“I’m fine. I’m fine,” she answered impatiently.
The year before, we had all come as a group, approaching the pool from the top of the plateau, through Ein Nataf and the Zavitan Stream, descending all the way to the Kinneret. I remembered well the giant sculpted basalt blocks descending into the pool and how breathtaking the place was.
“Remember what happened with the bike when we came back from the beach? It shows up suddenly, without warning.”
“You’re right. But I miss nature so much – look at the blossoms.”
“All these years, you didn’t go out into nature?”
“At most, to the garden, and even that sparingly. The doctors didn’t allow me to be in the sun, outside, in nature.”
“Then I’m glad we’re here, together. But … you know…!”
Lily kept walking. Even when she was out of breath, she didn’t stop. Not a soul was around.
What if she doesn’t feel well? I thought to myself. This isn’t Tel-Aviv.
Without saying a word, I placed my hand on her lower back and gently pushed her up the path.
“It’s not just helpful – it’s pleasant too,” she said, feeling the “engine” behind her.
From that day on, whenever I had the chance – whether she asked or not – I was right behind her to help on stairs, hills, or anywhere the slope was a little too steep.
She loved the touch of my hand on her back. Many times, she waited for it.
“Well?” she’d say, expecting the helping, caressing hand.
“This is amazing,” she said when we reached the pool. Her eyes lit up. “Did you feel the water?”
“Not yet. It must be cold.”
“Brrrr … the water is freezing,” she said, pulling her hand back after dipping it.
“Want to swim?” I teased. I knew that even if it were hot, she would never dare. That would be way too much.
“Yes,” she said, and started pretending to undress. For a second, I worried she was about to do something crazy. The water was not only icy, but swimming was prohibited.
“Stop!” I said.
“I was just joking. Did I scare you?”
“Yes, please, don’t do that to me.” Each time I was surprised anew by the depth of my worry for her – how ingrained in me the fear was that something might happen to her.
When we went back down to the car, we realized the keys wereneither in my pockets nor in hers. Not in the backpack either. “Just what I needed – stuck here, alone, with no way to get out,” I thought, but said nothing.
“Look again,” I asked. We turned the bags upside down, but still, no keys. Panic was rising in me. Lily just stood there smiling. When we reached the car, she walked up to the door, slipped in a rusty wire she had picked up on the trail, and popped it open. Without a word, without swagger. I stood there stunned.
“My father taught me the trick,” she laughed.
“Want to see again?” And before I could answer, “Are you crazy?” she slammed the door shut and opened it again.
“It’s a flaw in the Peugeot, and I know how to handle it,” she said proudly – of both her knowledge and her skill.
The Hermon, the Banias, the Dan reserve, Metula – these made up the sweet honey that gift-wrapped our honeymoon. And I dreamed of America with Lily, of course. I knew that dreams must be fulfilled. And promises too.
Chapter 35
Military Doctor
