“Lily, are you okay?”
“Yes – why?”
“Because if you’re not feeling well, we can do dialysis at home.”
“I don’t feel like being hooked up to the machine for four hours. It’s not urgent, right?”
“No, not urgent. Maya sounded calm – but first thing Sunday morning, we’ll go to Pioneer Hospital.”
Before we went to sleep, Lily showed me the initial sketch of her “political work.” On white cardboard, she freehanded the borders of Israel after the Six-Day War and the pre-1967 lines. The proportions were quite good. On the map, there were faint pencil marks dividing each area into three.
“It isn’t finished,” she said.
“Tomorrow I’ll drop by Max’s, like I said,” I reminded her.
“Okay. I hope to finish the piece by then.”
“Are you feeling okay?” I asked again, worried.
“Like yesterday, like the day before.”
“Then we’ll have lunch out.”
In recent weeks, when she was still asleep, I listened every morning to her breathing. That Saturday, I woke up before her. Again, nothing sounded abnormal – neither the rate nor the depth. Lily slept peacefully. I didn’t want to wake her.
I went to Savyon. Max had gotten keys to a villa from friends and had invited the gang there.
At midday, I called Lily; she suggested that the group all go out for a holiday meal together. We arranged to meet at Younes Restaurant in Jaffa around four in the afternoon.
“I’ll pick you up at three, okay?”
“Okay – I’ve finished the piece.”
“The political one?” I asked, delighted.
Everyone who heard the word “political” turned their eyes to me. Lily was far from politics; the word didn’t attach to her. To me – yes.
“Yes,” she said.
“I’ll come now – I’m dying to see it – and we’ll meet them at Younes Restaurant.”
“It’s finished – you can look,” she said when I entered the apartment.
Lily had filled the borders of pre-1967 Israel with blue-and-white stripes, the colors of the flag. In the center, where Jerusalem should be, a blue Star of David appeared. The Palestinian areas she filled with the colors of their flag – black, white, green, with a red triangle.
“I think it’s political enough,” she said.
I agreed, adding that the work carried a strong political message. Lily was so happy she jumped on me.
“Remember – I’m not Noah Frost,” I smiled.
“At least now I’m not afraid. Well – maybe a little, but much less. After he gave the assignment, I hesitated. I’m so apolitical that for a moment I thought of dropping the course. I have two more weeks to decide if I’ll continue; I think October 20th is the last day to switch courses. Just so you know, Noah Frost is considered one of the harshest critics at the College of Art and Design – but also one of the best teachers. Eliott Crane recommended I study with him; he was his teacher too.”
“And how do you feel now?”
“I’m hungry – let’s meet the gang. By the way, who’ll be there?”
“Romi and Aliza, David and Nora, Max – maybe Orly will come, that’s his new girlfriend – Serge, Ika maybe with Ariella; I’m not sure about Noel.”
