowly fading, and only the afterglow of the sunset shimmered at the bottom of the road, beckoning to me, or warning me to keep away. The street was filling with deeper shadows, from the tall cypress trees and the fences surrounding the front gardens of the properties. The shadows did not stand still, but moved to and fro, as though bending down to look for something that was lost. After a few moments the streetlights came on; the shadows did not retreat, but mingled with the light breeze that was moving the treetops as if an unseen hand were stirring and blending them.
I stopped at the broken iron gate of The Ruin and stood there for a few minutes, inhaling the scent of the oleanders and the bitter smell of the geraniums. The house seemed to be empty, as there was no light in any of the windows or in the garden, just the sound of crickets among the thistles and frogs in the neighboring garden and the persistent barking of dogs from farther down the street. Why had I come here without phoning first to make an appointment? If I knocked on the door now, after dark, the two women would be bound to be alarmed. They might not even open the door. But perhaps they were both out—there was no light in the windows. So I decided to leave and come back another day. But while I was
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