him.
âEli,â she said, her breath knocked out of her.
âAviva!â
Eli Rothfeld stood right there, the way sheâd always imagined he might one day appear before her. Aviva looked at him: not into his watchful eyes but at his stubborn jaw and chin and the naked skin around his mouth because he no longer had a mustache and a beardâhe didnât need them anymore.
He pulled Aviva toward him, still wearing the same damn aftershave.He held her for a moment too long and he let go of her all too soon.
âI canât believe itâs you,â he said.
âI canât believe itâs you. â Aviva tried to slow down her pounding heart.
âDo you live around here?â
âIn Peleg. Donât tell me you live nearby.â
âIâve been living in Selah the past fifteen years. And we never ran into each other until now?â
âSo, you moved here after all,â Aviva whispered as much to herself as to him, her heart thrashing wildly.
âI tried the New York suburbs for a while.â Eli smiled his crooked smile. âIt seemed kind of boring to me. But now boring seems good if you can get it.â
âSo what are you doing here?â Aviva asked, still walloped and overwhelmed. Her time together with Eli, their shared history, their secretsâeverything came rushing back to her.
âI came to watch my son Aviv play.â
Aviv.
She repeated the name to herself, stunned. Was it more than coincidence that heâd named his son Aviv? Aviva had too many questions to ask and didnât know where to begin. Her heart still throbbing, she turned to survey the players on the opposing team as they began to run down the court. She wanted to guess which was his son the way she used to guess where her subject would go in the middle of a Paris crowd on Bastille Day. âYou like birds, donât you?â Kagan had said. âPretend youâre a falcon, circling. Zoom in on your prey . â
She told Eli now, âNumber twenty-three, right? It isnât that he looks like you. Itâs the way he looks around like you do.â
âIt must be genetic,â he joked. âSo why are you here?â
Aviva lifted her chin toward Rafi. âMy husband is the gym teacher here. He coaches the basketball team. He knows Arabic because his parents came from Egypt.â
She looked at Rafi, who was looking up at her with his kind eyes, his round face following her like the moon. He was very tan, very tall, and his right arm hung funny.
âBad army accident,â she said softly. âOnly eight fingers. But he still has ten toes.â
âEngineering Corps, right?â Eli said. âThe famous three-finger salute. What does he know?â
âNothing about you,â Aviva said. âHe knows I worked as an English teacher in Paris. He knows I was involved with the Company. But you know, never volunteer information.â
âSo he doesnât know how Kagan suddenly transferred me to Bucharest.â
âYou could have called.â
âI couldnât have called.â
âOr written, or tried somehow. You could have done that.â
âYou know I couldnât. You know I made a commitment.â Eli looked at her sideways, frowning. âIs that when you married him?â
Aviva didnât answer for a long time. She thought of Kagan, short Kagan, with his black rectangular glasses and frazzled hair that looked like it belonged to a scientist who kept forgetting not to put his finger in an electric socket. It was Kaganâs idea for Aviva to come to Israel for a few days after her two-year stint in Paris wasup. âGet your bearings,â heâd said, as though she were a clock in need of adjustment.
Kagan had taken her to a small wedding of some friends on a kibbutz in the Arava Desert. As the band played, Aviva could feel a man watching herâher senses still on high alertâand when he