To hell with lies. From now on he would start a new chapter. From now on he would live his life in the open, rationally and honestly. How had the taxi driver put it: no “weeping conscience.” There was no reason whatever to hide his lovers from one another. If they’re both fond of me, why shouldn’t they be fond of each other? They’ll almost certainly make friends at once, they can cheer each other up. They have so many things in common, after all. They are both compassionate, goodhearted, generous human beings. They both seem to relish my helplessness. By coincidence, if it really is a coincidence, both their husbands are living it up in Italy at this moment. Who knows? Perhaps the husbands have met. Perhaps at this very minute Yeri Tadmor and Uri Gefen are sitting in a lively group of Israelis and foreigners in the same café in Rome, swapping juicy stories about love and despair. Or discussing the future of the Middle East, with Uri using arguments he’s borrowed from me. Whereas my role in this situational farce that comes straight out of Stefan Zweig or Somerset Maugham is to bring together the two abandoned wives, who are about to come together this evening in friendship, solidarity, even a measure of intimacy, because they both wish me well.

In his mind’s eye he saw himself sitting in the darkness of the cinema, with Jean Gabin becoming embroiled with a gang of ruthless killers while he himself had his left arm around Annette and slid the fingers of his right hand down over Nina’s breasts. Giving a plausible imitation of a discount Uri Gefen. After the film he would invite them both to the little restaurant behind Zion Square. Sparkling and relaxed, he would regale them with spicy anecdotes and intellectual fireworks, shedding dazzling new light on old questions. When he excused himself for a moment to go to the lavatory, the two women would converse together in animated whispers. Comparing notes about his living conditions. Dividing up the tasks, establishing a kind of work schedule for the Fimacare service.

These fantasies caressed him deliciously. Ever since his childhood he had loved to feel that there were grownups, responsible people, who discussed in his absence how to do the best for him, waiting till he was asleep before talking about the arrangements for his birthday, switching to Russian to discuss what present to surprise him with. If he summoned up the courage at the end of the evening at the restaurant to suggest to Annette and Nina that they come to his place and spend the night together, there might be some momentary embarrassment but in the end he would not be refused. He had learned from Uri that such combinations hypnotized the female imagination too. And so at last he could look forward to an exciting Greek night. He would be rejuvenated. A new billy-goat year would begin.