She no longer copied out African charms on little index cards. She no longer shaved the light fuzz under her arms either. What was she waiting for? For the cake that was baking in the kitchen? For Azariah perhaps? Almost manly-looking now, not so homely as before, he sat quietly pondering some chess problem on the little board Yonatan had carved out of olive wood. The board was set with only a few pieces: the black king and queen, a black rook and black knight, two black pawns, the white king and queen, two white rooks, and one white pawn. He was taking his time. All was still in the house except for the sound of the turtle scratching away at his cardboard box on the porch. Once Azariah had a secret name for him, Little John. Now he simply called him The Turtle. Once he had played chess intuitively, gambling on wild inspirations. Now he studied it systematically from the books and journals Yonatan had left behind. Once he had relied in the tractor shed on his knowledge of mechanics acquired in army workshops. Now he pored over the maintenance manuals of Ferguson, John Deere, and Massey-Harris. Once he had chain-smoked at this very table across from Yonatan. Now he had cut down, having read in the newspaper that smoke was harmful to pregnant women and could even endanger a baby in the womb.

Rimona suddenly got up from her chair and smiled at Azariah like a child whose naughtiness has been forgiven. She went to the kitchen to test the cake with a match to see if it was done. It was not. As she passed him on her way back, her fragrance of lemon shampoo and bitter almond soap wafted over him. She laid a hand on his forehead, and he responded by touching her on the shoulder.

“Rimona, do sit down.”

“Next to you, so you can explain something in chess to me? Or where I was before?”

“Next to me.”

“You’re so good.”

“What have I done?”

“You took him some lettuce.”

“I did? Who? What lettuce?”

“The turtle. And you fixed our faucet.”

“Because that drip was getting on my nerves. I put a new washer in.”

“I’ll bring you some tea now and soon there’ll be cake. I’ll have tea too. Not hot tea, though. Cold.”

“Incidentally, I just happen to have had something to drink. With Etan and his volunteers. Did you know he’s got a new one? Brigitte, you remember her, has gone. Now there’s Diana. But Smadar is still there.”

“That’s not true,” said Rimona cautiously.

“What isn’t?”

“Incidentally. Once you explained to me that nothing was incidental. You said that Spinoza discovered that. And you told us about your teacher, Yehoshafat. I believed you, but it made Yoni sad.”