Chapter 3

The cab ride back to Jerusalem was rather uneventful, but only by wizard standards. Lev managed to convince the driver that his friend was too drunk to speak rationally. He was well aware of the inevitable, well-meaning but intrusive interrogations in Israeli cabs. Bill, on the other hand, babbled for a few minutes about flying motorcycles and magic wands. The driver laughed at him ("I, eh, think he needs to stay away from alcohol, your friend.") and spoke to Lev for most of the ride. If Bill had not been half-asleep on Lev's shoulder, he would have thought (as Lev did) that the entire conversation had moved beyond the ridiculous. Lev, the American, spoke only in Hebrew; the Israeli driver spoke only in English. Neither spoke fluently, to say the least. Both had thick accents.

Eh, what is your name?

Shmi Lev.

Lev? Ahhhhh, a good, strong Hebrew name? Who give that to you?

Abba sheli noten li.

Your father give to you?

Ken.

Who is this with you?

Hu haver sheli. Beel.

Eh, friend, but not your brother, no? You don't look like one another.

Lo. Hu lo achi. Rak haver.

So, how long for you to stay in Israel?

Ani... um... staying... l'od shavuah.

Ahhhhh, another week. Have you been here before, or is this a first time?

Garti l'sheesha hodashim leefnay shmoneh shanot.

So you must know some Israeli musica.

Ken. Ani ohev et Shlomo Artzi.

Him? He don't write songs. He write books. En-seek-lo-pedyas. Do you know what that is?

Ken, ani yodeah. Um.... Gam ani ohev et Ahinoam Nini, Ofra Haza, Dana International, David Broza, Yonatan Geffen...

Your taste, it is not good.

Ani Meetztayer.

Don't be sorry. Listen to better music.

Beseder. Todah rabah. Ahem, moneh, b'vakasha.

Lev could hardly contain his relief when the cab pulled up to his hotel and he and Bill got out. Never again will I take a cab, vowed Lev, still stung by the driver's dismissal of his musical tastes. As he got out of the cab he could taste a tension in the air that simply was not there in Tel Aviv, or anywhere else in the world.

"Ah, Jerusalem," he said quietly, "I'm definitely back."

~*~*~*~*~*~

If Lev thought that the cab ride was uncomfortable, it did not compare to what happened in the hotel room. Lev showered quickly, got dressed and climbed into bed as Bill stumbled into the bathroom, taking with him clothes he borrowed from Lev to sleep in. Not yet tired, Lev toyed with the idea of plotting out a scholarly paper on the importance of the Helga Hufflepuff in The Lay of Montrose, but decided against it. He looked in his backpack to see which books he brought with him. The first thing he pulled out was Giovanni's Room.

"I packed this book?" Lev said aloud. "What the hell was I thinking?" Quickly he stuffed the book back into his backpack and scrambled to find the weekend section of The Jerusalem Post, which he had bought that morning.

The shower stopped. Lev put the paper away and moved to turn off the light. Bill walked out, still wet, and covered only by a towel. He walked over to Lev's bed and let the towel drop. He leaned in, held Lev's face between his hands, and gently kissed his lips.

Lev's resolved quavered. A lot. He wanted to respond, but ultimately would not let himself. He pulled away and removed Bill's hands from his face.

"Come on, Bill," he said, "You promised."

Bill looked crestfallen and walked away. Lev turned to his side and pulled the covers over his head. He heard Bill stumble around getting dressed. After a few moments, he felt Bill sit down on the edge of the bed. Lev removed the blanket from over his head and sat up.

"I'm sorry," Bill said, "I'm a little drunk right now."

"It's okay," Lev replied, "You better get some sleep." He lay down again and turned off the lights. Lev knew Bill was not completely drunk. This was not the first time he had seen it. Most recently, it happened when Bill wanted to tell Lev about the move to Egypt. It was his way to avoid responsibility and dull himself to any pain. The act never fooled Lev. He knew the truth just by looking in Bill's eyes.

Bill started to stammer. He wanted to say something, but was having difficulty putting it together. Lev prepared himself. Bill sighed and did not move. Finally he spoke.

"Lev," he said, "Are you awake?"

"Yes," Lev said quietly. He sat up again and switched on the lamp.

"I want to ask you a question and I'm afraid I won't be able to ask it when I'm sober."

"Go ahead," Lev said, feeling his muscles clench.

Bill paused for a moment. "Were you unhappy with me? Was it something I did?"

Lev's heart melted. He grabbed Bill's hand, caressing the palm with his thumb. He brought the hand up to his mouth and kissed Bill's knuckles.

"No, Bill. I was very happy with you. It was nothing you did. It's just something that had to happen," he said.

"Oh," Bill murmured. He just sat there for a moment and then got up and went to his own bed. "Goodnight, Lev," he said.

"Goodnight, Bill."

Lev could not sleep that night. Hours after he extinguished the lights, he lay on his side and watched Bill's slumbering form, listening to his soft breaths - a few of which sounded eerily like sobs.