Love Conquers All

by Galia Albin

  Chapter 11

  “Do you happen to have the phone directory?” a lanky fellow asked her as he walked hurriedly into the room.

  Why should I have one, she wondered, shrugging. Can’t he see that I’m waiting for someone? “So you don’t have one,” he said disappointedly, throwing her a glance as he opened and closed drawers in the unattended secretary’s desk. Out of boredom, she threw a glance at the strange man. He was wearing a dark blue, slightly crumpled jacket, but his shirt was impeccably ironed and shining white, and the crease in his pants would certainly have met her mother’s approval. His tie, in yellow, blue and Bordeaux was knotted loosely around his neck. His hair was brown and wavy, with one large lock tumbling down onto his forehead, softening the impression of his light-skinned face.

  He left the room in long strides, and she, herself, had a mind to get up and leave. It was late in the afternoon, and she was tired and frustrated from waiting in vain, but then she reconsidered her position and sat down again, leafing through the documents she had prepared for the meeting.

  She had been invited to this office, donated by one of the richest members of the party, in order to draft a platform for the young guard of the party. It was the first volunteer assignment she had accepted, partly out of interest in the subject, and partly out of an attempt to channel her abundant energy into a cause that was important to her. Her interest in politics had been awakened during her stay in the United States, where she saw many people of her generation getting involved in public affairs, assuming social responsibilities and effecting change in the structure of society. This appealed to her greatly, and she strove to take part in such activities. When she returned to Israel, she questioned her mother about where her late father had lain on the political map. “What do you mean, Talia,” her mother responded. “Don’t you remember that your father was member for many years standing of the Liberal Party? Why, just before his death, he was the chairman of the local chapter!” She did remember, of course, and she thought it would be right and proper that the daughter of Ernie Rosen should continue in his footsteps. In her typical enterprising and enthusiastic manner, she plunged right away into action. She wasn’t pressed for time or money, her job as an education consultant wasn’t particularly demanding, nor was her daughter, who spent half the time at her father’s house, where a new baby, a half-brother, had recently been born.

  It was getting late, and there was no point waiting any longer. On the phone, she had been instructed to meet someone by the name of Jonathan Schwarz, coordinator of the young guard group, a wealthy man who contributed regularly to different worthy causes. Well, she thought, apparently money corrupts. He has money and so he keeps me waiting, but I’m not playing this game any longer. She grabbed her bag and resolved to leave immediately. At the door, however, she ran into Shlomo Tamir, an old friend of her father’s and a party board member.

  Tamir had known Talia all her life and was a frequent visitor at their house, especially after attending conferences of the liberal Party in town. He and her father used to spend long hours, over cigars and glasses of Chivas-Regal, discussing political affairs, both local and national.

  Shlomo Tamir was a pleasant and charming man, as long as he was in his element and natural habitat. But once elected to the Knesset and later a government minister, he became a laughingstock. Journalists, finding him easy prey for mockery and satire, entrapped him with silly questions, making him look ridiculous and dwarfing his public image. Every time his picture appeared in the papers, her mother would throw up hands in despair and ask, “Has our Shlomo made a fool of himself again?” But for all the gossip and detraction heaped upon him, in Talia’s eyes he remained her father’s trusted and admired friend.

  Tamir embraced her warmly. “My Talinka, beautiful as ever! Mom and Dad’s little girl! How wonderful to see you at our party headquarters. Come and have a cup of coffee with me.”

  She put her hands on his shoulders — he was about her own height — and smiled, searching in her arsenal of plausible excuses for one that would allow her to decline his invitation without hurting his feelings.

  “I really can’t right now,” she said.

  He scanned her face quickly, barely hiding his disappointment. “Has anything happened, darling?” he asked.

  “No, nothing, I’m just in a hurry.”

  “Talinka, you can’t fool me, you know. We’ve known each other forever. Has somebody treated you badly? Just tell uncle Shlomo, and he’ll make sure they’re sorry for what they’ve done.”

  “No, everything is all right but how long can I wait here? This Jonathan Schwarz has stood me up. I’ve been waiting here for him for almost an hour.”

  “Oh, so it’s you he’s been waiting for?!” Shlomo Tamir looked surprised. “He’s been sitting in his room complaining that the girl that was supposed to come and help him write the platform hasn’t shown up. How stupid of me! I didn’t make the connection! Come, let’s go to his room together.”

  “No, I really don’t feel like doing this anymore.”

  “Talia, don’t be silly, after waiting for so long, are you now running away? Come, it’ll be worth your while.” He pulled her by the hand, like a recalcitrant little girl. They walked through a long, silent corridor, covered with wall-to-wall carpeting. There were pictures on the walls, but she had no time to examine them. Soon, they were standing in front of a heavy wooden double door, carved with ornate engravings and adorned with gilded knobs. Tamir opened the door and pushed her gently forward.

  “Jonathan, this is the young woman you’ve been waiting for; Talia, meet Jonathan Schwarz.”

  The man behind the enormous desk looked up in amazement. He was sitting in his sparkling white shirt, sleeves down around his long arms. His tie was now neatly tied and his blue jacket was draped around the back of his chair. He looked authoritative, completely different from the lanky, pale gentleman who wanted to know if she happened to have a telephone directory.

  “So it’s you!?”

  “So it’s you!?”

  “Talia, where shall we eat tonight?”

  “Where? How should I know? I’m new in Tel Aviv. But tell me, how did you know I was single?”

  “I know everything about you. You’re divorced, you have a daughter. You’re ‘a good girl from a good home’ in Haifa. Sprechen Sie Deutsch, bitte? ”

  “I know a little German, but don’t test me, I hate that language. But Jonathan, where did you find all this out? You’re embarrassing me, you know,” she giggled. She found his attention quite flattering and giggled more from pleasure than embarrassment.

  “And what about you, aren’t you married?” she asked, just to be sure. He didn’t strike her as being one of those married predators, those professional Don Juans, or even as one of those “not cut out for commitment,” a type she was all-too-familiar with. Jonathan’s demeanor testified to his being single, a bachelor.

  “A hundred percent single. Want to see my bachelor’s certificate?” He rose as if to search his pockets. “You can ask your uncle Leopold about me. He’s a friend of my parents, you know. We’re practically ‘landmen.’ Our families are virtually from the same village — yours from Vienna, mine from Berlin. They speak the same language, almost the same accent.”

  “Ja,ja, Sicker, herr Schwarz”

  “You just came back from a trip to Salzburg, didn’t you?” he continued, flashing a smile of even, white teeth. “We could have met there, you know. As a matter of fact, we could have gone there together. We should have met a long time ago. It’s written in the stars, but up to now, it hasn’t worked out somehow.”

  “‘Written in the stars,’ isn’t that a song? By the Ray Coniff Choir, if I’m not mistaken. Tell me, are you always so sentimental?”

  “I never used to be. I just want to make sure you won’t run away.” He put his elbows on the desk and brought his face close to hers. “Listen, let’s meet at eight o’clock at the America House. Will you get there by yourself, o
r would you like me to pick you up? Don’t bother telling me your address; it’s 33 Zeitlin Street, the house on the comer...”

  “But I’m not free tonight,” she insisted, ignoring for the moment how much information he possessed.

  “Then make yourself free. You have two and half hours to get your act together. I’ll send my chauffeur to pick you up at ten to eight.”

  Jonathan was waiting for her at a table in the middle of the restaurant on the top floor of the America House, the newly built office tower in north Tel Aviv. He could have been a magazine ad for the successful businessman: dark suit, light green silk shirt, a tie with a geometric pattern in yet more shades of green. His hair was shampooed and combed smooth, yet with that single curl tumbling down onto his forehead she found so touching and juvenile. Talia was no expert in men’s cologne, but she found the fragrance of his aftershave lotion quite appealing.

  She suddenly realized they were alone in the restaurant. Nobody was to disturb their privacy the entire evening. The waiters milled about them silently, only speaking to consult Jonathan regarding the choice of wine. They discussed this with the seriousness usually accorded weighty, historic decisions. Although she was offered a delectable array of dishes and desserts, Talia, giddy from the wine, seemed to lose her usually keen appetite.

  Jonathan was more sedate tonight and without the deceptive Casanova mannerisms of the afternoon. He was interested in Na’ama, in the fact that Talia was a mother; something that had often deterred her suitors aroused his curiosity and attracted him even further.

  She was interested in finding out the nature of his business. Shlomo Tamir had told her that Jonathan was a “whiz kid of the stock market.” But what exactly did that mean? Jonathan tried to explain: “I issue bonds in the stock market; sometimes I buy them for myself, sometimes I sell them to other companies, sometimes I merge companies. But why do you want to know? You look like someone who is very naive when it comes to financial matters. And anyway, you won’t have to trouble yourself over such things.” Talia kept silent, debating whether the hidden message was really to her liking.

  “But tell me,” he continued, “except for the work you do, what interests you, what would you really like to do?”

  She thought for a long moment, but could not come up with a satisfactory answer. She had lately lost interest in her job, but had not yet found an alternative. Psychology? Law? A musical instrument? In the meantime, she had to make a living and support her daughter, at least partially. She’d never been given to illusions.

  “Come one, Talia, think of something,” he urged her.

  “All right, if you really want to know, I would like to make movies. That’s my dream, but I certainly know I’ll never be able to realize it. It’s just a fantasy. You need a lot of money for that kind of thing.”

  “You never know,” he said, taking her hand. “You could, for example, marry a rich man who will give you everything you want in life, even makes your fantasy a reality. I’ve heard of such things.”

  “Have you? Well, I haven’t.” Her cheeks burned, her hand felt hot in his. Suddenly, she felt like the heroine of some romantic, melodramatic movie. They were alone in an empty, dimly lit restaurant, two candles flickering on the table, the waiters hovering around them like butterflies; a man she had met only a few hours earlier peered deep into her eyes. All the books say there’s no such thing as love at first sight, she thought, but every fiber in her body and soul told her that at this very moment something irreversible was taking place between them. I can’t be falling in love with him. I don’t fall in love so quickly, if I ever fall in love at all. And it’s certainly not possible that he’s falling in love with me! I must stop this train of thought before I blurt out something ridiculous, she thought, almost panicking.

  “Tell me, why have you stayed single until the age of thirty-six?” She tried to change the course of the conversation, but immediately felt ashamed of herself. He might think she was prying.

  “Oh, I thought you were Austrian, now it seems I was wrong, you talk like a typical Polish-Jewish mother.” He smiled, but his face then sobered. It was a faux pas, bad manners on her part, she concluded. But he smiled at her again, and there was something soft and childlike in that smile that won her heart.

  “Talia, you know as well as I do that we can’t help it. There’s obviously chemistry here. So, it may take us a week, perhaps two months, but in the end we’ll be together. I want you to know, the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were the woman I was going to marry.”