Between Friends Read Online Free Page A

social life, and she didn’t volunteer. He once heard something about a fleeting relationship with Dubi the lifeguard, but the rumor died down. He and his daughter never talked about themselves, except for superficial things. Edna would say, for example, “You have to go to the clinic. I don’t like that cough of yours.”
    Nahum would say, “We’ll see. Maybe next week. This week we’re installing a new generator in the brooder house at the chicken coop.”
    Sometimes they would talk about music, which they both loved. Sometimes they didn’t talk at all, but played Schubert on the old gramophone. They never spoke about the death of Edna’s mother or brother. Nor did they bring up childhood memories, or future plans. They had an unspoken agreement not to touch on feelings, nor to touch each other. Not even lightly: not a hand on a shoulder, not the brush of fingers on an arm. Standing at the door, about to leave, Edna would say, “Bye, Dad. Don’t forget to go to the clinic. I’ll come again tomorrow or the day after.” And Nahum would say, “Yes. Stop by. And take care of yourself. See you later.”
    In a few months, Edna, along with all her classmates, would be going into the army. Since she had taught herself Arabic, she would be serving in the Intelligence Corps.
    Just a few days before the first rain, Kibbutz Yekhat had been shocked when Edna Asherov packed up her clothes and belongings, left the dorm, and moved in with David Dagan, a teacher her father’s age. David Dagan was one of the kibbutz founders and leaders, an articulate, solidly built man with powerful shoulders, a short, sinewy neck, and a full, neatly trimmed mustache that was threaded with gray. He had a tendency to argue ironically and assertively in a deep voice. Almost everyone accepted his authority when it came to ideological issues, as well as to matters of daily life, mainly because he was endowed with razor-sharp logic and irresistible powers of persuasion. He would interrupt you in the middle of a sentence, put his hand warmly on your shoulder, and say firmly: Hang on; just give me a minute so we can set things straight. He was a devout Marxist, but he loved listening to cantorial music. For many years now, David Dagan had been the kibbutz history teacher. He changed lovers frequently and had six children with four different women from our kibbutz and others in the area.
    David Dagan was about fifty and Edna, who had been his student the previous year, was only seventeen. No wonder the gossip swirled wildly around Roni Shindlin’s regular table in the dining hall. Names like Abishag the Shunammite, Lolita, and Bluebeard were tossed about. Yoskeh M. said that such a disgrace shook the very foundations of the school. How could it be—a teacher and his young student? They ought to convene an immediate meeting of the Education Committee. Yoskha disagreed: After all, you can’t argue with love; anyway, we’ve always advocated free love here. And Rivka R. said: How could she do something like this to her father, after all he’s lost? Poor Nahum, he just won’t be able to bear it.
    “The entire young generation suddenly wants to go to college,” David Dagan said in his deep voice from his table in the dining hall. “No one wants to work in the fields and orchards anymore.” Then he added harshly, “We have to draw a line somewhere. Does anyone disagree?”
    Although everyone in the kibbutz felt sorry for Nahum Asherov, no one spoke up. Behind Edna’s and David Dagan’s backs, they said: It will end in tears. And they said: He is really, really out of line. He was always out of line when it came to women. And as for her, we’re simply shocked.
    Nahum said nothing. It seemed to him that everyone who passed him on the kibbutz paths wondered what he would do, or why he wasn’t doing it: Your daughter has been seduced; how can you keep silent? He tried in vain to find comfort in his progressive views of love and freedom. But sorrow,