by Joan Hess
Theo did not care for the leer on Yussef’s face, but it did not warrant an attack from a knight in rusty armor. He cleared his throat and said, “Shall I wait downstairs, Miriam?”
“No, Theo, I’m ready to leave. Yussef, if you happen to see Sarah, please ask her to call me at the guest house. By the way, I received a nasty call from a bureaucrat at the revenue office in Jerusalem. I told him that you’d sent the quarterly installment in weeks ago, but he grunted out a threat or two before he rang off. You did send the check in with the tax form, didn’t you?”
“But of course, light of my life. The government must have decided to save money by using camels to carry the mail—or Arabs to deliver it. I shall call your nasty bureaucrat and warn him not to bother you with petty problems.”
“While we’re on the subject of petty problems, whatever happened to the towels I ordered six weeks ago?”
Yussef’s daisy-covered shoulders rose. “I’ll see if an invoice has come through, dearest Miriam, but you must realize these things take time.”
“Guests take towels, along with ashtrays and soap. Remember to ask Sarah to call me, please.”
“I shall, desert flower, I shall. Oh, and about an hour ago Anya called looking for you. Our mentally-deficient maid failed to do the floors in the lobby, and Anya is in a dither. I realize that we all agreed that Essie should have some responsibilities, but it may be time to retire her to a padded room. She’ll enjoy it. The decor will match the interior of her head: cotton batting and plywood.”
“Now, Yussef,” Miriam said grimly, “in a general assembly we all agreed that Essie was to have the assignment, even though we were aware that she does wander off upon occasion. Within a few hours she’ll come back with a pitiful collection of aluminum foil and shiny feathers, offer some story about the call of the wild, and return to work. I’d suggest you stop criticizing her—unless you’d prefer to do the lobby floor on your hands and knees …?”
“Only if I can kneel before you,” he countered with a smirk.
Theo was not amused by the image, but he kept the acerbic comment that came to mind to himself. Miriam merely laughed as if she’d heard it before.
Yussef leered a farewell and returned to his ledger. As they went down the stairs, she said, “He’s not as—as immature as he pretends. Yussef has done the ordering and kept the books for the kibbutz for nearly twenty years, and he has done a marvelous job. Now that we’ve prepared to computerize the operation, he’s begun to feel less important. It’s difficult.”
“Sarah is his wife?” Rhetorical but necessary.
“Indeed she is, although I hope they behave much better toward each other in private. They’ve been married for nearly thirty years; something must be holding them together.”
Theo dearly hoped so.
On the kitchen sill so many miles away, that which was holding the cereus bud together began to ease as the orange leaf patiently continued to prod.
7
On their way back to the lobby, Miriam pointed out the odoriferous turkey houses, a factory constructed of corrugated iron sheets, a small infirmary with three rooms for ailing kibbutzniks, and the fields and orchards irrigated by snakish black hoses that zigzagged into scum-coated ponds.
“Surely the water does not come from the Dead Sea,” Theo said, enchanted by the tidy, verdant rows. “I am astonished there is adequate water for all this and for the date palms.”
“We can use brackish water for the palms, which is why you’ll see so many of them in Israel. The other crops require fresh water, but as hard as it is to imagine, we have flash floods every year. Portions of the road are actually under water for hours at a time, although not from excessive rain. At the most, we get a few inches every year, but Jerusalem receives an average of twenty-one inches in less than three months. The Judaean desert is downhill all the way. The water reaches us in dry riverbeds called wadis, and we save every drop we can in cisterns and ponds. Would you like to see a wadi while you’re here?”
“Is that safe?” Theo asked. “If a sudden surge of water should catch us, it could be dangerous.”
“The wadis are dangerous only in the winter when the streambeds fill. If you’d like we could take a jeep out one morning, and even a picnic lunch.” A worried look crossed her face, as if she felt she were being presumptuous. After a moment of hesitancy, she seemed to arrive at a decision. “Although most of the Dead Sea Scrolls were found to the north, in the area near Qumran, a few were found in the caves near here. We could look in one or two of them. Who knows? We might stumble onto a perfectly preserved scroll and become known as world-famous archaeologists.” The hesitancy returned and she shook her head. “How silly of me, Theo. You’re here to see about Dorrie and Judith; I shouldn’t suggest frivolous diversions.”
“But I would very much enjoy a trip into the desert,” Theo protested. “I am fascinated by the idea, and also by the premise of a picnic. I wish I had a bottle of marvelous claret to contribute, but I shall attempt to purchase one from the bartender.”
They halted in the doorway of the lobby. “I’ll see about a jeep and a basket for tomorrow,” she said, “but often one has to wait. We have only a dozen cars and jeeps for over two hundred people. It’s one of the minor details that drives Gideon crazy—but it’s also an economic reality. Now I’d better see about Essie. If she’s wandering in the desert, she may not turn up for several hours and I doubt Anya will scrub the floors in a burst of altruistic spirit.”
“She wanders away often?”
“Does chicken soup cure the common cold? Yes, Theo, we lose her at least once a month, but she usually comes back on her own after she’s found enough treasures. This is the first time she’s left without doing her assignment, however, and that worries me. It really is unlike her. I’ll have to talk to her about it.”
Theo reiterated his desire to visit the desert. Miriam promised to let him know later and vanished through the door behind the registration desk. He gazed at the door for a few seconds, then went to the bar for a glass of soda water, brand unknown. The bout in the sun had tired him, he realized. The phenomenon of jet lag could no longer be ignored.
He returned to his room, closed the curtains, and slept.
A knock on the door roused him several hours later. Dorrie was dressed in a terry-cloth beach robe and sandals from which pink toenails protruded like gleaming lobelia petals. In one hand she held a bulging bag; in the other, a plastic water bottle and two of the glasses from her bathroom.
“Don’t you want to swim, Uncle Theo? I usually wait until late in the afternoon to sunbathe. It’s simply too hot during the middle of the day, and I cannot bear to perspire unless there’s a legitimate purpose. But I must face the reality that my tan is not what it ought to be. I cannot return to school looking as if I’d spent the summer vacation in a tomb. No one would speak to me.”
Theo edged back in alarm. “I did not plan to swim, my dear. I have several chapters in my Baedekers to finish, and—”
“Uncle Theo,” Dorrie interrupted, sounding exactly like her mother, “are you being modest? The beach is totally empty; no one will peek at your paunch except me—and I intend to give all of my attention to the horrible white bikini line across my back. You can’t protest that you’re unable to swim. No one has ever gone under; the water’s too buoyant. I insist you try it.”
“I suppose I ought to try it this one time,” he said. Dorrie not only had the acuity of her mother, but also the steel spine. It was hopeless. “Let me change into my bathing trunks and find a towel that isn’t too camp. The maid has taken an unauthorized leave of absence, and we may have to suffer without fresh linens until she returns.”
“Essie hasn’t done my room, either,” Dorrie said.
Wondering how she could tell, Theo let her wait outside while he changed into his swimming attire. The paunch was—well, visible, but hardly overwhelming, he told himself in a show of bravado. He then put on his robe, picked up the guidebook and a
towel, and followed her down the sidewalk to the beach.
“The mineral content of the water is twenty-seven percent, and the salinity is twenty-five percent higher than the Mediterranean,” he informed her, the book held open to the appropriate page. “There are also measurable amounts of iodine, sulfur, potash, and bromine.”
“Fascinating,” Dorrie murmured. She pointed out a shower nearby, and then found a level patch of sand on which to spread her towel and other vital paraphernalia. When she was satisfied with the arrangement, which encompassed an area adequate for a battalion campsite, she said, “Don’t let the water get in your eyes or mouth, Uncle Theo. It tastes like the punch the boys at Cornell serve on football weekends. Too nauseous for words!”
As promised, the beach was unpopulated. Theo left his rubber sandals at the water’s edge and, wincing at the burning rocks, waded into the shallow water. Even there the rocks were hot, so he resolutely continued forward until the water reached his waist.
As he leaned back, his feet rose of their own volition to offer a view of ten toes and an equal number of unadorned toenails. His arms drifted to the surface as if he were ensconced in a recliner. The rest of him had no tendency to sink. Quite the contrary, he decided with an amazed smile.
“One does not sink,” he called to Dorrie. “Mr. Baedeker was emphatic about the effect of the high salinity, but I assumed it to be an exaggeration. It most definitely is not.”
Dorrie was supine for maximum exposure. She waved a bottle of lotion in response. “I’ve been in a few times, just to see if it would do anything for the dry skin on my heels. It’s weird, isn’t it?”
Theo bobbled like a cork, delightedly watching his feet. The water was tepid but refreshing, and as soothing as a massage. Oil swirled on the surface in undulating rainbows; the odor was not intolerable once he grew accustomed to it. It could well be therapeutic, he concluded as he let his head fall back.
He drifted about for a few minutes, until a tingle on the top of his head reminded him that he had failed to wear the odd native hat Miriam had given him. Which led his thoughts to Miriam. Which he firmly resisted as he made his way to the shallow water and the protection of his sandals.
After a brief shower, he found a shaded area near Dorrie and sat down on his towel. “I met Judith this morning, Dorrie. I found her polite but not at all an easy subject for coercion. She has the temperament and tenacity of a philodendron. You may have to return without her.”
“No can do,” Dorrie said through white-caked lips. Her eyes were invisible under squares of cotton; very little of the rest of her was, except for those parts dictated by law. “I can’t leave her here. The climate will destroy her complexion and damage her hair beyond redemption. Besides that, she has only one more year at Wellesley, and a few more years somewhere else for a graduate degree. Then all the little ghetto children will learn to mug pedestrians in Latin. They can remind themselves that fortuna favet fortibus. I learned that much from Simmons.”
“Judith did not sound as if she were concerned with her physical deterioration or her escape from academia. It is not unreasonable to permit her to decide for herself. She may elect to stay here.”
“Then I’ll have to stay, too,” Dorrie said complacently. “You can tell Mother and Daddy.”
Theo tugged at the tip of his beard as he searched for further arguments. Loyalty was an admirable virtue, but his niece’s stubbornness seemed based on something else, something she refused to explain. She was not the sort to suffer, to jeopardize her tidy future or even her immediate comfort, unless she were deeply disturbed.
“What about Hershel?” he hazarded. “Don’t you like him?”
“What’s not to like? He’s a nice man, in an awkward, inarticulate fashion that Judith finds especially endearing for reasons that escape me. Very sincere, very earnest about Judith staying here and eventually marrying him in some Jewish ceremony under a tent. With brand-X soda water and chopped chicken liver at the reception. Folk dancing done to music on a record player.” A strangled noise slipped out as Dorrie envisioned the scene. It would not play in Connecticut.
“He recently graduated from the university?” There had to be something, if only he could isolate it.
“Yep, after the army he, Gideon, and Ilana all went to the university in Tel Aviv as if they were Siamese triplets. Hershel majored in archaeology, and Gideon in agro-economics. I don’t know what Ilana studied—malice, probably. She is a colossal pain in the ass. She’d do well at Radcliffe.”
“I believe I encountered the young woman,” Theo said. He did not mention the circumstances, although he was within a few feet of the site of his embarrassment. “Small, blonde hair much the same color as yours but shorter, and with a squarish face?”
“My hair is frosted summer ash, Uncle Theo. Hers is strictly sandstorm and split ends, and chopped off at an unflattering length. I suspect she cuts her hair herself—in the dark, with pruning shears. I trimmed my bangs once for a party, and I thought Mr. Robert was going to have a stroke. He made me swear to never, ever do it again. I had to Federal Express all my scissors to him.”
“Oh,” Theo said. Life in Connecticut was more perilous than he had thought. If Mr. Robert tired of styling hair, he might do well as a cabin attendant on overseas flights. “Then am I correct in saying that you and Ilana are not especially friendly?”
Dorrie yanked herself to a sitting position. “Ilana suggested that I work in the turkey house! Can you believe that? I had no idea how even to respond; I had to conclude she was attempting some sort of tasteless joke. Then she mentioned the date palms. People actually climb up ladders to hang bags around the dates to protect them from birds. I was floored, Uncle Theo. Floored.” The memories seemed adequate to send her into well-bred hysterics, if the trembling lower lips and flashing eyes were symptomatic.
“Of course you were,” Theo said hastily. “Those are hardly your species of dates. Ilana sounds like a most peculiar person.”
The lower lip ceased its tremors and curled slightly. “Ilana is jealous of me,” she confided in a demure tone. “As I told you, Judith and I met Hershel and Gideon in Athens, and came back with them on the same flight. Judith and Hershel wanted to crawl all over each other, so I was forced to sit with Gideon. Ilana jumped to some bizarre conclusion that Gideon and I were developing the hots for each other. She’s been in love with him since she was old enough to tweak his diapers.”
“Is that a supposition or a fact?”
“Everybody knows about her crush on Gideon. God, everybody knows when someone sneezes around here, and half of them come running to see if it might be detrimental to the welfare of the community. It’s absolutely stifling.”
“Does Gideon reciprocate Ilana’s feelings?” Theo said, overlooking the aspersions on the kibbutz. Where Miriam lived.
“I don’t know.” Dorrie applied a sheen of lotion to her shoulders, replaced the bottle in her bag, positioned the cotton squares, and lay back. “It doesn’t concern me, since I have a meaningful emotional commitment to Biff. His father owns a brokerage firm in New York, and Biff has already picked out a darling corner office. If we have to live in the city, I hope we can find something on the Upper East Side. Lofts may be quaint, but I think I’d prefer a more formal arrangement. What do you think, Uncle Theo? Should I sacrifice a guest room to be trendy?”
“Let me give it some thought,” Theo said gravely. Judith loved Hershel, who loved her. That was tidy. But if Ilana loved Gideon, who was panting after Dorrie, who was more concerned about trendy addresses than his feelings … and if Yussef was lusting after Miriam rather than his wife … and if Miriam was overly sympathetic to the lecherous hippie … and if the purportedly efficient maid did not appear to clean the bedrooms in the guest house … it clearly wasn’t tidy at all.
“How does Essie fit in with the other three?” he asked. “She surely did not go into the army or attend the university.”
Dorrie giggled. “Isn’t she interesting
? I think I had her case history in Ab Psych my sophomore year. I’d love to see her in Simmons’s lecture class.”
“Have you had a conversation with her?”
“Who can tell? I tried again yesterday morning, but she kept blinking her eyes and muttering dire curses in that nasal monotone of hers. I doubt she knows whether or not she’s supposed to have an accent. It comes and goes with the tide.”
“I noticed that, too,” Theo said, remembering the odd discussion of fish futures.
Dorrie sat up to smooth a dab of lotion on her nose. “I thought I’d be friendly and ask her where she lived, and she turned around and said she was going to run over and bite me or something equally absurd. I was terrified that I was going to hurt her feelings, so I nodded as if I’d understood and told her I had to wash my hair. Well, she made a face and said, ‘Why?’ and I just couldn’t think of an answer. I suspect she’s never washed her hair, much less applied a creme rinse and a conditioner. Can you imagine Mr. Robert’s face if Essie strolled in?” She sank back in a flurry of giggles.
“Did she say anything about fresh towels?”
The giggles stopped abruptly. “She told me I was cheap. I hadn’t even offered a tip, Uncle Theo. It was a total non sequitur. I certainly intend to drop a few dollars on the dresser when I leave, but I cannot make a daily habit of it. Daddy cut off my checking account last month because of some gross error the bank made. They actually had the nerve to return eleven checks in one week simply because I was a teensy bit late with a deposit. I’ve had my own checking account there since I was five years old; it’s not like they don’t know me!”
“Dreadful,” Theo murmured.
“I should say so. Anyway, yesterday afternoon when I told Judith, Romeostein, the Marquessa de Sade, and Gideon, they all thought it was très amusant. The vile squids!”
