About the Night Read Online Free Page A

mysterious smile. “The Jews are pioneers; they are always the ones to change the face of the world.”
    All the while, Lila stood in her polka-dot dress, nearly unnoticed, at the edge of the cluster of people, hidden behind the men in suits and trying to catch as many of the words that came from his mouth as she could, as many notes from his intonation. She was sorry for the background noises that swallowed half of the sentences and created disrupted stories pierced by loud bursts of laughter. He related that cafés flourished in England because people detested the crowded pubs. She heard him talking about a strong protest by Englishwomen against cafés that had turned into men’s clubs.
    “When they came home in the evenings,” he said, “the men did not desire their wives, and the women assumed this wave of impotence in London was due to the coffee beans. They believed that coffee was making their men weak. But then, the truth came out.”
    “For heaven’s sake, man,” the Belgian cried out, quite affected by the champagne, “spare us our misery and pray tell!”
    “The truth,” said the tea man, his expression blank, “is that on the second floor of those English cafés, in modest rooms, were women in lace lingerie. So the men were returning home quite satisfied and spent.”
    She had no idea whether he was speaking the truth or had fabricated the story to further humiliate the Englishmen in the crowd.
    Then, suddenly, as if responding to her thoughts, the tea man said, “It is a true story, lest you think I made it up. And that is how teahouses for women came into existence. But that is another story.”

    The men had just signaled to the waiter that they were ready for another round when it was announced that the parade was approaching the King David Hotel. Indeed, beating drums could be heard from afar, the cymbals and horns of a military march. The cluster of people surrounding the tea man moved to the railing of the reviewing stand as the drums drew ever closer.
    And that is when he saw her.
    With only one glance, he took in quite a few details, trapping in his mind the contours of her face, and he turned away so that she would not see that he was lingering longer than was proper. The first thing he noticed was her lips, then her Venus-like neck. She did not smile at him like the other women did as they watched his performance. She merely regarded him with the knowledge that in a moment’s time she would meet his eyes. To him, it seemed as though no one else was there with them, that the whole showy celebration of marching drums had disappeared and all that existed was the spark ignited between two people.
    “I heard you abusing the Englishmen,” she said. “It was funny.”
    “They deserved it,” he said.
    “Do you travel the world in search of tea?”
    “I do.”
    “And how do you know what’s good?”
    “I rub it between my fingers and sniff the leaves,” he said.
    “And you taste it as well?”
    “You won’t believe it,” he said, pausing for a moment. “You take a sip—a noisy, strong one, inhaling air with the tea so that you can feel the taste in every corner of your mouth.”
    “And do you swallow?”
    “No. You taste and spit it out. Like wine. I can talk to you about tea for the next twenty years or so, so don’t let me do it.”
    She gazed at him at length.
    “I’m sorry if I sounded arrogant back there,” he said.
    “I liked it,” she said. “Most of the people here are so deferential toward the English.”
    “And what are you doing here, in this place?”
    “I’m looking down at the city from above,” she said. Her voice was low and feminine, her speech direct.
    “Looking down in the panoramic or the poetic sense?” he asked.
    “Being on this reviewing stand,” she said, “is like being on a different planet, disconnected from everything that’s happening here. These people are nicely dressed, and they stand here clinking glasses, but the city is torn