Mistaken
Identity
by Clive Aaron
Gill
“When I
was a young man studying Hebrew in Jerusalem, I
stayed at a co-ed youth hostel. Most of the four-story,
hostel residents had a roommate. My roommate, a
teacher from the United States, traveled to Tel-Aviv
by bus every week to teach English and returned
on weekends.
“One of
the hostel residents, an English girl, was fond
of me; and I her. During the week, this outgoing,
plump friend visited me late at night. We shared
intimacies. When she left my room, she always put
on her high-heel shoes and walked noisily back to
her room.
“On a
summer evening, the stern woman occupant of a
single room nearby invited me for after-dinner
tea in her apartment. While we sipped tea and ate
cookies, she told me about the clicking-heels
noise that emanated from my room at night. My
hostess assumed that the woman was visiting my
roommate.
“I shook
my head in dismay, as she informed me of the
“unsavory” liaison.
“The next
week, she gave me a hateful look, which I
supposed was the result of someone correcting her
version of the story. Every time I saw her after
that, she either pretended not to notice me or
she walked away.”
|
