Free A Late Divorce by A. B. Yehoshua Page B

plant down below the panorama spreading out in the valley beneath me there’s the Galilee there’s Acre there are the white cliffs of the Lebanese border it’s like flying a plane coming in for a landing in the clear spring air the car wheels gently touching down on the tarmac of the highway to Acre I could get a free lunch if I stopped at my mother’s but there’s another woman that I’d rather see.
    I’ve never cheated on Ya’el nor do I intend to but here and there I keep a few women on standby. In restaurants in cafes in the offices of courts and colleagues I see them now and then I exchange a few words with them I touch them lightly I drop a few soft promises. If only in thought I wish to be a candidate for love. A restaurant with glass walls by the highway near a gas station. Across the road a ceramics plant and beyond it the sea. Here I used to wait for Ya’el those first years she went to visit her mother when she preferred I didn’t come with her. Right away I noticed the round waitress with her slow challenging walk. Where is she now? I order lunch from the proprietor and go to call the office.
    â€œDid your wife get in touch with you?”
    â€œYes, I’ve spoken to her. Is there anything new? Are you still warming yourself by the heater? Did the check come?...What, I don’t believe it! For how much, a hundred thousand?...Fine, put it in the bank.... I have to endorse it first? Right you are. All right, then put it in the drawer and lock it. I’ll come by later to pick it up.... What, when will I be back? Why do you ask?”
    All at once she asks shyly if she can leave work early today. It’s almost Passover and she has to help out at home. I gallantly agree. Think of the electricity bill that I’ll save. I tell her again where to put the check and how to lock the drawer. Now I see the narrow ankles stepping slowly the pretty eyes open wide to see me she remembers me she better not drop my meal.
    At last I’m putting something into my mouth until now it’s all been outgoing. I’m the only customer in the place I keep sending her back for salt for pepper for beer for a clean fork enjoying her slow challenging walk the dumb blond animal. She blushes each time she returns. Do I arouse desire in her with my big mug and pot? The thought amuses me. Every day you suffer on account of those you lust for you never think of those who suffer on account of you. In the end she sits down near me with her legs innocently crossed we’re all alone except for the music on the radio. I cut my meat and devour her white hands I dip my bread in her eyes and suck them she sits there passively pliantly she brings me coffee a newspaper she unties her apron and bends to clear the table showing me her breasts that I have no time for not now.
    Kissinger dining before the next delicate phase of his Middle East shuttle invisible reporters all around him. The quiet restaurant the highway the cars zooming past behind the glass. The sea and the spring and this cup of fragrant coffee. A short nap. A hundred thousand waiting for me in the drawer my little murderer who’ll be firm on the witness stand about the elementary particles of time my brilliant strategy brought to the world care of his uncle in Belgium. My mood’s on the upswing again. I ask for a cigar and more coffee. And why not? I deserve them. My eyes grow moist. Finally I rise to go I pat her shoulder. There’s warmth in my largesse. It was very good. The proprietor is called to add the bill. I leave a generous tip and register her silent gratitude.
    Ten after three. A light gentle breeze. I always call by now to see if Gaddi’s safely home but I don’t want any more truck with the moralists not when this salty breeze from the sea is busy caressing me. I walk slowly to my car. A strawberry vendor has a stand nearby I buy the old woman a bag of them let her have a little pleasure