| OCR Text |
Show their successful son and of beautiful Marseilles-of tennis rackets, the Mediterranean, the coastal village he will soon be moving to. She says she hates tennis and smiles. And where are you going? they ask her. Israel. It is your homeland? It will be. And do you have family there, or friends? Not really. Well, they say. We have good friends in both Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. We must give you their addresses. The mutton is well-timed. One waiter asks us in turn which cut of meat we prefer while another spoons small white potatoes onto our plates until signaled to stop. Water glasses are refilled. The woman takes a sip of her wine, turns to me. You don't seem the type to wear a tie, she says. Why do you say that? I ask. I don't know. It is a forward thing to say to someone you don't know. I'm Elisa. Who are you? Call me Paco, I say. Wine spills over the edge of my untouched glass and I spot it with my napkin. I taste the mutton and ask her where she boarded the Aurelia. Brindisi, she says. What were you doing in Brindisi? |
