In Israel's Green Pastures:
Four Tales by a Reflective Shepherd
Maury Nissim was a small, trim, dark-blond fellow whom I knew slightly in France before I went to Israel; knew slightly in Israel the first time I was in Israel, and next heard of again shortly before I left Israel for the second time. He was said to be living in Tel Aviv, and since it was in Tel Aviv that I heard this, I went around to see him. He was staying in a typical Tel Aviv house: two stories high, cement blocks overlaid with peeling plaster, washing strung across the court, shingles advertising “Diplomated” teachers of all languages, and every bit of electrical and plumbing installations visible on the outside in a variety of pipes and tubes and discolored leaks. My knock was answered by a colored girl in gold jewelry and an advanced stage of pregnancy, we spoke in Hebrew and she asked me to come in, then called out to Maury in French that he had visitors.
He came in from an adjoining room wearing only trousers and undershirt, but my quickly formed opinion about the nature of the manage was wrong: the young lady was the wife of a friend.
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