Late                                  

Late.... I am definitely late...the path in which I am
walking... she said to herself, pulling back her hair that
was curling upward in the strong breeze. I had taken the
path of the park, thought it would be quicker. I was late to
get up this morning, of all mornings, and now I shall miss
my appointment.
Late, I am late. She thought. The autumn leaves were
brushing the path with their cat like yellow paws. I should
have worn my new cashmere sweater. After all, 18 years is
not something one can take for granted.
The path was long and winding, curving, once narrowing,
other time widening to give path to cyclers or joggers.
People were playing tennis although it was 10:00 a.m. in the
morning, she thought, how wonderful, and the cool breeze and
shallow sun continued to detect the way. I am late. I hope I
am not lost. Haven't walked in this path for years. Our
path. I am late... but today of all mornings...
How did he find me after all these years. Those years... so
many years, so many late appointments. But today was
different. She said to herself. Today I should not have been
late. But it's 10:00 a.m. and the road is long and curving.
I should have taken the path through the city, she thought.
She began to remember the paths of her life, up to that
moment. The long and winding path. Her childhood, her escape
from home when she was 17, that she had met him in that
office, the first job she ever had. She was working as an
under secretary. Shy, almost un-noticed, mousey. But he had
liked her. He was the boss and his life had not been easy
either. They were building a new marina down town, and he
was in charge of everybody and everything. He was the only
nice person there. She seemed to like his huge yellow
mustache which hung on him like a brazen sun. He was tall,
and she was small and skinny. He was 42, and she was 20. But
still, he noticed. You are working yourself too hard dear,
he used to say. Or, don't pay attention to that bitch, come
to me when you need someone to talk too. And she had. She
had come to him, and they talked. He asked her about her
childhood, and she elucidated on the lonely child she once
had been. On the only friend she once had had, whom she had
been late to meet on his homecoming party, she had been ill,
and she never saw him again. He bought her a cake for her
birthday party, and everybody in the office remained solemn,
and never said to her a single word. He told her to go home
when he saw that she was sad, and home she went, happy for
the chance to pull on the blanket over herself, very much
obliged for his kindness. And so it went on. She worked
there for a few years until at last came the postman and
gave her that envelope which changed her life forever.
The envelope contained a scholarship for a university in
Israel . She had always wanted to change the chant of this
New York life with an easier, almost historical, traditional
existence in the Land of the dessert, of her forefathers.
The scholarship had given her full payment for school and
for rent, and she considered herself very lucky. A young
American girl, about to embark on a new journey, new
horizons would open, she would meet new and exciting people,
she would study to become an archeologist, exploring the
world of the ancient past. She would work closely with
worldwide renowned professors. She was very ready to pack.
But then she thought of him. She thought of the bleakness of
her existence in the office. Of the even bleaker New York
underneath their office building, she remembered how he had
said: "come to me when you are in need".
She came to him to give him her monthly notice. He was
sitting in his large chair as usual, about him maps, and
figures and papers tossed about in a large mess. People were
shouting about this or the other. She felt as though she
didn't belong. But then he saw her. Her little skinny
person. Come, he had said. "You wished to speak to me?".
"I am leaving" she said. "I have been granted a scholarship
for studies in a University in Israel . School starts in 3
months. I have begun to pack.". "Meet me after office
hours", he had said". He looked out of his window. "Do you
see the park below? Do you see that long curving path? I
will meet you there, near that big rock, do you see?".
She saw. She felt very shy but she said yes. Why would he
want to meet her?

The leaves were curving up that long winding path. No. she
had never come to that meeting. She had worked very hard on
that day, trying to finish up everything before she was
leaving. It had been a very bad day. She felt people were
teasing her as she was photocopying the endless material
that seemed to come her way. I don't belong here, I am so
glad to leave. By the time she looked at the watch it was
only five minutes for her appointment with him. The streets
had become dark, the rain had begun to smooth its little
drops on the heavy pavement. "No" I will go home. He must
have left. I cannot possibly go through the dark park at
this hour. Besides, I am starting a new life, what he could
have possibly have to say to me?
So she didn't go that night. Maybe because it was late,
maybe because she was exhausted. It had been late.

18 years had passed. He had heard she was back in the States
and he had somehow located her number and he had called.
"How are you" he sounded stiff. He must be almost old, now.
She thought. She wondered how he must look. He didn't say
much on the phone. "Remember that path in the Park which I
had told you to come and meet me, 18 years ago? I will be
waiting to see you. Tomorrow. 10:00 o'clock sharp.
Was it a new job offer? She didn't quite know what to make
of it. But she seemed excited. All those years she thought
to herself - have I made the right decision by choosing the
path that I had? What would have happened if at the last
minute I would have decided to come and meet him in the
park?
No. She had not been very happy with the path she had chose.
Israel was difficult. A difficult nation with irritating,
nervous, un-sensitive people. She had made her Doctorate in
Archeology. She had been a part of some important
excavations near the Dead Sea . She had chosen to study
Botanical and ancient Agriculture. She thought it would
yield a lot of work. But instead she had spent almost ten
years just sitting in a lab and classifying all sorts of
different seeds that they had found. Then the Professor had
gotten all the credit, and had left none for her. Her social
life was quiet. She would sit at her nicely furnished flat,
gaze at the lovely yellow Jerusalem hills. She thought a lot
about home, about New York , what she had left behind. There
was nothing much to regret, but then again, there was
nothing much to look forward to, either. Then finally, after
fifteen years in Israel , she decided she must go back. She
went back to Boston and got a position in a clinical
hospital. She had worked there for three years.
Then came the phone call.

I am late. She said to herself. It is 10 o'clock and the
road is long and curving. The wind was not making it easier.
I will never make it on time. She though. But then she was
at the gate. And there he was. Older,  but very much the
same. He was leaning on the black rock looking at his watch.
The mustache was still there, but new lines and new curves
had covered his forehead. His hair was graying. He looked up
and saw her. "You haven't changed" he said. She looked at
him and knew that she liked him more than any person she had
ever known "You haven't either" she said. She had become
less shy during the course of the years, the struggle and
the need to survive.
"Let's go to a coffee house". And so they went.
He talked to her about the years of hard work, the projects
he had build. Told her he was glad for her scholarship. Then
they went on to discuss their personal lives. "Have you ever
married" He asked. "No" she said "There was something very
close to it with an Israeli fellow, but that was by the time
I had decided I wanted to leave, and so I didn't make that
commitment". "And you?" she asked with tenderness. "No. I
never quite found that person I was looking for". He said
"You know the kind... a small, quiet, nice girl, a shy girl,
a girl who is not involved in the busy and hard life, a girl
whom I could have given a stable home, a girl whom I  would
have pampered, would have given many children too, a shy,
little wife, that was always my dream".
She had been late. Late.
She had not come that night. Perhaps her whole life would
have been different now.
But then he startled her thoughts. "I am dying" he said. "I
wanted to see you for the last time, heard by chance you
were back here and so I called". "Dying?" she said, unable
to grasp. "You are dying?". "Yes". He said simply."The
doctors have given me 6 months. I have Liver cancer, thought
you should know, wanted to see you for one last time"...
But the words had become incoherent to her. He was dying, he
had only 6 months left to live. How could that be? She would
have married him right then and there if he had asked her.
But No. He did not ask her. It was too late. Too late for
them. Too late for her.
She was late.
The sun, round and warm, was beginning to come down above
their shoulders.

 
The end.