‘At least they were playing Happy Families in Hebrew,’ Jackie pointed out the morning after, as she and Dov sunned themselves at the Gordon lido. ‘I’m going to look on the bright side. Josh is settling in. Embracing his culture.’
Dov didn’t even honour her idiocy with a groan or a sigh, merely turning a page of Haaretz and shaking his head. What a fiasco the day before had been! Both Jackie and Penina had refused to merely greet the card-playing duo and carry on the adult entertainment in the master bedroom, and into the bargain Penina had demanded the taxi fare home. An old favourite Beatles song of his dad’s came into his head, called ‘The Night Before’ - ‘When I think of things we did, it makes me want to cry!’ There truly was many a true word spoken, and sung, in jest.
‘No way would it have cost all that to get to Netanya!’ he couldn’t help exclaiming, even though he was cross with his wife and had decided to send her to Middlesborough or wherever the silent treatment was in the weird English language. ‘She must have been a hooker.’
‘But she was a Falasha!’ Dov couldn’t help but groan this time. His wife’s insistence on beatifying his living, unforgiving, grabbing, yakking fellow Israelis never failed to amaze (and annoy) him. ‘Look at that dirty old man staring at that teenager’s tits! - ‘BUT HE’S AN ORTHODOX!’ ‘Look at that that broad stealing from that blind man’s cap!’ ‘BUT SHE’S WEARING A TICHEL!’ And now, apparently, Falasha women could never be hookers, even if they demanded a king’s ransom for a quick grope.
‘I see you!’ A harsh Scots voice came from behind them. Jackie and Dov turned as one; it was Simone, tichel as tight as her frown, as she glared at them through the metal grids which separated the Gordon from the esplanade, holding on to them as grimly as a lone ape eyeing another ape who was eating bananas while enjoying sexual congress with several females on the other side of the fence.
‘Come out of there! I need to talk to you!’