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By Root 983 0

able to draw my curtains and forget about the neighbors and do exactly as I pleased. Here I didn't need to be on my best behavior the whole time, I didn't have to be shy because of anyone, I didn't have to worry about what the peasants would think of us or what the priests would say or what the intelligentsia would feel, I didn't have to try to make a good impression on the Gentiles. Even when we bought our first apartment, in Holon, or this one in Wessely Street, I didn't feel so strongly how good it felt to own your own home. And that was the feeling that filled me at maybe seven in the morning, looking out at a city I'd never even been to, and a land where I'd never set foot, and funny little houses the like of which I'd never seen before in my life! I don't suppose you can understand this. It must seem rather ludicrous to you, doesn't it? Or foolish?

At eleven o'clock we climbed down with our luggage into a little motorboat, and the sailor who was there, a big hairy Ukrainian, all sweaty and slightly scary, the moment I thanked him nicely in Ukrainian and wanted to give him a coin, he laughed and suddenly said in pure Hebrew, Darling, what's the matter with you, there's no need for that, why don't you give me a little kiss instead?

It was a pleasant, slightly cool day, and what I remember most is an intoxicating, strong smell of boiling tar, and out of the thick smoke coming from the tar barrels—they must have just asphalted some square or pavement—there suddenly burst my mother's face, laughing, and then Papa's, in tears, and my sister Haya with her husband, Tsvi, whom I hadn't met yet, but right from the first glance I had a flash of a thought like this: what a boy she's found herself here! He's quite good-looking, good-hearted, and jolly too! And it was only after I'd hugged and kissed everyone that I saw that my sister Fania, your mother, was there too. She was standing slightly to one side, away from the burning barrels, in a long skirt and a blue hand-knitted sweater, standing quietly there, waiting to hug and kiss me after all the others.

Just as I saw at once that my sister Haya was blooming here, she was so animated, pink-cheeked, confident, assertive—I also saw that Fania was not feeling so good: she seemed very pale and was even more silent than usual. She had come from Jerusalem especially to greet me, she apologized for Arieh, your father, but he hadn't been able to get a day off, and she invited me to come to Jerusalem.

It was only after a quarter of an hour or so that I saw that she was uncomfortable standing up for so long. Before she or some other member of the family told me, I realized suddenly for myself that she was finding it hard to bear her pregnancy—that is to say, you. She must only have been in her third month, but her cheeks seemed slightly sunken, her lips pale, and her forehead clouded. Her beauty had not vanished, on the contrary, it just seemed to have been covered with a gray veil, which she never removed right to the end.

Haya was always the most glamorous and impressive of the three of us, she was interesting, brilliant, a heartbreaker, but to any sharp-eyed observer who looked carefully it was clear that the most beautiful of us was Fania. Me? I didn't count for anything: I was just the silly little sister. I think our mother admired Haya most and was proudest of her, while Papa almost managed to hide the truth, that he was fondest of Fania. I was not the pet of either my father or my mother, maybe only Grandpa Ephraim, yet I loved them all: I wasn't jealous and I wasn't resentful. Maybe it's the people who are the least loved, provided they're not envious or bitter, who find the most love in themselves to give to others. Don't you think? I'm not too sure about what I've just said. It may just be one of those stories I tell myself before I go to sleep. Maybe everybody tells themselves stories before they go to sleep, so it'll be a bit less frightening. Your mother hugged me and said, Sonia, it's so good you're here, so good we're all together again, we're going to have to help