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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.”