Two Palestinian boys began to giggle. They were looking at the women demonstrators and nudging each other. I wanted to photograph them, but decided against it; they’d be embarrassed.
It took us a long time to get back to our cars. The road was clear now; the set lers had gone home for the Sabbath meal. I imagined the adults sit ing around the table and explaining to their children what the word traitor meant: we were traitors to the faith, aspirations and dreams of our own people. We helped the enemy. God would punish us; we’d end up dead as dormice.
An army truck gave the organizers lifts to their cars, and the organizers returned to pick up more people. By the time we were al ready to go it had been dark for some time.
Ra couldn’t drive, because of his arm, so I drove. Daniel had insisted I learn to drive when we married, but our car broke down shortly after he vanished and I never bothered get ing a new one. Rafi laughed. “I think you may be the worst driver I’ve ever encountered,” he said.
“I’m out of practice.”
“Go into fourth,” he said.
“I am in fourth.”
“You’re in second.”
“Oh. Yes, that’s bet er. Should we drive to a hospital?”
“No, it’s just a sprain. Asshole.”
“That was hard to watch.”
He smiled. “Did you get a good shot?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Too chaotic?”
“No, I felt too sick.”
“Not very professional,” he teased.
I thought for a moment. “You’re right. I’m usual y more detached. Not exactly detached …but in control. Otherwise I wouldn’t be any use.
When I rst started, what most worried me was that the Palestinians would think it was cal ous of me to photograph their misery. But it’s exactly the opposite. As soon as they see my camera, they take me al over the place, show me what to photograph. They want people to see, to know.”
“Why don’t you publish your photographs? In newspapers, I mean.”
“I have no idea how to go about it.”
“Or post them on a website.”
“Dit o.”
“I can show you how to do that. We can do it together, I have equipment at home.”
“Real y?”
“Yes, it’s very simple.”
“That would be great. I’d like that. But I don’t want to bother Graciela.”
“It’s my flat, too,” he said, a lit le of ended.
“I didn’t mean that. I just meant if she’s at the piano …”
“It’s my flat, too,” he repeated, but he smiled this time. “I more than earn my keep.”
“Does your arm hurt?”
“I’l live. Watch out!”
I had narrowly missed crashing into a car that had cut in ahead of me.
“No more talking,” I said. “I need to concentrate or we’l never make it home.”
I parked outside my building and Ra fol owed me into my at. He cal ed Graciela, but there was no answer, so he left a message. He told her he’d just come back from South Lifna and he was with me, he’d be home later.
her he’d just come back from South Lifna and he was with me, he’d be home later.
“She’s going to hate me,” I said, put ing on the ket le for cof ee.
“No, she’s not like that. Her mind doesn’t work that way. I’ve never known her to be jealous, ever, of anyone. She’s too preoccupied. She’s too involved with her music, the rest is just peripheral.”
“I can’t imagine that. I would have died had I found out that Daniel was with someone else. I was very possessive, and he was too. But it never came up. Should you put your arm in a sling or something?”
“No, I’l be ne. But I think I’l lie down, if that’s okay. And if you have a couple of painkil ers, that might help. Also, Dana, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m famished. I’m going to pass out if I don’t eat something.”
“I have bread and cheese.”
“That’s fine.”
“There’s a bot le of acetaminophen in the bathroom. You can lie down on the bed, it’s more comfortable than the sofa.”
