And again she asked if there was any vodka. For some reason Fima was afraid she might be chilly. Clumsily he attempted to rearrange her clothing. And tried to say something. But once again she hastily placed her hand over his mouth, and said:

“Quiet now, little chatterbox.”

As she stood combing her beautiful hair in the mirror, she added:

“I’m off now. I’ve got a million and one things to do in town. Just let me have my earring back: I’ve earned it honestly. I’ll call you this evening. We’ll go see a film. There’s a brilliant French comedy with Jean Gabin at the Orion.”

Fima went to the kitchen and poured what was left of the Cointreau into a glass for her. He rescued the kettle from boiling dry at the very last minute. But try as he might, he could not discover what he had done with the earring. He swore he would turn the flat upside down and return her magic glowworm safe and sound that evening. As he escorted her to the door, he muttered abjectly that he would never forgive himself.

Annette laughed.

22

“I Feel Good with You Just Like This”

THEY PASSED ON THE STAIRS. NO SOONER HAD ANNETTE LEFT HIM than Nina Gefen appeared, with her austerely cropped gray hair, carrying a heavy shopping basket, which she deposited firmly on his desk among the papers and yogurt jars and dirty coffee cups. Roughly she lit a Nelson, not blowing the match out but shaking it. She shot twin lances of smoke from her nostrils. Fima unconsciously grinned. The turnover of his female visitors suddenly made him think of the procession of lady friends who were always trooping in and out of his father’s flat. Maybe the time had come for him to sport a cane with a silver band?

Nina asked:

“What’s so funny?”

Her nostrils must have picked up a whiff of perfume through her cigarette smoke. Without waiting for his reply she added:

“The red lady I bumped into on the stairs was also grinning like a cat who got the cream. Have you had a visitor by any chance?”

Fima was on the point of denying it. Since when did he have visitors? There were eight flats in the building. But something stopped him from lying to this fragile, embittered woman who looked like a cornered vixen, this woman whom he sometimes called “my lover” and whose husband he loved. He looked down and said defensively:

“A patient from the clinic. Somehow we became quite friendly.”

“Are you opening a branch of the clinic at your home?”

“It’s like this,” Fima said, while his fingers attempted in vain to rejoin the two parts of the smashed radio. “Her husband’s sort of left her. She came to me for some advice.”