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ZIGGURAT
“Wonderful is not a very clear description.” He stood awkwardly by the
table, pretending to browse the books on the living room shelves. “Where
did you meet her again”
Sarah came back into the living room carrying a bowl of salad.
“In Israel. She’s a friend of my second cousin Shifra. Please sit down,
won’t you, just anywhere and make yourself comfortable.”
He sat down at one end of the couch.
“Would you like something to drink” she beamed at him.
“I don’t know. Water’s fine, I guess.” Why did she have to act like they
hadn’t known each other since kindergarten
“Water,” she repeated, setting the salad bowl down on the table and
wandering back into the kitchen. Sixteen years, and he couldn’t even just
go into her kitchen and fix himself a drink.
She came back with a silver pitcher in one hand and a glass in another.
Placing both on little coasters on the coffee table, she poured him water
with one long slooping sound. The little beads of water hung onto the
lip of the pitcher. She left him briefly and returned after a moment with
mustard-flavoured pretzels in a basket. She stood there waiting for him
to help himself.
“Err…thanks,” he said, scooping up a handful of pretzels.
“You’re welcome,” she said, sitting on the opposite side of the couch. “It’s
so nice to see you, Daniel. I really did miss you in Jerusalem.” He had
gone to his sister’s in Jerusalem for Pesach, hoping to see her, but she had
left for the month, home to Brooklyn, and he had missed her altogether.
It was all a question of timing with them. If only that kiss hadn’t been just
before she left for Jerusalem. If only her mother didn’t resent his father
for some comment in the synagogue bulletin fifteen years earlier. If only
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