A. Yehoshua - Friendly Fire - A Duet

"And the Arab saw all this with his own eyes?"

"He didn't see a thing. He was inside the house. But the turning on of the faucet and the sound of rinsing woke him — he was sleeping lightly that night in any case — and right after that, he heard the shots, and in the morning, when the soldiers had already taken Eyali and got out of there, he found his bucket in the doorway, rinsed and clean. Here was a soldier who was ready to disobey explicit instructions so he could say, 'I too am a human being, and I am giving you back a clean bucket. I may have conquered you, but I did not contaminate you.'"

"And the Arab — was he at least touched by what Eyali did?"

"I asked myself exactly that, not at that moment, but later, when I had digested the story. Because the man told it all with a blank expression, without feeling, just the facts, and took the money and hurried back to Tulkarm, as it would soon be curfew."

"But why didn't you tell Shuli?"

"Don't you know your sister? She would have immediately blamed herself, because of the way she had brought him up, all that insane order and cleanliness of hers."

Daniela falls silent. She knows exactly what he means.

The hill that serves as their reference point gradually loses its outline and turns into a murky silhouette. A large flock of birds flaps through the soft air. Yirmiyahu takes the stretcher from the vehicle, places it on the ground and lies down. Daniela looks at the big bald man, whose eyes are closed. She wants to say something to him, but decides against it. She gets out of the car and walks a short distance away, finds a spot concealed by taller grass, takes down her pants, crouches and relieves herself slowly. And as the last drops fall she raises her eyes to the heavens and discovers the first cluster of stars shining overhead.

A sharp chirping pierces the African emptiness and quickly fades into a sob. And then a crackling, metallic voice speaking excellent English calls out, Jeremy, Jeremy, where are you? Yirmi leaps up from the stretcher to seize the connection.

"Come, Daniela," he calls to his sister-in-law as he starts the engine, "get in and see the surprise that's waiting for you."

And as they slowly make their way along the dirt road toward the murky hill, a flare shoots into the sky and spreads a canopy of yellow light. Slowly, slowly sinks the flame, and the trail of light dies down, and then another candle shoots through the darkness, and following that, a third.

JUST LAST NIGHT, his elderly father said to him: I want you to know that I definitely do not need you tomorrow. Francisco and I have organized a whole crew to take care of the little Jerusalem elevator. You can relax and tend to business at the office and get the house ready for Daniela. But if you insist on coming along, then early in the morning, please. Before noon my shaking is not as bad.

"But morning, Abba, not dawn."

"We'll compromise on in between. The difference isn't that much."

When Ya'ari arrives at his father's home at half past seven, he finds him trembling in his wheelchair, ready to go. Washing must have been accomplished at first light, and breakfast too, and on the table, cleared of crumbs, the Filipino baby is avidly sucking her toe, surrounded by five plastic containers filled with sandwiches, cookies, and peeled vegetables.

"You don't trust your woman in Jerusalem to feed us?"

"Food there will surely be, but I know this lady very well. Given her regal manners my staff may be too intimidated to go to her table. We're taking care of them, so they won't be dependent on her refreshments."

"The staff, the staff," Ya'ari scoffs, "what staff?"

It turns out that a real delegation has been assembled, six escorts for one old man, not counting Ya'ari himself: a private ambulance driver; two Filipino friends recruited by Francisco; Hilario, in the role of interpreter; and one little surprise…

"What surprise?"

"A surprise," his father says, smiling. "When you see her, you'll understand right away that this is a surprise."

"But what sort of surprise?"

"A little patience, please. Have I ever disappointed you?"

Ya'ari looks fondly at his father, who is dressed festively for the occasion in a white shirt and black vest; a red tie lies folded in his lap. His shaking does not seem any better this morning.

"And your medicines?"

"I took a little more than the usual dose. And I have another dose in my pocket, in case the old girl tries to exceed the bounds of propriety."

"How many years since you've seen her?"

"Not since the beginning of the millennium. When my illness got worse, I understood that it would not be dignified for us elderly people to peddle illusions to ourselves."

"Illusions about what?"

The father removes his eyeglasses and brings his wristwatch close to his eyes to verify that the second hand is moving. Then he looks up at his son and grumbles, "Illusions… illusions… you know exactly what I mean, so don't pretend this morning to be somebody you're not."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning a square, naïve, limited, engineer."

The elder Ya'ari, who had no formal education, still teases his son sometimes about his degree in engineering. But the son doesn't drop the subject.

"Illusions that love can be a consolation for death?"

The father waves his hands irritably.

"If that explanation makes you feel better, then we'll agree on it. But do me a favor and save the philosophy for later, and instead tell me, should I put on the red tie, or is it too much?"

"If you don't also plan to put on makeup for the visit, then a red tie will brighten your pale face."

"But a festive necktie may give the wrong impression, that I'm coming as something more than a technician fulfilling a guarantee."

Ya'ari takes hold of his father's quivering hand.

"Lover-technician, nothing is more attractive than that."

There's a quiet knock at the door. Hilario, who is sitting by the table making sure that the baby won't spread her arms and legs and fly to the floor, runs to answer it. Two Filipino youths with sad adult faces enter awkwardly and are drawn immediately to their infant compatriot, who greets them with a friendly smile. Kinzie hurries in from the kitchen to introduce the newcomers, Marco and Pedro, good friends and fellow caregivers who got the morning off from their employers to help a friend carry his boss up four flights of stairs to his lover in Jerusalem.

EVEN AFTER FIVE nights here she still wakes up into pitch-darkness. This time she's roused by a sudden anxiety about Nofar, whose devotion to her service in the hospital could get her unwittingly infected by some rare disease. The day after tomorrow, immediately on returning to Israel, she will demand that Nofar spell out for her which injections are given to assistant nurses and explain the procedures for handling people afflicted with dubious illnesses. It has been several years since she and Amotz have grown wary of intervening in Nofar's private affairs, but illness is not a private affair.

She considers whether to turn on a light in the room or to try and cling to the tail end of the sleep that is slipping away from her. After fifteen minutes of lying still with her eyes closed, she concedes that this night's slumber has abandoned her for good, and she turns on the light, intending to replace her own worries with the material and moral losses of the heroine of the novel. But after two pages, the arbitrariness of the plot again stops her reading cold. Fictional troubles can't trump real concerns, and given no choice she lays aside the novel and picks up the King James Bible. At first she returns to the book of Jeremiah, calmly to assess the validity of the heated protest against the prophet by the man bearing his name. And indeed, the level of aggression directed by the biblical Jeremy against his countrymen, coupled with such ornate linguistic virtuosity, confirms her brother-in-law's accusation: these furious prophecies were delivered with pleasure and satisfaction rather than sorrow or pain.