“There’s room for everybody, and you’re the guest of honor at our party, Lulu"

Like a red-eyed caterpillar, the light-rail slithered out of a cloud of snowflakes and slowed down at the Davidka station. The doors opened and Lulu stepped in, pulling his overloaded stroller in after him. In his right hand he held the remaining half of the sandwich Raizele had given him, taking a bite from time to time. His half-full bottle of whisky was stowed in a safe place among his bundles. In 30 or 40 minutes he’d be in Pisgat Ze’ev, and in Mordechai’s house he’d be comfortable for the night, and maybe tomorrow night too. Mordechai had a big basement, and he’d repeatedly invited Lulu to come and stay over whenever he needed.

But he’d better call first. “Excuse me,” he said to a teenager standing by the door. “Could you let me make a call?”

The boy looked up from his phone, gave it a tap, and held it out to Lulu with a blank expression. Lulu started searching his pockets for the paper with the short list of his friends’ phone numbers. For some time already he’d been thinking he should make several copies of it and put them in all his pockets, so he wouldn’t have to search like this every time….

The boy was starting to tap his foot impatiently, and the train was at City Hall by the time Lulu finally found the ragged list. Now he had to dial the number. How did you dial a number on these phones without buttons? He tried tapping here and there on the screen, and various things appeared, but nothing suggesting a telephone dial.

“Tell me the number, I’ll dial for you,” said the boy with a touch of irritation, as the train left the Damascus Gate station. Lulu read the number. The teenager dialed, and just before handing the phone back to Lulu, he put it on speaker. He didn’t have to say it, but Lulu understood: I don’t want this guy holding my phone up to his ear.

“Hallo?” Mordechai’s voice rang out. Some cheerful Sephardic music was playing in the background.

“Mordechai?” Lulu looked plaintively at the phone’s owner and said, “Would you turn off the speaker, please? I can’t hear a thing this way!”

“Okay, I’m taking the phone to a quieter room,” Mordechai said. “Who is it, Yaakov?”

“No. It’s Lulu.”

“Lulu! What’s going on? Where are you? Is everything okay?”

“It sounds lively over there,” said Lulu. The train stopped at Shivtei Yisrael.

“Yeah, we’re celebrating Zohar’s birthday. She’s 16, my baby girl! I remember it like it was yesterday, the night I took Daliah to the hospital in my old Subaru with the rear-wheel drive. It was snowing that night, too… who would believe it’s been 16 years?”

“Oh, so you’re in the middle of a family celebration?” Lulu was hesitant now.

But Mordechai didn’t pick up on it. He was all caught up in his sentimental reminiscences. He saw himself early that morning, 16 years ago, holding a newborn girl in his arms, looking out at the glistening white blanket that covered the city, deciding to call her Zohar. Daliah thought it was the perfect name. Even if it hadn’t been snowing, she would have liked it, she said.

“Yes, my siblings are all here,” Mordechai said. “I told them if the roads get closed because of the snow, we could put them up here. You know, I have a big basement….”

“So you don’t have extra room, then.” The train pulled out of Shimon HaTzaddik.

“We always have room — in our hearts, and in our house. But where are you, Lulu? Did you leave that apartment you were staying at?”

“Yes, but it’s okay, I’m managing.”

“Come and stay with us, Lulu. The train is still running, I can hear the bells every few minutes. Catch a train and come over. Daliah made the best food, meurav Yerushalmi like you’ve never tasted, and her kebabs are incredible. Hummus like you wouldn’t believe, salatim, all kinds of pickles… Come over, brother, there’s way more than enough.”