She held its lair in both
her hands and placed it accusingly on the glass top table in the living
room.
"What shall we do with it?"
"Let's leave it enough water and food for a whole week" - I suggested -
"His needs are few, he is so teeny, so I don't think there'll be a
problem."
Nomi secured an errant golden curl behind her ear: "You sure?" I was
and so we entombed him beneath some salad leaves and showered him with
water and Nomi giggled: "To him it's rain." Then she grew serious.
It was an early morning. Nomi felt my swollen eyelids, pausing her
finger on the protruding veins. On the way to the elevator, she
stopped, unloaded a laden rucksack and hurried to the entrance door,
wildly rummaging for the keys in her multicoloured purse. She returned
to me, flushing and panting and uttered: "It is fine!" "It climbed
through some lettuce sprouts" - she reported. Her morning voice was
moist and hoarse, Edith Piaf-like. I cast a virile hand over her
shoulder and guided her outside.
We spent four days in Eilat. We slept a lot and swam the pools, among
the waterfalls and artificial rocks. My sister happened to be staying
there with her newly-minted family. But it was already chilly and
autumnal and, four nights later, we decided to return.
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