“This conversation is turning me on.”
“It’s hard to believe people like reading these books, but they sel by the mil ions.”
“How long does it take you to write one?”
“Two or three months, because I don’t write every day. In theory I could write faster, but I don’t want to.”
“I’ve imagined this moment for a long time.”
“I had no idea.”
“I liked get ing your let er in jail. Even if it wasn’t personal.”
“What was jail like?”
“Just the usual. Nothing special. Lots of disturbed people who should be get ing help, not a jail sentence. One guy in particular.”
“Remember the vigil we had for you on the hil ?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Yes, you waved from down below. We don’t shoot, we don’t cry, we don’t watch children die …Were you bored in jail?”
“A lit le. We joked a lot, though. We spent a lot of time laughing.”
“A lit le. We joked a lot, though. We spent a lot of time laughing.”
“It’s something we have in common with the Palestinians. We both have a good sense of humor, have you noticed?”
“Yes, it always amazes me,” he said. “They never lose their sense of humor, no mat er what.”
“Especial y when our soldiers mispronounce their names or the names of their cities.”
“Yes.”
“The women don’t laugh as much.”
“Maybe at home they do. They’re more restrained in public. And they have enormous burdens.”
“I remember one time I was taking a photograph of this journalist from Canada interviewing a Palestinian guy. And he asked her at the end of the interview where she was from, and she told him. He put his hand on her shoulder as though leading her away, and he said in this serious voice, as if he were giving her advice, ‘Go, go home,’ and he and his friends burst out laughing. They laughed for about ve minutes. I have a nice shot of that … I can’t imagine you in combat,” I said.
“I can’t imagine it either.”
“I hated the army because I was so spoiled by then. I hated being told what to do. My mother also hated anyone tel ing her what to do, I must have inherited it from her.”
“I feel so detached from al that now. Even the images in my mind, it’s as if I’m watching the scene from above, from a distance, and I see myself as one of the figures in the scene.”
“How’s your arm?”
“Bet er now. Those pil s are working … What do you take them for?”
“My period, sometimes.”
“Can I take of your clothes now?”
“Yes. I’ve had sex since Daniel left me, but it hasn’t felt like this. This is dif erent.”
“For me too. Do you want to use a condom?”
“No.”
“I’m happy.”
“I hope we won’t be sorry.”
“Of course we’l be sorry. You can’t live and not be sorry.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
SATURDAY
HE LEFT AT FOUR IN THE MORNING.
“What wil you tel Graciela?”
“She won’t ask. What are you doing today?”
“I’m in a dilemma. There are two events, and I want to go to both, but it’s impossible. I wish these things were a lit le bet er coordinated.
There’s the condolence cal and the gay thing.”
“I haven’t heard about any gay event today.”
