I’D just came back from seeing the Bernheims off at Ben-Gurion airport, which was an unnecessary gesture. If I hadn’t taken them, I might have worked on my book, or taken the children swimming, or sorted the bills in the study desk. Not paid them, but put them in order. And I wouldn’t have had the argument with my wife.
When I came in, she was taking a cake out of the oven. She had used the opportunity to show me just how much activity could be compressed into one morning: children taken to swimming pool, translation completed, cake baked. The Israeli female’s rite of the Sabbath cake needs investigation; Hanna seems to think her sexuality is in doubt if that hot, sweet-smelling mound doesn’t appear on the table by sundown. And all I’d done with the day was to see off the Bernheims.
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