Cafe Nevo (1987)
“Vered looked at him.
“I don’t mind. But I want you to know that I know.”
The assertion created a pocket of intimacy. She said, “Why don’t you mind then?”
Khalil showed his teeth, and a fine, even set they were. “I have scores to settle.”
“With Caspi?”
“Among others.”
Sternholz hobbled over to their table and stood beside Vered. “Enough already,” he said to her. “Go home.”
“Emmanuel Sternholz, Khalil Mussara,” she said.
Automatically the old man stuck out his hand. When Khalil’s was in it, he sa...id earnestly, “This isn’t nice, what you’re doing here.”
“Isn’t he the waiter?” Khalil asked.
“Of course I’m the waiter; who’d you think I am, Kublai Khan?”
“Bring us some coffee, please,” Vered said.
“We’re all out,” Sternholz said, and stalked off. Khalil stared after him with knowing eyes.
“He doesn’t like my coming here,” Vered apologized. “It’s not you. Sternholz is no racist.”
Khalil shrugged. “In this country the only non-racists are fools and hypocrites.MoreLess
“I don’t mind. But I want you to know that I know.”
The assertion created a pocket of intimacy. She said, “Why don’t you mind then?”
Khalil showed his teeth, and a fine, even set they were. “I have scores to settle.”
“With Caspi?”
“Among others.”
Sternholz hobbled over to their table and stood beside Vered. “Enough already,” he said to her. “Go home.”
“Emmanuel Sternholz, Khalil Mussara,” she said.
Automatically the old man stuck out his hand. When Khalil’s was in it, he sa...id earnestly, “This isn’t nice, what you’re doing here.”
“Isn’t he the waiter?” Khalil asked.
“Of course I’m the waiter; who’d you think I am, Kublai Khan?”
“Bring us some coffee, please,” Vered said.
“We’re all out,” Sternholz said, and stalked off. Khalil stared after him with knowing eyes.
“He doesn’t like my coming here,” Vered apologized. “It’s not you. Sternholz is no racist.”
Khalil shrugged. “In this country the only non-racists are fools and hypocrites.MoreLess
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