Jerusalem As a Second Language

	“Play some music,” Galina said, “anything. Surprise me.”
	Surprise. Another word Asher disliked, considering it a synonym for spontaneity, for risk-taking. Surprise was not Asher’s specialty. Anything to please Galina, however; he burned to please Galina. That minute, in the dim, damp intimacy of the car, he wanted to rest his head on her shoulder, trail his fingers through her hair, read to her from the psalms. Bind me as a seal upon your heart. He wanted to hold the evening, what was left of it, tightly in his fist.    

Instead, he rifled through the small collection of C.D.’s in the glove compartment, slipping the newest one into the player: “Latin Among Friends,” recommended by Uncle Reuven who, if anyone did, knew women. “You want romantic, Asher? This is roman-tic.” 
 A piano, a guitar, castanets; a lush tango filled the car, pushing back the first beats of Asher’s headache. Galina said, “I like this, it’s different. ” She mmmmm’d along with the music. “Interesting.” 
	If only she would describe him in that way. Now he heard the heart-stirring rustle of her rain coat, as she rearranged herself.  Slowly, carefully, Asher slid toward her. Was that faint shush-shush the sound of Galina unbuttoning her coat? The drizzle had quickened to rain; the car was steamy, humidity oozing like a mini-sized steam bath for two.