The Same Sea Read Online Free PDF Page B

together at home.
It's good that you're not alone either of you. It's a good solution for you both.
You look after her and you look after him, etc. Cooking and eating
and washing up and taking turns emptying the rubbish. I like this
father-daughter couple thing, this two-track relationship, as if you've gained
a daughter Dad and Mother and I have gained a double. Dad, I expect
you're the one who puts both your laundry in the machine, not sorting it
into his and hers but only into cotton and synthetics. And Dita, I imagine
you're the one who does the shopping for both of you and Dad you make
one of your salads, no mortal hand can chop vegetables finer than you. So
you've ended up with no money and no flat Dita, well Dad, you'll sort
that out for her. And as Mother used to say, every cloud has a silver lining,
and in this case the lining is also fun. Dita I can almost see you sleeping in
my bed, where Dad you come in every night as usual to cover her up, but
Dita you push and kick the covers off again. An anarchist in your sleep.
The opposite of Mother, who even on summer nights wrapped herself up
like a mummy. She wore a blue nightie trimmed with lace. You ought to
ask him if you can wear it one night. You won't refuse her, will you?
It's on the top shelf of the wardrobe, on the left. The little that Mother needs
now she can find with me: she, who could never stand long journeys, who
could never sleep in a strange bed, comes all the way here sometimes,
and naturally I don't tell her to go away.

A pig in a poke
    A repulsive fellow with sweaty armpits, he is forty minutes late, he apologizes, Bat Yam is like Bombay to him, his brains dehydrated before he found it, and on top of everything else he's parked illegally. He is oozing good will and wants to settle the whole business in good faith, and even, lets say, make a fresh start. When all is said and done, its nothing more than a little misunderstanding: he will only use her money if and when there is a production, otherwise he'll return every last shekel (after deduction of expenses, etc.). What a pity she's not in: he was hoping to explain to her personally that bygones are bygones, his intentions were definitely honorable. Mr. Danon spoke sternly: the contract was crooked, and not entirely aboveboard from the tax point of view either. As he spoke the producer sat before him, worn-out, sweat-soaked and unkempt, a shamefaced, heavily panting dog, in his forties, his thinning red hair offset by Hapsburg sideburns going down to the angle of his jaw, a woebegone creature whom no woman except his mother had ever touched without an ulterior motive. Mr. Danon fetched a bottle of mineral water and poured a glass and then refilled it While the producer was drinking as though he was dying of thirst Mr. Danon pondered the expression benefit in kind, which contains a hint of corruption but also a touch of desperation. Likewise the word crafty.
    Mr. Danon spoke in a tone of polite reprimand, like a pedantic father. The producer listened with his head to one side and his mouth wide open, as though his sense of hearing were located in his throat rather than his ears. At least three times he insisted that he was really an honest man and that Dombrov was a respectable company and that he was sorry to have given the impression. There and then he signed an agreement to return the money in full in two equal installments. Let's say there's a distinct possibility that the film will materialize; she's truly gifted and she's come up with a peach of a script, though not exactly what the market goes for these days. After signing he stayed on for half an hour or so and polished off another bottle of mineral water, talking about the state of the media, which is being ruined by commercialization, which in fact, lets be clear, is destroying everything here. Mr. Danon fetched another bottle, because Dombrov—call me Dubi—displayed a bottomless thirst He insisted on being pleasant and inspiring