“Oh, don’t tell me you want to file for divorce,” said Justice Schwartz, when Talia and Jonathan walked into his office in the early afternoon. “My wife thinks the two of you are the ideal couple, so please don’t shatter her illusions.
“Is that what we look like?” Jonathan laughed. “Well, I don’t know about an ideal husband, but I do know one ideal wife.” He winked at Talia who stood at the door, ill at ease and tense, her hands on her bulging belly.
A will. Jonathan had not yet mentioned the offensive word, but it hovered over the room. The whole business seemed to Talia bizarre and out of the blue, even a bad omen. In the last few weeks she had tried to dissuade him, but to no avail. “I have a lot of money and property,” Jonathan insisted, “and soon we’ll have two kids. I want to make sure the inheritance is all taken care of, just in case. One never knows what might happen.”
That was what she feared most, his calm and collected determination, his insistence that even if something happened to him, the sky would not fall on her head. Was that really what he thought, or did he only wish to reassure her? Her heart went out to him when she thought about his own fears, his loneliness. The man she loved, whom she considered part of her body and soul, found it difficult to confide his distress. He withdrew into himself, turning a sweet and gentle disposition into a hard and bitter core.
But the idea of a will seemed to pacify him, so she acceded to his request, although the matter weighted on her heart from the moment she gave her consent. He, on the other hand, seemed to be happier now. He approached the judge with a light, carefree face, and took a seat next to her, facing the judge’s seat.
“Come here, children,” said the judge, eyeing them benevolently and curiously.
Jonathan got up, helping her to her feet, and holding her hand, solemn and excited, as if about to lead her once more to the altar. She sensed his gr3eat love for her, and her love for him multiplied.
I’ve come here, your honor, to sign my will and testament,” Jonathan said, “I would like to leave Talia all my wealth and assets.”
“And what do you say, Talia?” the judge asked. “I must say, I’ve never seen people quarrel because they don’t want an inheritance. I sense, however, that you are not so pleased.”
Talia was confused and speechless. She wanted to tell him, “Your honor, I’m frightened, I’m panicked. Why should a young man, at the prime of his life insist on writing a will? Is he suffering from an insidious disease that up to now he’s been able to conceal? Is he planning to leave me and go somewhere else?” But she kept her fears and premonitions to herself, and only blurted out, “If you’re writing a will then leave something to your mother. Let her know what a good son you are...”