Four Fathers
Published in Issue #21 Translated from Hebrew by Philip Simpson(Excerpt from a Novel)
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It wasn’t until eleven o’clock at night that Sharon was in touch, calling from the public phone by the roadside. This was the first time they had spoken since the morning, and Giora didn’t even ask where she had disappeared to. “Giora, it’s lucky I’ve caught you, it’s raining here like crazy and the damn car has broken down on me, right at the end of the downhill stretch, just short of the bridge. I feel wrecked, and I’m dying to come home. You must come and pick me up from here,” she was speaking fast, as usual, but she sounded defeated. “What about Nira, is she asleep yet? Ask Buchmiller to listen for a few minutes, in case she wakes up and cries, and come and pick me up. I’m really sorry it’s worked out like this. I’m sorry about everything, Giora, but I’m already soaked to the skin, and this rain isn’t going to stop.”
“Have you tried pumping the gas twice?”
“Giora, I’m freezing to death, I’m begging you.”
“Wait for me beside the car.” He hung up.
Nira had been asleep for some time. Giora put on his sneakers again, still wet from the morning because he’d forgotten to put them under the heating pipes. Then he went into the kitchen, corked the cognac bottle, which he’d apparently brought with him to the kitchen this morning, and picked up the ring binder; a few of the poems he already knew by heart. He went to...
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