his house, his eyes immediately filled with moisture in gratitude for the compliment.
Beneath the stream of words on any subject whatever—the future of calf-fattening, government policy, a woman's heart, a tractor engine—there gushed a stream of joy that had no need of any pretext or connection. Even on the last day of his life, ten minutes or so before he dropped dead of heart failure, he was standing at the fence chatting to Yossi Sasson and Arieh Zelnik. Most of the time there was between him and Rachel that ceasefire so common between couples after long years of marriage, when conflicts, insults and temporary separations have taught both partners to tread warily and to give the marked minefields a wide berth. From the outside this cautious routine resembled a mutual resignation, which still left room for a calm comradeship, of the type that sometimes develops between soldiers of opposing armies facing each other, a few yards apart, in the course of long-drawn-out trench warfare.
This is how Danny Franco ate an apple: for a while he would turn it around in his hand, inspecting it closely until he found the precise point at which to sink his teeth into it, then he would stare at the wounded apple once more before attacking it again, this time at another point on its circumference.
After his death, Rachel let the farm go. The henhouses were closed, the calves were sold, and the incubator became a storeroom. Rachel continued to water the fruit trees that Danny Franco had planted at the end of the yard, apples and almonds, a couple of dusty fig trees, two pomegranates and an olive. But she gave up pruning the old creepers that clung to the walls of the house, covered the roof and gave shade to the veranda.
The abandoned sheds and outbuildings filled up with junk and dust. Rachel sold the lease on the land farther down the slope, and the water ration of the now inoperative farm. She also sold her parental home in Kiryat Tivon, and took in her cantankerous father. With the proceeds of all these sales she bought herself a portfolio of shares and the status of silent partner in a small company manufacturing pharmaceutical products and health foods. The company paid her a monthly salary, on top of her pay as a literature teacher at Green Meadows High School in Tel Ilan.
10
DESPITE HIS WEAK BODY and thin shoulders, Adel took it on himself to weed the former farmyard, which had become overgrown since Danny's death. He also, on his own initiative, tended a small vegetable patch beside the front path, trimmed and watered the unruly hedge, looked after the oleanders, roses and geraniums that grew in front of the house, cleaned and tidied the cellar, and did most of the housework, scrubbing floors, hanging out the wash, ironing, and washing the dishes. He even reactivated Danny Franco's little carpentry workshop: he managed to oil and sharpen the electric saw and get it working again. Rachel bought him a new vise to replace the old one that was rusted up, some timber, nails, screws and carpenter's glue. In his spare time he made her some shelves and stools, gradually replaced the fence posts, and removed the old, broken gate and fitted a new one, which he painted green. It was a lightweight double gate fitted with springs, so that the two flaps swung to and fro behind you several times before closing gently of their own accord, without slamming.
The student spent the long summer evenings sitting on his own on the steps of his hut, which was formerly the hatchery, smoking and writing in a notebook placed on top of a closed book on his knees. Inside the hut Rachel had set him up with an iron bedstead and an old mattress, a school desk and a chair, an electric hotplate and a small refrigerator where Adel kept some vegetables, cheese, eggs and milk. He stayed sitting on the step until ten or ten-thirty, with a golden cloud of sawdust floating around his dark head in the yellow electric light, his smell of young male sweat mingling
Beneath the stream of words on any subject whatever—the future of calf-fattening, government policy, a woman's heart, a tractor engine—there gushed a stream of joy that had no need of any pretext or connection. Even on the last day of his life, ten minutes or so before he dropped dead of heart failure, he was standing at the fence chatting to Yossi Sasson and Arieh Zelnik. Most of the time there was between him and Rachel that ceasefire so common between couples after long years of marriage, when conflicts, insults and temporary separations have taught both partners to tread warily and to give the marked minefields a wide berth. From the outside this cautious routine resembled a mutual resignation, which still left room for a calm comradeship, of the type that sometimes develops between soldiers of opposing armies facing each other, a few yards apart, in the course of long-drawn-out trench warfare.
This is how Danny Franco ate an apple: for a while he would turn it around in his hand, inspecting it closely until he found the precise point at which to sink his teeth into it, then he would stare at the wounded apple once more before attacking it again, this time at another point on its circumference.
After his death, Rachel let the farm go. The henhouses were closed, the calves were sold, and the incubator became a storeroom. Rachel continued to water the fruit trees that Danny Franco had planted at the end of the yard, apples and almonds, a couple of dusty fig trees, two pomegranates and an olive. But she gave up pruning the old creepers that clung to the walls of the house, covered the roof and gave shade to the veranda.
The abandoned sheds and outbuildings filled up with junk and dust. Rachel sold the lease on the land farther down the slope, and the water ration of the now inoperative farm. She also sold her parental home in Kiryat Tivon, and took in her cantankerous father. With the proceeds of all these sales she bought herself a portfolio of shares and the status of silent partner in a small company manufacturing pharmaceutical products and health foods. The company paid her a monthly salary, on top of her pay as a literature teacher at Green Meadows High School in Tel Ilan.
10
DESPITE HIS WEAK BODY and thin shoulders, Adel took it on himself to weed the former farmyard, which had become overgrown since Danny's death. He also, on his own initiative, tended a small vegetable patch beside the front path, trimmed and watered the unruly hedge, looked after the oleanders, roses and geraniums that grew in front of the house, cleaned and tidied the cellar, and did most of the housework, scrubbing floors, hanging out the wash, ironing, and washing the dishes. He even reactivated Danny Franco's little carpentry workshop: he managed to oil and sharpen the electric saw and get it working again. Rachel bought him a new vise to replace the old one that was rusted up, some timber, nails, screws and carpenter's glue. In his spare time he made her some shelves and stools, gradually replaced the fence posts, and removed the old, broken gate and fitted a new one, which he painted green. It was a lightweight double gate fitted with springs, so that the two flaps swung to and fro behind you several times before closing gently of their own accord, without slamming.
The student spent the long summer evenings sitting on his own on the steps of his hut, which was formerly the hatchery, smoking and writing in a notebook placed on top of a closed book on his knees. Inside the hut Rachel had set him up with an iron bedstead and an old mattress, a school desk and a chair, an electric hotplate and a small refrigerator where Adel kept some vegetables, cheese, eggs and milk. He stayed sitting on the step until ten or ten-thirty, with a golden cloud of sawdust floating around his dark head in the yellow electric light, his smell of young male sweat mingling
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