Free The Beauty Queen of Jerusalem by Sarit Yishai-Levi

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 mother’s elderly aunt, lived.
    I knew the boulevard well, after all the pleasant vacations I’d spent there. I stood outside Tia Allegra’s house and took in the beautiful Bauhaus building she’d 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 Allegra’s apartment on the second floor and rang the bell.
    â€œWho is it?” my mother’s aunt asked.
    â€œIt’s me, Gabriela,” I replied. Through the locked door I could hear the old lady hobbling along with her cane.
    Tia Allegra opened the door. “Dio santo, Gabriela, what are you doing here, querida? Don’t tell me it’s Sukkoth today and I didn’t know!”
    I fell into my old aunt’s arms and started to cry.
    â€œWhat’s happened, querida mia? What’s the matter, hija? Why are you crying?”
    â€œI’m tired,” I told my old aunt. “I want to sleep.”
    She led me into one of the rooms and said, “Lie down, querida, and when you wake up you can tell me why you’re here. But rest now, and I’ll make some habas con arroz because you’ll probably be hungry when you wake up.”
    I don’t 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. “Did you sleep well?”
    â€œYes.” I nodded. “I was very tired.”
    â€œGo into the kitchen,” she instructed. “I’ve made you something to eat. Warm it up. My legs won’t take me anywhere these days, and they hurt from standing over the stove.”
    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.
    â€œHow’s the habas con arroz?” she asked. “I’ve lost my sense of taste recently and my children are always complaining that there’s not enough salt in it.”
    â€œIt’s delicious,” I said, enjoying the comfort of food I’d known since the day I was born.
    â€œI called your father at the bank,” she said. “He 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 we’re sure you make it home and don’t run away to God knows where.”
    I remained silent. At least I’d bought myself one night of freedom.
    â€œWhat’s happened, querida?” Tia Allegra asked gently. “Why have you run away from home again?”
    â€œMy father beat me and punished me. I can’t leave the house for ten days.”
    â€œWhy, what did you do?”
    â€œI was kissing a boy from the navy who’d brought me home from a party at Beit Hachayal.” I was too ashamed to tell her that my father and I no longer got along.
    My mother’s old aunt laughed. “ Wai de mi sola , your father beat you for that? What, he’s already forgotten that he himself was young once?”
    â€œDo you remember when you were young?” I asked her.
    â€œI remember what happened when I was young far better than I remember what happened yesterday.” She sighed. “I remember what I lost long ago and I’m still losing things today.”
    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