“What?” Zvika said.
“I gave him that quote, trying to cheer him up. The first bit, that is. But he was still alone.” I moved my head around as if trying to dislodge something, then added in a choked voice, “I think he just couldn’t take being alone.”
Zvika nodded, and we sat down opposite each other at the kitchen table, both confused and nonplused. After a while, Zvika tapped my hand, which lay on the table, with a finger.
“Here’s what happens,” he said. “You leave, and I phone the cops.”
I stared at him, my head spinning slightly over this whole follow-up issue. But I shook my head.
“You ever have dealings with the cops?” he said.
I shook my head.
“Well,” he said, “I have. With Israelicops, too. And I can tell you they don’t fool around.”
I blinked. “What did you—?” I began.
He shrugged. “Possession of narcotics. About a kilo.”
“Wow! What happened?”
“Oh,” he shrugged again. “Community service.”