A brief silence, followed by a smile, a calm, autumnal smile, as if to say the two of us knew things other people have never dreamed of. I smiled back at her and said, “Rimona. Please. This is serious.”

“I’m thinking,” she said.

“What are you thinking?”

“That he left because he said he would.”

“But left for where? Why?”

“To wander,” she said. “Perhaps.”

In the early 1940’s the kibbutz had made an arrangement with a pair of dentists, a husband and wife, Dr. Fogel and Dr. Fogel. They had recently arrived from Poland and offered to treat us at lower rates. The two of them never learned any Hebrew. Anyone who had a dental problem made a trip to their poorly equipped clinic in town. Until the wife was killed in an accident and the husband contracted a fatal disease. In return for a fixed annuity, we agreed to take their only child into the kibbutz. A sweet, self-absorbed little girl, very neat and orderly, although a bit slow and withdrawn. When she reached draft age, Yonatan Lifshitz married her. Every cabinet minister and party leader attended their wedding, and not a few members of the Knesset. Afterwards she began to work in the laundry. And became pregnant. And apparently something went wrong. Now and then people talked about her. I tried not to listen. What does a man like me have to do with gossip. Or with pretty girls. Or with anyone’s psyche.

“Rimona,” I said. “One more question. And this time you needn’t answer, because it’s of a personal nature. Did Yoni suffer from, or complain about, or seem hurt in any way by … your ties with Azariah Gitlin?”

She paused. “But they like to.”

“Like to what?”

“Suffer.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand. Who likes to suffer?”

“These people. Not everyone. Some do. Hunters who spear antelopes do.”

“I’m afraid this is beyond me. Who likes to suffer?”

“Yoni. And Zaro. And my father too. And Bach. And Yolek as well. Lots of them.” Then her strange smile reappeared, and she added, “Not you.”

“All right. Let it be. But what do you suggest we do now?”

“Whatever has to be done.”

“Like what?”

She couldn’t answer.

“Should we wait?”

“Wait.”

“Or should we look for him?”

“Look for him. Because Yoni sometimes likes danger.”

“Rimona. I need a straight answer. Should we wait or should we look for him?”

“Look and wait.”

One last thing: Did she need anything? Any help from the kibbutz? The question seemed to confuse her. Any help? Oh, yes. Perhaps I could see to it that Zaro wasn’t picked on, though he always asked for it. Just not make him leave. He’s good.

“Tell me, Rimona, where are you going right now?”