sides. A full moon was visible in the east window. The dark patches on the surface of the moon looked darker than usual.
When Yardena returned I noticed that she had removed her sandals and socks and was now barefoot. She was holding a black glass tray on which were a single glass, a bottle of cold water and a plate of dates, plums and cherries. The bottle was beaded with icy perspiration, and the glass had a thin blue line running round it. She put the tray down in front of me, leaned over and filled the glass with water up to the blue line. As she bent over I caught a glimpse of the mounds of her breasts and the cleft between them. Her breasts were small and firm, and for a moment I thought they looked like the fruit she had served me. I took five or six sips and touched the fruit with my fingers but I didn't take any, though the plums were also covered in condensation, or droplets of water from washing, and looked tasty and tempting. I told Yardena that I could remember her father and that I recalled this room from my childhood, and almost nothing in it had changed. She said that her father had loved this house, where he had been born and raised and where he had written all his books, but that her mother wanted to leave and live in the city. She found the silence oppressive. Apparently her grandmother would be put into a home and the house would be sold. It was her mother's business. If she was asked for her opinion, she might say that the sale should be postponed so long as her grandmother was alive. But on the other hand, you could understand her mother's point of view: why should she stay on here, now that she had retired from her job as a biology teacher in the school? She was alone here all the time with the old lady, who was getting hard of hearing.
"Would you like to see the house? Shall I give you a tour? There are so many rooms. This house was built without any rhyme or reason," Yardena said. "As if the architect got carried away, and built whatever rooms and passages he had a mind to. In fact he wasn't an architect at all: my great-grandfather built the main part of the house and every few years he added a new wing, and then my grandfather came along and built more extensions and more rooms."
I got up and followed her through one of the doors that led into the dark, and found myself in a stone-paved passageway lined with old photographs of hills and streams. My eyes were fixed on her bare feet, which moved nimbly over the flagstones as if she were dancing in front of me. Several doors opened off this passageway, and Yardena said that even though she had grown up in the house she still had a feeling that she was in a maze, and there were corners she had not been in since she was small. She opened one of the doors and we went down five steps into a dark, winding passage lit only by a single feeble bulb. Here, there were glass-fronted cabinets filled with old books, interspersed with a collection of fossils and seashells. Yardena said, "My father loved to sit here in the early evening. He was attracted to enclosed spaces with no windows." I replied that I, too, was drawn to enclosed spaces, which retained a hint of winter even in midsummer. "In that case," said Yardena, "I've brought you to the right place."
5
FROM THE PASSAGE a creaking door gave access to a little room, simply furnished with a threadbare sofa, a brown armchair and a brown coffee table with curved legs. On the wall hung a large gray photograph of Tel Ilan, apparently taken many years ago from the top of the water tower in the middle of the village. Beside it I could see a framed certificate, but the light was too poor for me to read what it said. Yardena suggested we sit here for a bit, and I did not refuse. I sat down on the shabby sofa and Yardena sat facing me in the armchair. She crossed her legs and pulled her dress down, but it was too short to cover her knees. She said that we hadn't seen more than a small part of the house so far. The
When Yardena returned I noticed that she had removed her sandals and socks and was now barefoot. She was holding a black glass tray on which were a single glass, a bottle of cold water and a plate of dates, plums and cherries. The bottle was beaded with icy perspiration, and the glass had a thin blue line running round it. She put the tray down in front of me, leaned over and filled the glass with water up to the blue line. As she bent over I caught a glimpse of the mounds of her breasts and the cleft between them. Her breasts were small and firm, and for a moment I thought they looked like the fruit she had served me. I took five or six sips and touched the fruit with my fingers but I didn't take any, though the plums were also covered in condensation, or droplets of water from washing, and looked tasty and tempting. I told Yardena that I could remember her father and that I recalled this room from my childhood, and almost nothing in it had changed. She said that her father had loved this house, where he had been born and raised and where he had written all his books, but that her mother wanted to leave and live in the city. She found the silence oppressive. Apparently her grandmother would be put into a home and the house would be sold. It was her mother's business. If she was asked for her opinion, she might say that the sale should be postponed so long as her grandmother was alive. But on the other hand, you could understand her mother's point of view: why should she stay on here, now that she had retired from her job as a biology teacher in the school? She was alone here all the time with the old lady, who was getting hard of hearing.
"Would you like to see the house? Shall I give you a tour? There are so many rooms. This house was built without any rhyme or reason," Yardena said. "As if the architect got carried away, and built whatever rooms and passages he had a mind to. In fact he wasn't an architect at all: my great-grandfather built the main part of the house and every few years he added a new wing, and then my grandfather came along and built more extensions and more rooms."
I got up and followed her through one of the doors that led into the dark, and found myself in a stone-paved passageway lined with old photographs of hills and streams. My eyes were fixed on her bare feet, which moved nimbly over the flagstones as if she were dancing in front of me. Several doors opened off this passageway, and Yardena said that even though she had grown up in the house she still had a feeling that she was in a maze, and there were corners she had not been in since she was small. She opened one of the doors and we went down five steps into a dark, winding passage lit only by a single feeble bulb. Here, there were glass-fronted cabinets filled with old books, interspersed with a collection of fossils and seashells. Yardena said, "My father loved to sit here in the early evening. He was attracted to enclosed spaces with no windows." I replied that I, too, was drawn to enclosed spaces, which retained a hint of winter even in midsummer. "In that case," said Yardena, "I've brought you to the right place."
5
FROM THE PASSAGE a creaking door gave access to a little room, simply furnished with a threadbare sofa, a brown armchair and a brown coffee table with curved legs. On the wall hung a large gray photograph of Tel Ilan, apparently taken many years ago from the top of the water tower in the middle of the village. Beside it I could see a framed certificate, but the light was too poor for me to read what it said. Yardena suggested we sit here for a bit, and I did not refuse. I sat down on the shabby sofa and Yardena sat facing me in the armchair. She crossed her legs and pulled her dress down, but it was too short to cover her knees. She said that we hadn't seen more than a small part of the house so far. The
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