Kata-monim: the bad hand aching from tension, a bellyful of verbal abuse form pooshtakim, and the torment of wondering if he'd made the right decision. Had Gavrieli used him as a pawn?
Across the cafe sat a group of art students from Bezalel. Young men and women, long-haired, nonconformist types with laughing mouths and graceful hands. Their laughter grated on him. They took up three tables, drank iced coffee, gobbled cheese toast and cream pastries, and filled the tiny restaurant with cigarette smoke and gossip.
One of the girls caught his eye. Slender, long wavy blond hair, blue-eyed, exceedingly pretty. She looked too young to be studying at the institute.
She smiled at him and he realized he'd been staring. Embarrassed, he turned away and finished his soda. Calling for the check, he reached into his pocket for his wallet, fingered it clumsily, and dropped it. As he bent to pick it up, he caught another glimpse of the art students. The blond girl.
She seemed to have separated from the others. Had moved her chair so that she faced him, and was drawing in a pad. Looking right at him, smiling, and sketching.
Doing his portrait! The nerve, the intrusion!
He glared at her. She smiled, continued to sketch.
Bubbles of pent-up anger burst inside of him. He turned his back on her. Slapped down a few bills and stood to leave.
As he exited the cafe, he felt a hand on his elbow.
'Is something the matter?'
She was looking up at him-short girl. Had followed him out. She wore an embroidered black smock over faded jeans and sandals. Red bandanna around her neck-playing artist.
'Is something wrong?' she repeated. American-accented Hebrew. Terrific, another spoiled one, spending daddy's money on fantasies. Wanting a fling with a uniform?
'Nothing,' he said in English.
The force of the word startled her and she took a step backward. Suddenly, Daniel felt boorish, at a loss for words.
'Oh,' she said, looking at his bandaged hand. 'Okay. It's just that you were staring at me, and then you got angry. I was just wondering if something was wrong.'
'Nothing,' he repeated, forcing himself to soften his tone. 'I saw you drawing my portrait and was surprised, that's all.'
The girl raised her eyebrows. Broke out laughing. Bit her finger to stop. Continued giggling.
Spoiled baby, thought Daniel, angry once more. He turned to walk away.
'No. Wait, 'said the girl, tugging on his sleeve. 'Here. 'She opened her sketch pad, flipped it around so he could see it.
Still life. Bowl of fruit and wineglass.
'Pretty bad, huh?'
'No, no.' Idiot, Sharuvi. 'It's very nice.'
'No, it's not. It's dreadful. It's a cliche, kind of a joke-an art school joke.'
'No, no you're a very good artist. I'm sorry, I thought-'
'No harm done.' The girl closed the sketch pad and smiled at him.
Such a wonderful smile. Daniel found himself hiding his scarred hand behind his back.
Awkward silence. The girl broke it.
'Would you like your portrait done?'
'No, I don't, I have to-'
'You have a terrific face,' said the girl. 'Really. Great contours.' She raised a hand to touch his cheek, pulled it back. 'Please? I could use the practice.'
'I really don't-'
She took his arm, led him up King George. Minutes later he was sitting on green grass, under a pine tree in Independence Park, the girl squatting across from him, cross-legged and intent, sketching and shading.
She finished the portrait. Tore the paper out of the pad and handed it to him with lovely, smudged fingers.
At this point in the dream, reality receded and things got strange.
The paper grew in his hand, doubling, trebling, expanding to the size of a bed sheet. Then larger, a banner, covering the sky. Becoming the sky.
Miles of whiteness.
Four faces rendered in charcoal.
A thoughtful Daniel, looking better than life.
Three laughing, round-faced infants.
This doesn't make sense, he told himself. But it was nice. He didn't fight it.
