BABY

TEL AVIV, ISRAEL

October 1962

Three days later, on Friday the twenty-sixth, Arie’s twins Daniel and Carmel were twelve years old, but there was no party. Two days after that Noah and Ezra were nine, and they missed out too. The family came together not to celebrate but to sit shiva, the seven days of mourning.

Peter’s baby entered a silent house. Tamara held her whenever she was awake, fed her milk from a bottle, and did everything but surround her with joy. She worried about that. Would the poor little child have enough love? Who would look after her when she went back to work? Tamara’s law firm had allowed her a month to help at home, but then what? She worried about Peter, who slept most of the time. Would he have to change his job? His Mossad boss, Isser Harel, had visited the shiva twice and told Peter to take all the time he needed, but what else could he say? She didn’t know exactly what work Peter did, but he couldn’t leave the country for months at a time anymore. He was a widower now with three small children; his life would have to change. But could he do that? He was a man of contradictions. Peter was gentle and considerate but he was intimidating too; hard and calculating. What had Harel meant when he said Israel was a safer place because of Peter. Why? What did he really do at Mossad?

Anyway, his work would have to change.

When Arie had offered him a job Peter had scoffed. “What can I do for you?” he had said. “I’m no businessman.”

“You’ll learn,” Arie replied. “It’s time you made some real money.”

“But what could I do? I’m not a lawyer or an accountant. What do I know?”

“That’s not the point. I buy lawyers and accountants. What I need most are smart people I can trust. You can join me in the head office, I’ll put you at the top of one of my companies. You bring integrity, I know how much they value you at the Office, you earned that. You have no idea how much I need you.”

“It’s too soon to talk about it, Arie. But thanks, I’ll think about it.”

That evening, the day after the shiva ended, the four twins wanted to make a joint announcement. While Hadassah, the maid, cleared away the dinner dishes, Daniel asked for silence, and waited for everyone to settle down. Peter sat on a sofa with Tamara and Arie, Moshe and Rachel sat on the other one, Ido and Estie sat on cushions on the floor, and the baby slept in her bassinet, which Tamara carried with her everywhere.

“Shut up,” Noah said to Ezra, “stop pushing.”

“You shut up,” Ezra replied.

Carmel pushed them both. “Sssshh.”

Daniel stood by the crib, looking down at the infant girl and played with her hand. He’s looking more and more like his father, Peter thought. He’s got Arie’s broad shoulders. He’s twelve, bar mitzvah next year, he’ll be a strong young man.

While the baby yawned and stretched, Daniel said, “Everybody, it’s time the baby had a name, and we have decided what it is.” He looked around as if expecting applause.

“What?” Peter said with his first smile in eight days. “You decided?”

“Yes, all of us together. Noah said that at the hospital you told him and Ezra to think of a name for the baby. So we did.”

“That’s true,” Peter said, nodding at everyone. “I did. But that doesn’t mean I’ll agree.”

“You have to,” Noah said. “Whose baby is it?”

“Mine.”

“Ours,” Ezra said.

“The parents decide,” Tamara said, and flushed at her blunder. “I mean … do you have a name, Peter?”

“No. We didn’t talk about it.”

“Well, we have a name, don’t we?” Daniel said, and the cousins said in a chorus, “Yes.”

“All right,” Peter said. This was so sweet of them. “What is it?”

“Diana.”

The air seemed to suck out from the room. “Diana,” Peter murmured. Diana. His eyes stung, he told himself, Do not cry. But still a tear escaped.

Little Diana’s deep brown eyes, wide and unwavering, were fixed on his, and he could have sworn they were smiling.