She spends hours there every day, planting flowers or harvesting the vegetables they dine on. He marvels at her patience. Of all the Hebrew she has learned in her twenty-odd years in Israel, he figures the overwhelming majority has to do with food and gardening. A bird flutters at the window, hovers there as if asking to enter, and Teo raises his face to watch. His left arm rises, too, as he imitates the bird; his upper arm is all grace and elegance, a long fluid motion, while his hand down to the fingertips quivers in tiny, rapid jerks. Teo’s eyes fall shut as his right arm rises, too, his back extends and his neck climbs higher and higher. He is floating now, beating his wings, lifting himself, strong and unimpeded, high above this building, this neighborhood, this city. He extends a hand to a partner just a short reach away and pulls her close, only to discover Vivi suddenly in his arms. They move in perfect silent unison until a large truck, bouncing noisily through the neighborhood, causes Teo’s eyes to flutter open and his arms to drop to his sides.
