When Netta regained consciousness he took her to the kitchen. He made her some strong percolated coffee, and decided to help himself to an early brandy. The electric clock on the wall over the refrigerator said ten to five. Outside, the summer-afternoon sunlight was still strong. With her cropped hair, her baggy pants, and her large yellow shirt draped over her angular body, his daughter reminded him of a consumptive young nobleman from an earlier century putting in an appearance at a ball he found boring. Her fingers were clasped around the coffee cup as though they were warming themselves on a winter's night. Yoel noticed a slight redness of her knuckles that contrasted with the whiteness of her flat fingernails. Was she feeling better now? She looked up at him sideways, her chin fixed to her chest, with a faint smile, as though disappointed by his question: No, she was not feeling better, because she hadn't felt bad. What had she felt? Nothing special. Didn't she remember fainting? Only the beginning. What was the beginning like? Nothing special. But look at yourself. So gray. And tough. As if you were ready to kill. What's the matter with you? Drink your brandy; it'll make you feel a bit better, and stop staring at me as though you've never seen anybody drinking a cup of coffee in a kitchen before. Have your headaches come back? Do you feel ill? Shall I massage your neck for you?
He shook his head. Obeyed her. He stretched his neck backward and swallowed his brandy in one long gulp. Then, hesitantly, suggested that she shouldn't go out this evening. Had he only imagined that she was planning to go into town? To the Cinémathèque? To a concert?
"Me? I wasn't thinking about myself. I was thinking that perhaps for your own good you ought to stay in this evening."
"Are you frightened of staying alone?"
He almost said, Why on earth. But he changed his mind. He picked up the saltcellar, stopped its hole with his finger, turned it over, and examined its underside. Then he suggested sheepishly:
"There's a wildlife film on TV tonight. Tropical life in the Amazon. Something like that."
"So what's your problem?"
Again he stopped himself. Shrugged. And said nothing.
"If you don't feel like staying by yourself, why don't you go next door tonight? That knockout and her funny brother. They're always asking you. Or call your buddy Krantz. He'll be here in ten minutes. Like a shot."
"Netta."
"What?"
"Stay in tonight."
He had the impression that his daughter was concealing a sneer behind her raised coffee cup, over which he could see only her green eyes flashing at him, indifferently or slyly, and the outline of her ruthlessly cropped hair. Her shoulders were hunched, her head sunk between them, as though she were preparing herself for him to get up and beat her.
"Listen. The fact is I wasn't even thinking of going out this evening. But now that you've started your routine, I've remembered that I really do have to go out. I've got a date."
"A date?"
"You'll probably insist on a full report."
"Not at all. Just tell me who with."
"Your boss."
"What on earth for? Has he been converted to modern poetry?"
"Why don't you ask him? Why don't you two cross-examine each other? All right. I'll spare you the trouble. He called two days ago, and when I said I'd call you, he said not to bother. It was me he was calling. He wanted to make a date with me."
"What for, the national checkers championship?"
"Why are you so tense? What's got into you? Maybe it's just that he also has problems with spending the evening at home alone."
"Netta. Look here. I haven't got a problem with being alone. Why should I? It's just that I'd be happier if you didn't go out after your ... after not feeling very well."
"It's all right; you can say the word 'attack.' Don't be scared. The censorship's been lifted. Maybe that's why you're trying to pick a quarrel with me."
"What does he want from you?"
"There's the phone. Call him. Ask him."
"Netta."
"How should I know? Perhaps they've started to recruit flat-chested girls. Mata Hari style."
"Let's get this straight. I'm not interfering in your affairs, and I'm not trying to pick a quarrel with you, but—"
"But if you weren't always such a coward, you'd simply say that you forbid me to go out, and if I don't do as you say, you'll beat the daylights out of me. Full stop. And that you especially forbid me to meet Le Patron. The trouble with you is that you're a coward."
"Look here," said Yoel. But he did not continue. Absently he put the empty brandy glass to his lips. Then put it gently on the table, as though taking care not to make a sound or hurt the table. The grayish evening light was in the kitchen but neither of them got up to turn the light on. Every movement of the breeze in the branches of the plum tree at the window sent complex shadows trembling on the ceiling and the walls. Netta reached out, shook the bottle, and refilled Yoel's glass. The small hand of the clock over the refrigerator hopped rhythmically from second to second. Yoel suddenly saw in his mind's eye a little pharmacy in Copenhagen where he had finally identified a well-known Irish terrorist and photographed him with a miniature camera concealed in a cigarette pack. For a moment the motor of the refrigerator found new strength, gave out a dull rumble, making the glasses tremble on the shelf, then changed its mind and fell silent.
"The sea won't run away," he said.
"What?"
"Nothing. I just remembered something."
"If you weren't such a coward, you'd simply say to me, Please don't leave me alone at home tonight. You'd say you find it hard. And I'd say, All right, with pleasure, why not. Tell me something: what are you afraid of ?"
"Where are you supposed to meet him?"
"In the forest. In the Seven Dwarfs' house."
"Seriously."
"Café Oslo. Top of Ibn Gabirol Street."
"I'll give you a lift."
"Suit yourself."
"On one condition: that we eat something first. You've eaten nothing all day. And how will you get home?"
"In a carriage drawn by white horses. Why?"
"I'll come and get you. Just tell me what time. Or give me a call from there. But I want you to know that I'd rather you stayed in tonight. Tomorrow is another day."
"Are you forbidding me to go out this evening?"
"I didn't say that."
"Are you asking me nicely not to leave you alone in the dark?"
"I didn't say that either."
"So what are you saying? Could you try to make your mind up?"
"Nothing. Let's have something to eat, you get dressed, and we'll be off. I need to get some gas on the way. You go and get dressed and I'll make an omelette."
"Like she used to beg you not to go away? Not to leave her alone with me?"
"That's not true. It wasn't like that."
"Do you know what he wants from me? You must have some idea. Or some suspicion."
"No."
"Do you want to know?"
"Not especially."
"Are you sure?"
"Not especially. Actually, yes: what does he want from you?"
"He wants to talk to me about you. He thinks you're in a bad way. He has a hunch. That's what he said to me on the phone. Seems he's looking for some way to get you back to work. He says that we're living on a desert island here, and he and I have got to try to work out some solution together. Why are you against my seeing him?"
"I'm not against it. Get dressed and we'll go. While you get dressed I'll make an omelette. A salad. Something quick but good. Just a quarter of an hour, and we're off. Go and get dressed."
"Have you noticed that you've said 'get dressed' ten times? Do I look as if I'm not wearing anything? Sit down. What are you jumping around for?"
"So you won't be late for your date."
"Of course I'm not going to be late. You know that very well. You've already won the game. In three easy moves. I don't understand why you're still carrying on with this charade. After all, you're a hundred and twenty percent sure."
"Sure? Of what?"
"That I'm not going out. Shall we make an omelette and a salad? There's some cold meat left over from yesterday, the kind you like. There's some fruit yogurt too."
"Netta. Let's get this straight—"
"Everything's perfectly straight."
"Not to me it isn't. I'm sorry."
"You're not sorry. What's the matter, have you had enough of wildlife films? Were you wanting to run across to the woman next door? Or did you want to ask Krantz over to wag his tail at you? Or go to bed early?"
"No, but—"
"Listen. It's like this. I'm dying for tropical life in the Amazon or something like that. And stop saying you're sorry, when you've got exactly what you wanted. As usual. And you've got it without even using violence or exerting authority. The enemy didn't just give in; the enemy melted away. Now drink that brandy to celebrate the triumph of the Jewish brain. Just do me one favor: I haven't got the phone number. You call Le Patron and tell him yourself."
"Tell him what?"
"That it'll have to be some other time. That tomorrow is another day."
"Netta. Run and get dressed and I'll take you to the Café Oslo."
"Tell him I had an attack. Tell him you're out of gas. Tell him the house burned down."
"An omelette? Some salad? How about some chips? Would you like some yogurt?"
"Suit yourself."