“Where is Gunther? He’s supposed to be here.”
The old men looked at Shaul. Someone flicked his hand disdainfully.
“What? Are we Gunther’s keeper? And why have him on such a short leash, Shaul?”
“Mind your own business, Shapiro,” Shaul snapped. “Gunther and I have a deal.”
The old men murmured for a few seconds, and then turned their attention to the chess game. A great pepper tree shielded them from the summer sun. Shaul squinted into the distance. In the haze of the jogging path, he could see a man limping along in the sun, stumbling forward, appearing to lose his balance as he came into focus.
When he reached the shade of the pepper tree, the old man was bathed in sweat. He sat down heavily on a bench. The other men looked at him briefly, but he was such a familiar sight that he did not merit too much attention. Gunther held a loaf of bread in his hands.
“What took you so long?” Shaul asked, reaching out and taking the bread.
“The bakery was mobbed,” Gunther gasped, speaking Hebrew with a heavy German accent. “Then they ran out of rye when I was at the counter, and I had to wait.”
“Oh,” Shaul answered, aware that he was cradling the loaf like a child.
“Satisfied, Shaul?” one of the chess players quipped. “Your mistress has a good excuse.” The other men chuckled.
Shaul said nothing. He gestured to Gunther that they should leave, and together, the two old men shuffled out of the park.
Later in Shaul’s...
Subscribe now to keep reading
Please enter your email to log in or create a new account.