“I don’t understand why you can’t find him,” she said. “Surely the police know where every citizen lives.”
“He was clever, he rented a tiny room in the city. And the police said, Wel , this is his address, what more do you want? But it was just a cover—he wasn’t living there, he was living somewhere else. Someone was col ecting his mail at this place, and someone also left notes on the door: Back soon, gone to the supermarket, things like that. Someone was in on it, I don’t know who. I never found out. Someone in this country knows where he is.”
“Did you try writing to him at that address?”
“Yes, of course, but my let ers were never picked up. His other mail was picked up, but not my let ers. That real y hurt me. I stopped trying.”
“Is the room stil rented?”
“Someone else lives there now. I stopped going after a few months—I saw it was hopeless. A year later I looked in again, and an old couple was living in the flat. I’ve been back a few times, but it’s always the same story: the old couple, wondering what I want.”
“Did you try the police again?”
“I tried everything: the government, the army, the police. I didn’t get anywhere. They al had that address, the fake one, and that’s the one they kept giving me. That’s where his disability checks go. But the old couple doesn’t know anything about it. They’re immigrants, they barely seem to know where they are.”
“Have you tried someone higher up in the army?”
“Yes. I mean, I meet al sorts of army people, and once this woman real y tried to help me. She looked Daniel up on her computer and I
“Yes. I mean, I meet al sorts of army people, and once this woman real y tried to help me. She looked Daniel up on her computer and I could tel she wasn’t real y supposed to, that she was doing it because she thought I should know and that he shouldn’t be hiding from me.
Maybe she just liked me. She looked and looked and typed in al sorts of things, but she couldn’t find anything apart from his fake address.”
“Maybe you just need someone higher up than that woman.”
“She was very high up. Or rather she was the secretary of someone high up. She could have got into trouble probably, but she went ahead.
And she couldn’t find anything.”
“Please have more to eat,” Graciela said, handing Volvo a bowl of breaded zucchini. “Rafi made al this especial y for you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Everything’s delicious, real y exceptional.”
“His mother’s recipes.”
“Not bad,” Volvo admit ed.
Ra didn’t say anything. He looked at me and Volvo and his wife, and he seemed slightly worried, as if the three of us were oating in space and he was wondering whether we would eventual y land and whether the landing would go smoothly.
We didn’t stay long because Volvo began complaining that his hemorrhoids were bothering him. I didn’t realize until I was in Ra ’s van how tense I’d been al evening. It was a strain, talking to Graciela; it was like talking to someone through a screen, or through water. It made me think of dreams in which I tried to phone someone but the phone wasn’t working properly and I kept get ing wrong numbers or operator interference.
Ra drove through the quiet streets. He parked in front of our building, carried Volvo into his at, and lowered him gently onto the bed. I organized Volvo’s tray for the night: sun ower seeds, the newspaper, vitamins, his emergency beeper, an ice pack. He watched me with a look of disdain, but in fact he liked it when people did things for him.
“Have fun,” Volvo said bit erly as we were leaving. “As for me, I may as wel have had my cock blown of as wel .”
“Did you? Did you lose your cock?” Rafi asked.
“His cock is perfectly fine,” I said. “Trust me.”
“In theory,” Volvo said.
“Good night, Volvo.”
“Who’s coming tomorrow?” he asked.
“Joshua.”
“God help me. Joshua—one foot in the grave, total y senile, drool constantly hanging from the left side of his mouth. This is what I’m stuck with. Wel , have fun. She has lots of lovers, by the way,” he told Rafi. “Including a woman.”
“Thanks for let ing me know,” Rafi said.
“Wel , two or three anyhow.”
“Glad you’re keeping count.”
“I’m not keeping count. If I were, I’d know whether it was two or three. Or maybe more.”
We left Volvo and entered my flat.
“Dana! What happened here?”
“What do you mean?”
