But by the end of the third day Tania knew exactly what she wanted for them. She had fallen in love with Jaffa as soon as she saw it. It was so alive and so obviously receptive to artists. Galleries, jewellers, restaurants and simple eating places and a mixture of Jews and Arabs.
As soon as she saw the house that was for sale she knew that it was just what they wanted. It was in walking distance of the Flea Market and not far from the beach. It had obviously once been a traditional Arab house with high ceilings and archways. But it had been discreetly and lovingly modernised by its present owner, an architect who was moving back to America. It was approached from a narrow alley and the arched entrance gave onto a courtyard with a pond, the house itself occupying three sides of the courtyard. Inside there was room for ample living quarters and for a studio and darkroom and rooms to spare for Aarons’ books. The architect was one of Lensky’s friends and he had haggled about the price on Tania’s behalf while she walked around the small walled garden at the rear of the house. The asking price had been reduced by 10 per cent and she had shaken hands on the deal before she left. She also made an offer for most of the furniture which the owner said he would consider.
She had phoned Aarons that night, elated with what she had found for them. He seemed pleased and told her that all the books that he would be taking with them were packed already. Fourteen large wooden crates. She left two days later having photographed their new house and signed the transfer of ownership. The house would be available in two weeks’ time and her offer for the furnishings had been accepted.
On the flight back she hoped that Andrei wouldn’t feel that she had been wildly extravagant. She knew she had been. She’d been carried away by its beauty and its rightness for both of them. She wouldn’t mention the price until he’d seen the Polaroids. The palms in the garden and the bougainvillea everywhere would make him fall in love with it too. It made all that had happened worthwhile just to spend their lives in that house, with the sun and the volatile Israelis she had met. Wall to wall intellectuals, artists, actors, writers and musicians. And of course falafel and wonderful ice-cream. Anyway she had enough money in her own account to pay for the house.
When she got back she was surprised that Andrei made no comment on the cost of the house and it was obvious that from the photographs of the house he was delighted. Not without veiled wonderings about whether they weren’t being self-indulgent. She’d laughed and said that he was probably right but that it was a just reward for a lifetime’s caution and penny-pinching. For his part he had done all that he had to apart from a last get-together with the Malloys, Ivan and Rachel, and Anna and Sam. It was to be at Sam’s club. Sam was now the sole owner and they had moved from Prospect Park to an apartment over the club that was spacious and central but not easy to let because of the club itself.
The party was to be on a Sunday night when the club was normally closed.
When Ivan was talking to Sam about the get-together he said that he wasn’t sure whether it was going to turn out to be a party or a wake. But ten minutes after they were all sitting around the table there was no doubt that it was a party. A farewell party maybe but with Aarons so obviously happy with the change in his life.
They reminisced about the days at Brighton Beach but it was Anna and Ivan who talked of those days, and about their own lives, not Aarons’. But they had all laughed at Aarons’ reconstruction of his first encounter with old man Henschel on Ivan’s behalf. Much blushing from Rachel. But as the time went by Aarons relaxed. It seemed unbelievable. These people seemed quite genuine when they said they would miss him. They were sorry that he was leaving.
Malloy said, “Andrei, you’ve got three countries in your life—Russia, France and America. What do they mean to you?”
Aarons smiled. “Russia for me is Tolstoy and Dostoevsky … Rachmaninoff and Tchaikowsky. France is …” he hesitated “God knows. It means nothing for me except dear Chantal. And America? America is John Steinbeck, Scott Fitzgerald, Irving Berlin, Jerome Kern and …” he looked from one to the other and said softly, “… no. America for me is all you people.”
It was Ivan who put up his hand and said, “And what have you learned from the three countries?”
For several moments Aarons was silent, thinking. And then he said, “I learned what Shakespeare meant in Henry V when he said—
“Trust none,
For oaths are straw, men’s faiths are wafer-cakes, and hold-fast is the only dog, my duck.”
And he looked, smiling, at Tania who smiled back but said nothing.
Sam had made a tape of half an hour of Andrei’s favourite tunes and they danced until it was over and they were suddenly quiet as they got into their street clothes. There was Ivan’s wedding the next day and after that Andrei Aarons would no longer be around. It was the first time that they had realised how much that strange, solitary man had been the centre of their lives.
CHAPTER 55
It was night when they landed and the faithful Lensky was waiting for them. They could see him waiting at the reception windows as they stood in line at immigration. Being met in by Lensky gave Aarons an odd reminder of the life he
