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Show Shabat and I didn't have to go to work. And I realized that now I really should not go to Talma's house; but when I finally got up I found myself putting on my only clean clothes and two hours later I was on a number fifteen bus, trying to control my hack with deep breaths, riding through the wide avenues of New Jerusalem then out into the suburbs. Talma met me at the door, explained that her mother was not well, had not been well this last year, and that Shabat was always a very quiet day at their house. I was glad for that, feeling lightheaded as I did with my own sickness. Inside the place was a neat clutter of old furniture and things stacked, and the walls were entirely covered with woven blankets of faded design. Other blankets hung where doors should be, and I felt as though I had left my own time, taken a bus not to Kiryat Hayovel but into the City of David, and arrived at a dwelling in the shadow of the ancient Temple. Even the television in the corner, beneath a high pile of magazines, did not disturb the image. Talma's mother, in a housecoat that seemed to be cut from yet another old blanket, met me in the first room with a faint smile. I took her hand and it was as cold and damp as the weather outside, and in the midst of my translated greeting I could not suppress a cough. Talma apologized for me. Her father was in the next room. It was obvious that he was the one who had prepared the meal which simmered now on yesterday's candles and smelled of cabbage. Even though it was Shabat he was |
