“But they are dusty.”
“Oh, no. See, they are covered.”
The sad, timid eyes smiled at me. I looked into the depth of those eyes-of-ages. A half frivolous notion passed through my mind: I raised the fruit, and pronounced the ancient Hebrew blessing:
“Barukh atah, Adonay, elohenu melekh haolam, bore pri haetz.” (Blessed art Thou, O Lord, our God, creator of the fruit of the tree.)
The sad eyes became faintly radiant and moist. A suggestion of a smile appeared around the hairy mouth. The lips mumbled something inaudible. A lean brown hand rubbed the glossy side of the coat, and tremblingly extended to me. I grasped it, embarrassed.
“Lange Johren magt Ihr hoben, lange Johren auf Euch!” (Long years may you have, long years unto you!)
I turned to the pretty girl. With her handkerchief she was diligently rubbing off a drop of juice from her white blouse.
It was too hot to think, so I resumed our playful talk.
II. Nocturne
It was night, and soft and blue and starry. A uniformed nurse emerged from the dark alley of the park, and heavily dropped on the bench where I sat. For some time she leaned backward, her eyes closed, her breast heaving, her mouth half open. Then she looked widely, straightened herself, sighed deeply, and casually glanced at me and at my box of paints.