“Yes. No. Worse.”

In a strange and wonderful way Fima was infected with Uri’s wonted self-possession. Softly he asked:

“When exactly did it happen?”

“At midday. Four hours ago.”

“Where?”

“At home. He was sitting in his armchair drinking Russian tea with a couple of old ladies who had come to ask him for a donation to some charity. The Blind Society or something. They said he was just starting to tell a joke or a story, when he suddenly groaned and passed away. Just like that. Sitting in his armchair. He didn’t have time to feel anything. And since then we’ve all been searching for you.”

“I see,” said Fima, putting his coat back on. It was strangely sweet to feel his heart filling not with grief or pain but with a surge of adrenaline, of sober, practical energy.

“Where is he now?”

“Still at home. In the armchair. The police have been. There’s some sort of a delay about moving him—it doesn’t matter right now. The woman downstairs, who’s a doctor, was there within a couple of minutes, and she checked that it was all over. Apparently she was a close friend of his too, Tsvi and Teddy and Shula are supposed to be waiting for you there. Nina is going there straight from her office as soon as she’s finished making all the arrangements and dealing with the formalities.”

“Good,” said Fima. “Thank you. Let’s go there.”

After a moment he added:

“What about you, Uri? Straight from the plane? You just dropped your luggage off and came looking for me?”

“We didn’t know where you’d got to.”

Fima said:

“I ought to make you a cup of coffee at least.”

Uri said:

“Forget it. Just concentrate for a moment and think carefully if there’s anything you need to take with you.”

“Nothing,” Fima replied at once in a military tone, with uncharacteristic firmness. “No time to waste. Let’s get moving. We’ll talk on the way.”

30

At Least as Far as Possible

IT WAS A QUARTER PAST FIVE WHEN URI PARKED HIS CAR ON BEN Maimon Avenue. The sun had sunk behind the pines and cypresses, but a strange grayish light full of vague flickers still hovered in the sky, a light that was neither day nor night. Upon the avenue and the stone buildings lay a fine, heart-gnawing Sabbath eve melancholy. As if Jerusalem had stopped being a city and returned to being a bad dream.