my sentence, instead of going to school and coming home directly after, I walked to the central bus station, boarded a bus to Tel Aviv, and then headed to Rothschild Boulevard, where Tia Allegra, my motherâs elderly aunt, lived.
I knew the boulevard well, after all the pleasant vacations Iâd spent there. I stood outside Tia Allegraâs house and took in the beautiful Bauhaus building sheâd lived in for years, the rounded balcony, the tall trees and shrubs in the entrance garden. I drew in a deep breath, the air of freedom that spread throughout my body every time I came to Tel Aviv, pushed open the wooden door, and slid my hand over the banister as I climbed the marble stairs to Tia Allegraâs apartment on the second floor and rang the bell.
âWho is it?â my motherâs aunt asked.
âItâs me, Gabriela,â I replied. Through the locked door I could hear the old lady hobbling along with her cane.
Tia Allegra opened the door. âDio santo, Gabriela, what are you doing here, querida? Donât tell me itâs Sukkoth today and I didnât know!â
I fell into my old auntâs arms and started to cry.
âWhatâs happened, querida mia? Whatâs the matter, hija? Why are you crying?â
âIâm tired,â I told my old aunt. âI want to sleep.â
She led me into one of the rooms and said, âLie down, querida, and when you wake up you can tell me why youâre here. But rest now, and Iâll make some habas con arroz because youâll probably be hungry when you wake up.â
I donât know how long I slept, but when I woke up it was already dark and Tia Allegra was sitting in her deep armchair by the balcony door. Next to her was her usual trolley with a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits.
She smiled at me. âDid you sleep well?â
âYes.â I nodded. âI was very tired.â
âGo into the kitchen,â she instructed. âIâve made you something to eat. Warm it up. My legs wonât take me anywhere these days, and they hurt from standing over the stove.â
I entered the kitchen, loaded a plate with white rice and beans in tomato sauce, mixed it, and went back to the living room to eat it beside my aunt.
âHowâs the habas con arroz?â she asked. âIâve lost my sense of taste recently and my children are always complaining that thereâs not enough salt in it.â
âItâs delicious,â I said, enjoying the comfort of food Iâd known since the day I was born.
âI called your father at the bank,â she said. âHe told me that I should put you right back on a bus to Jerusalem. I told him it would be better if you stayed the night. In the morning my son-in-law Shmulik will take you to Jerusalem in his car so weâre sure you make it home and donât run away to God knows where.â
I remained silent. At least Iâd bought myself one night of freedom.
âWhatâs happened, querida?â Tia Allegra asked gently. âWhy have you run away from home again?â
âMy father beat me and punished me. I canât leave the house for ten days.â
âWhy, what did you do?â
âI was kissing a boy from the navy whoâd brought me home from a party at Beit Hachayal.â I was too ashamed to tell her that my father and I no longer got along.
My motherâs old aunt laughed. â Wai de mi sola , your father beat you for that? What, heâs already forgotten that he himself was young once?â
âDo you remember when you were young?â I asked her.
âI remember what happened when I was young far better than I remember what happened yesterday.â She sighed. âI remember what I lost long ago and Iâm still losing things today.â
I recalled how Nona Rosa had once told me that nothing ever got lost because there was a land for all the lost things and there, so Nona