Below is the third segment of my new short story—’A Surprise Visit’—never before published.
Her gentle, lovely face grew paler, with beads of sweat glistening on her forehead. Perhaps she was sorry she’d said these last few words, realizing their potential implication; or perhaps she was angry with herself for asking Beni in, to begin with. Impulsively, without drinking any wine, she grabbed her eyeglasses back from the corner of a small easel, upon which a painting of a nude, sleeping woman was in the process of taking shape, and put them on.
“I’ll make some coffee,” she said.
In the kitchenette again, she filled the coffee percolator with coffee and water, then turned it on. She stretched her hand to grab coffee cups from an open shelf but then halted, feeling dizzy. In her head a sweet melody—from a different place and a different time—was playing softly, bringing moisture to her eyes. She carried it with her into the small bathroom, where she stopped by the sink and looked at her face in the mirror.
She left behind a dreadful quiet, percolating deep and steady, together with the coffee being made. Dovik was pretending to read, holding an open, thin paperback book of poetry in his hand. Beni drew from his pocket a yellow pack of Ascot cigarettes and offered one to Dovik, who shook his head in disdain. Beni struck fire and inhaled deeply, releasing a long funnel of smoke.
“You work together, I understand,” he said, trying to break the ice.
“Yes, we do.”
“You’re a draftsman, too?”
“He’s an architect, Beni,” called Noa through the bathroom’s open door, still in front of the mirror, carefully inserting a contact lens into her eye. “Not a draftsman.”
“I see… sorry.”
Dovik responded with a forced smile. He seemed very uncomfortable, preferring total quiet. He couldn’t concentrate on reading the book though, and when Noa returned, placing down between them a round tray with three small Arabian cups of steamy black coffee on it, he closed the book with a thump, releasing an inadvertent sigh.
“I must go,” he said and handed her the book.
“No, you’re not,” said Noa in alarm as she took the book from him. “Drink your coffee first, we’ll read some poetry together.”
“It’s very late, Noa. I’ll see you tomorrow at the office.”
He got up and moved to the door, opening it. Noa followed him, looking at him with concerned eyes. He hesitated for a moment, as if he was waiting for her to say something—make a meaningful gesture, maybe, such as a hug or a kiss—but when she didn’t, he turned around and disappeared into the darkness.
Noa stayed in the doorway momentarily, looking outside, before turning inside and closing the door. She stayed there, leaning back on the wall by the door, one hand on her hip, the other holding the thin poetry book. She stared at Beni with burning eyes and tight lips.