“The man is right,” said Eshkol. “Let’s have no foolishness. And none of your Dostoyevskyizing either, Yolek. It won’t do us any good. I’m sure you’ve already taken all the necessary measures. Let’s wait a few more days and see what happens. I myself have already been in touch with one or two people in the right places and told them in no uncertain terms to treat the matter as if the boy were my own son. Or theirs. And I also went down on my knees before those hooligans from the press and begged them to control themselves and not splash this all over the front page. Maybe they’ll have enough heart to lay off until the boy—what did you say his name was?—comes safely home and all ends happily.”

“Thank you,” said Yolek.

“His name is Yonatan,” Hava was quick to chime in. “You were always a good person. Not like some people I’ve known.”

“That,” joked Eshkol, “is something I wouldn’t mind having from you in writing.”

Hava carried in the tray, and Rimona helped her arrange the refreshments on the plain, square table. With a housewifely fussiness that made Srulik suppress an incipient smile, Hava inquired whether the guests wanted tea or coffee? Sugar or saccharine? Milk or lemon? Cookies, tangerines, orange-and-grapefruit salad, or homemade cream cake? All the while, a large green fly kept banging against the window pane, outside of which a bottle-green day lay drenched in sunshine.

Yolek’s eyes, looking away, fell upon the ancient, bulky brown radio that stood on a low shelf within arm’s reach. He suggested that they listen to the hourly news. By the time the set had warmed up, however, the news was almost at an end. In a speech at Aswan, President Nasser of Egypt had scoffed at the delusions of the Zionist dwarf-state. Opposition leader Menachem Begin had once again accused the government of appeasement and turning the other cheek to the Arabs and called for its replacement by a strongly patriotic government. The weather: continued clearing with possible light rain in the Galilee.

“Business as usual,” sighed Eshkol. “The Arabs curse all of us, while the Jews curse only me. Ah, well, let them enjoy it. They can sound off as much as they like. Between you and me, though, you’re looking at a very tired old man.”

“Then rest,” said Rimona. As if heeding her own advice, she laid her head on the shoulder of Azariah, who was sitting beside her on the couch.

“Enough of this!” said Hava. “Turn off the radio.”