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By Root 967 0

then a third bus back to Jerusalem. But in that case we would only have some two and a half hours at our disposal. Would that be enough for us? 4.Or, alternatively, perhaps I could stay the night and leave Hulda on the 7 o'clock bus in the morning? That is, if three conditions are met: A. that you would have no difficulty finding me somewhere to stay (a very simple bed or even a mattress would suffice); B. that this would not be viewed askance in the kibbutz; and C. that you yourself feel comfortable with such a relatively long visit. Please let me know at once, either way. 5. What should I bring with me, apart from personal effects? (Towel? Sheets? I have never stayed on a kibbutz before!) Naturally I will give you all the news (there is not much) when we see each other. And I will tell you about my plans, if you are interested. And if you like you can tell me something of your plans. I hope you are in good health and spirits (there is a definite connection between the two!). As for the rest, we'll talk very soon. With love, yours, Dad.

***

That Wednesday I finished school at one, and I asked to be let off the two hours' work we had to do after lunch (I was working in the chicken coop at the time). Nevertheless, after my last class I dashed back to change into dusty blue work clothes and heavy work boots, then I ran to the tractor shed, found the keys of the Massey-Ferguson hidden under the seat cushion, started the engine, and roared up to the bus stop in a cloud of dust a couple of minutes after the Tel Aviv bus got in. My father, whom I had not seen for more than a year, was already there, sheltering his eyes from the sun with his hand and waiting nervously to see where his help would come from. He was dressed—to my utter amazement—in khaki trousers, a light-blue short-sleeved shirt and a kibbutz-type hat, without a trace of a jacket and tie. From a distance he almost looked like one of our "oldies." I imagine he had thought hard before dressing in this way, as a gesture of respect to a culture that he felt some esteem for, even if it did not conform to his own ethos and principles. In one hand he was carrying his battered briefcase, and in the other he held a handkerchief with which he was mopping his brow. I roared up to him, braked almost in front of his nose, and, leaning toward him with one hand on the wheel and the other posed proprietorially on the wing, I said: Shalom. He looked up at me with eyes magnified by his glasses so that he looked like a frightened child and hurriedly returned my greeting, although he was not entirely sure who I was. When he did identify me, he looked startled.

After a moment he said:

"Is that you?"

And after another moment:

"You've grown so much. You're looking healthier."

And finally, when he had recovered himself:

"Permit me to remark that it wasn't very safe, that stampede of yours. You might have run me over."

I asked him to wait there, out of the sun, and returned the Massey-Ferguson to the shed: its role in the drama was over. Then I took my father to the dining hall, where we suddenly both became aware that we were the same height now; we were embarrassed, and my father made a joke about it. He felt my muscles curiously, as though he was wondering whether to buy me, and he made another joke about the dark color of my skin, compared to his pale skin: "Little Black Sambo! You're as dark as a Yemenite!"

In the dining hall most of the tables had been cleared; there was only one that was laid, and I served my father some boiled chicken with carrots and potatoes and a bowl of chicken soup with croutons. He ate very carefully, with meticulous table manners, ignoring my own deliberately noisy, peasantlike way of eating. While we drank sweet tea from plastic cups, he struck up a polite conversation with Tsvi Butnik, one ofthe old-timers, who was sitting at our table. Father was very careful not to touch on any topic that might degenerate into an ideological argument. He inquired which country Tsvi had come from, and when he said he was from Romania, my father's face lit up and