A. Yehoshua: Friendly Fire: A Duet

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?

It's all right, she says regretfully to the woman, who has already steered her toward passport control. Six hours is long, but not impossibly so. Best not to burden your husband. I'll find myself some quiet corner; I bought a novel this morning at the airport, so the time should pass quickly.

And to the great dismay of her old student, she heads for the transit hall, wheeling her suitcase between the baskets and bundles of other passengers, looking for the cafeteria where three years ago she waited with her husband.

It's still there, and though as unattractive as ever, it is no longer gloomy. The place has been expanded with added tables and chairs, and the walls are decorated with colorful posters advertising hotels and restaurants in the city. Even as she wonders where she'll find that quiet corner in which to pass the long hours, she catches the eye of a waiter, who opens a folding table for her. In the corner, she points, the corner please, I'll be here a very long time.

Now she regrets having passed up the airplane meal, and so she orders a sandwich and a cup of coffee, and opens the novel. She chose it with no prior knowledge, purely by its name and cover illustration. But because it was written by a woman, naturally the main character will be a woman. Admittedly, Daniela is not always comfortable with women's novels. In general, the heroines don't like themselves much, making it hard for the reader to identify with them, and without that identification, no matter how smooth the writing and well-made the plot, the time won't go quickly.

She reads the long, closely printed blurb on the back cover. The editor promises the readers of this novel a dramatic reversal. An elusive secret only implied at the outset will by the end turn everything upside down. So the reading will not be simple; it will require concentration, and that's not going to be easy with two African youths standing near her table and staring at her. On the previous visit, at a table near this one, she waited with her husband for an evening flight back to Israel. That wait had lasted only an hour and a half, and with her husband by her side, attentive to her every word, the time passed quickly. She remembers that despite the anticipation of going home, and a satisfying visit with her sister and brother-in-law to think about, sadness overcame her. Something must have told her that this separation from her sister would be a long one, but she could hardly have foreseen that less than two years later a sudden heart attack would take her sister from the world in an instant, and her brother-in-law would bring back to Israel not a coffin but only an earthenware jug filled with ashes. What's the matter? he would argue to the hushed astonishment of his relatives, none of us, after all, believes in the resurrection of the dead.

YA'ARI SHIFTS WITH finesse from the role of concerned father to the role of employer, asking whether Moran's release from army duty has been confirmed.

"It'll be fine, Abba, don't worry."

"When's it supposed to start, your reserve duty?"

"It started already. Yesterday."

"And you have a release? You've covered?"

"Nobody can give me an official release. I'm just ignoring it."

"But why don't you explain to them that this is a critical week at work, with many important decisions…"

"They don't need explanations. They've got them from everybody and his brother. Better just to keep quiet. Even if they discover I'm missing, the adjutant is a friend of mine; we were in officers' training together."

"So did you at least tell this adjutant?"

"No. If I tell him, he'll have to order me to come in. Best just to ignore the order. Like last time. I didn't show up, and nobody noticed. They have enough soldiers and officers."

"And this time, too?"

"I'm sure of it."

"We have those meetings coming up at the Defense Ministry. I'm sure that if you told them about the Defense Ministry, they'd free you up."

"The Defense Ministry impresses nobody. Every dropout has a fantastic excuse. Don't worry, it'll be fine. I'm here, with you."

"You know, because I wasn't sure you'd be free, I couldn't go on the trip with Imma."

"And I thought it was because she wanted to be there alone."

"That, too. Where's your unit going?"

"West Bank, but not too deep inside."

"Maybe you can cook up another excuse?"

"Such as?"

"A matter of conscience… conscientious objection… after all, your cousin…"

"Enough, Abba, I'm not going to masquerade as something I'm not. This army is always in flux, it's unfocused and aimless. There are surplus soldiers everywhere. Nobody'll notice that I didn't show up."

"But this adjutant, your friend…"

"Even if he notices, he won't bat an eyelash."

"I'll take your word for it. You know how crucial you're going to be to me in the coming days. So on the way over here, go down to the Pinsker Tower and listen to the wailing winds. The tenants are livid, and rightly so. I was there this morning, and the roaring is enough to drive you mad. I have a couple of theories about what exactly is going on, but I won't say a word till I get your opinion. And you haven't forgotten the noon meeting at the new site?"

"I haven't forgotten."

"Now what about Nadi, is he a little calmer at night?"

"Sometimes."

"Last night?"

"So-so. Maybe before preschool I'll take him to the clinic. Are you coming over tonight to light candles with the kids?"

"Not tonight. In the late afternoon I'll light them with Grandpa. I haven't seen him for two days. From there I'll go home. I slept maybe three hours last night. But we'll have plenty more candles to light before your mother gets back."

Through the big doorway, engineers and draftsmen, technicians and secretaries pour into the office, and their computer screens light up one by one. People warm their hands on coffee mugs and enter Ya'ari's office to say hello and show him sketches. Some years back, Ya'ari lost direct touch with the latest design technologies and the specifications of the elevators planned by his firm, but he can still suggest lines of thinking to his employees and judge the quality of their work.

The sunlight comes and goes and a soft rain continues to fall, but outside the window the branches on his tree are still. The morning's storm has quieted down, and he fears that his son will listen in vain for the moaning of the winds.

The phone rings and the secretary brings the day's mail, but Ya'ari's thoughts are with the beloved passenger. Soon the long layover in Nairobi will begin, and although he is certain she will not break her promise and go into the city, he feels sorry that she'll be sitting alone for six long hours in that crowded and unpleasant restaurant. It would be better if she could find herself a nice quiet corner near the departure gate. In his mind he strides ahead of her through the airport, recalling its layout to help her find the right spot, someplace not too isolated. And he hopes that her pleasant disposition and friendly smile will engage a fellow passenger who is waiting too. A man or a woman, Israeli or European, even a local African, someone who will watch over the internal logic of her movements.