He gets the hint and asks, So what now, don’t call us, we’ll call you?
You’ll receive an e-mail, she explains as she stands up. Within a week, two weeks at the most.
He stands up, too, and she accompanies him to the door. A moment before he leaves, he considers saying something about what happened back then. But he still isn’t sure that she has made the connection and is afraid to hurt his chances—small as they might be—he needs the job. So, behind his glasses, his eyes look straight into her eyes behind her glasses and he says, Thank you for…your time.
What could he actually have said to her? he justifies himself in the elevator. That he’s sorry? That he apologizes? After all, what really happened there? Confusion. That’s all. Misinterpreted signs. He was only twenty-one at the time. He’d barely had a girlfriend before then, and it hadn’t been serious. He didn’t understand anything about anything. Even now, if God forbid Nirit were to leave him and he had to start all over again, he’d be just as lost. Clueless and clumsy.
When he leaves the parking lot, he thinks about his last drive to Beit Hanan.
After some silence, she asked, in a barely audible voice, if he could drive her home. Is it okay if I finish my coffee first? he asked. She nodded and eased her body away from him, a few centimeters to the left. He deliberately sipped his coffee slowly, and thought, What a mistake. She can file a complaint about me.
All the way to Beit Hanan, they didn’t exchange a word. She sat pressed up against the window and he clutched the wheel as if it were a lifesaver. There was a stop-and-go traffic jam on the coastal highway, and his leg hurt from so much pressing on and releasing of the clutch. On the radio, someone was translating love songs from English: “Mary Jane,” “Woe Is Me,” “Better Off Dead,” “Oh Carol,” “My Destiny,” “You’re Are My Happiness.” A bit before Netanya, he thought she was crying, but when he turned his head, he saw that she was only blowing her nose. There are more tissues in the glove compartment if you need them, he said, and she said, No thanks.
When they finally reached Beit Hanan, she opened the door quickly, pulled her backpack out of the backseat in a single movement, making do with one strap instead of two, walked to her parents’ house, and didn’t come back with blood oranges from the orchard.
—
Back at the base on Sunday, they both acted as if nothing had happened. He didn’t take it out on her after the incident. Didn’t order her to do meaningless tasks, didn’t make her wait to go on leave after the others had already gone, didn’t toss sarcastic remarks at her in the presence of other soldiers. Just the opposite, he was careful around her. Thought twice before asking her to do something for him, careful to sound as if he were making a request, not issuing an order. But the rides to Beit Hanan stopped. He didn’t offer anymore and she didn’t ask. And when they passed each other on the tiled paths connecting the huts, he would avert his eyes. So did she. Sometimes he really wanted to say something to her, but he didn’t know what.
After a few weeks, to his amazement, she asked for a transfer to a different section. He had no idea what reason she gave the unit commander. No one said a word to him, neither good nor bad. No one summoned him for a talk, put him on trial, or asked to hear their separate versions of the incident. One morning, she simply wasn’t there anymore.
—
He comes to the late conclusion that there was no way she didn’t recognize him. She recognized me, all right, but didn’t want to show me that she did. Bottom line, even though I’m right for the job, better than anyone else, there’s no way I’ll get an e-mail from the company within a week, two at the most. There’s no chance I’ll receive an e-mail as long as she’s their human resources manager.
—
Late Saturday night, an e-mail lands in his inbox. From her private address. The domain name wasn’t the company’s.
The subject: To Eli from Rotem—personal.
Right after he reads the first words, “Of course I recognized you,” he closes his laptop and makes his “shoe rounds.” Picks up all the scattered shoes and returns each pair to its owner’s room. His eldest daughter is still on the phone with a friend, and he reminds her that tomorrow’s a big day, so she shouldn’t go to sleep too late. Okay, Daddy, she says, and goes back to her phone conversation. Then he takes a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his wife’s bag, returns to the study, and opens his laptop.
—
The next morning they take their daughter to the army recruiting office, the words from Rotem’s e-mail still echoing in his mind. Her side of the story was so different from the way he had imagined it.
They’re five in the car now, and it’s very noisy. In honor of the event, the new recruit is given the right to choose the soundtrack for the drive and she plays Enrique Iglesias songs on her phone. Nirit sheds a tear and the girls laugh at her for getting so emotional about every little thing. When they reach the recruiting office, it turns out that the younger girls had filled a bag with presents that will help their older sister get through her first night, and now they give it to her. The three of them cry and hug, and he and Nirit glow with pleasure as they watch from the
