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always good at rich people’s parties. She doesn’t stint.”
    She held out her cheek for a light kiss. “Good luck, Mr. Livelihood,” he said as he left. His face was familiar to me from somewhere, but not well-known enough for me to place it.
    It won’t work, I said to myself. She goes around with a thousand men. The whole plan is fucked. She won’t be willing to sacrifice anything for that sick Arab.
    â€œThe etrog man has arrived,” she smiled at me. “Did you have a good week? Did you earn a lot of money in the stock market?”
    â€œWe’ve got to talk,” I said.
    An expression of great disappointment rose onto her face. Her look was sharp and hostile.
    â€œWhere did you come from?” she asked angrily. “What do you want from me?”
    Even though she hated me at that moment, I could have looked into her face forever. Not for nothing do they poison the faces of their women.
    â€œYou’re not an etrog man,” she said.
    â€œNot completely,” I answered.
    â€œSo what do you want from me?” she asked.
    â€œI want to help,” I said.
    â€œAnother one who wants to help,” she laughed briefly. “The one here before you wanted to help, too. I’m surrounded by little helpers today.” She quickly regained her equilibrium, didn’t let anger take over.
    I couldn’t cuff her hands behind her, or put the stinking bag on her head. No hands. You’re a thug with bad Arabic, a coward, start reinventing yourself. Be a smart Jew.
    â€œTell me how I can help.” I suggested.
    Daphna was assailed by a fit of laughter, as if she had smoked something before I came, and when she calmed down, she had tears in her eyes. “Why should I play your game?” Her eyes held me tight. “Maybe you’re a maniac, who are you anyway?”
    I was silent, and she went on. “You’re not a maniac,” she said. “You’ve got the eyes of a poet, not a policeman. I don’t care, I’ll go on playing with you. Can you fill out any questionnaire I want?”
    â€œAlmost any,” I said and she laughed again.
    â€œI once had a husband like that,” she said. “He was a miracle worker. He’s not around anymore, poor guy. What kind of miracle worker are you?”
    â€œWhat do you want me to do for you?” I insisted.
    Somebody in the next building was playing Frank Sinatra. The windows were open. I could have sat in her kitchen forever and looked at her wonderful face.
    â€œYou know what I want,” she said. “You’re gods, you know what a person wants before he says it. You’re an angel sent to me.”
    â€œTell me. I can only guess.”
    â€œThere are two urgent things,” she said, and her face became troubled and mature, a hidden line deepened in her forehead now. “I’ve got a very sick friend,” she said. “He lives in Gaza. I want them to take care of him.”
    â€œAt the Erez Crossing, an ambulance and an entrance permit will be waiting for him on Wednesday. They’ll take him from there straight to Ichilov Hospital. You can tell him.”
    â€œWhat do I have to give you in exchange?” she asked in amazement. “Because I’m not willing to pay what I think you want.”
    â€œWait a minute, we haven’t yet finished with your wishes. What else do you want?”
    â€œFor you to save my son,” she growled quickly. “Don’t let them kill him, don’t let them put him in jail. Resurrect him. You can do that?”
    I took a deep breath. That was more than I intended to offer. Talk to her now. “Yes,” I said. The reservations were on the tip on my tongue, and I suppressed them. I’m not a crappy lawyer. She nodded slowly and gravely. Her hair was tied on her head.
    â€œYou want me to make you something to eat?” she asked calmly, as if we had now signed a successful deal. “I