Black Box

by Amos Oz

  Now tell me something, if you don’t mind: did it have to happen just two days after you’d stayed with me for the Sabbath? After we had all tried so hard (yes, you too) and we’d begun to feel that after all we are a family. Just when your sister had started getting used to you and we were so thrilled by the teddy bear you brought her? Just when you had given your mother a little hope after all the suffering you’d caused her? Tell me, have you gone raving mad?

  I have to tell you that if you were my own son or my pupil I would not have spared you the rod—on the face and on the bottom too. Although on second thought I’m not so sure in your case. You might have hit me with a vegetable crate as well.

  So perhaps after all we made a mistake when we rescued you from that institute for juvenile delinquents. Perhaps that would have been the most natural place for a customer like you. I understand very well that what happened was that Abram Abudarham gave you a little kick after you were insolent. And permit me to put down in writing that I consider he was quite justified (even though personally I don’t hold with kicking).

  But what do you think you are? Tell me. A duke? a prince? So you got a little kick because of your big mouth, so what? Is that a sufficient reason to start hitting people with crates? And who did you hit? Abram Abudarham, a man of sixty, who for your information suffers from high blood pressure! And after he’d taken you on to work for him, even with your two police records and the third one, which Inspector Almaliah and I barely managed to have closed for you? What are you? Tell me. An Arab? A horse?

  I nearly went mad when you told me on the phone that you really did hit Abraham with a crate because he gave you a tiny kick for being insolent. You may be my wife’s son and my daughter’s brother, but you’re not a human being, Boaz. Scripture says: “School a youth according to his way.” And my interpretation is this: So long as the youth follows the right way he should be schooled gently, but if he makes a mess of himself, then he deserves everything he gets! What, are you above the law? Are you the president?

  Abraham Abudarham was your benefactor and a kindhearted man, and you repaid his kindness with wickedness. He invested a lot in you, and you let him down, and you also let me down and Inspector Almaliah too, and your mother has been ill in bed for three days now because of you. You have let down everyone who has had anything to do with you. As it is written in Scripture: “And he looked to make grapes, and it made sour grapes.”

  Why did you do it?

  Now you don’t answer. Very nice. All right, so I’ll tell you why: because of arrogance, Boaz. Because you were born big and handsome like a demigod and you were given a lot of strength of arm, and in your stupidity you think that strength is for hitting people. Strength is for self-discipline, you ass! For mastering your baser instincts! To take all the buffetings that life has in store for us and to keep advancing quietly but firmly along the path that we have decided to follow, that is to say, the straight and narrow. That’s what I call strength. Smashing someone’s head in—any plank or rock can do that!

  That is why I said to you above that you are not a man. Certainly not a Jew. Perhaps it would really suit you to be an Arab. Or a gentile. Because to be a Jew, Boaz, is to know how to stand up to adversity and to practice self-mastery and to keep on treading our ancient path. That is the whole Torah on one leg: self-mastery. And also to understand very well why life has buffeted you, and to learn a lesson from it and always to improve your ways, and also to accept the just decrees of fate, Boaz. Abraham Abudarham, if you think about it for a moment, treated you like a son. Admittedly, a stubborn and rebellious son. And you, Boaz, instead of gratefully kissing his hand, you bit the hand that fed you. Take note, Boaz: You disgraced your mother and me, but first and foremost you disgraced yourself. It seems as though you will never learn humility now. I am just wasting words on you. You refuse to be taught.

  And shall I tell you why? Even if it hurts you to hear it? All right, I’ll tell you. Why not. It’s all because you’ve got it fixed deep down in your head that you’re some kind of prince or something. That you have noble blood flowing in your veins. That you were born and bred a dauphin. Well let me tell you something, Boaz, man to man, even though you are still a thousand miles short of being a man, nevertheless I’ll lay all the cards on the table.

  I do not have the honor to know your dear, famous father, nor do I hanker after that honor. But this I can tell you straight: that your father is neither a duke nor a king—unless he is the King of Villains. If you only knew to what shame and misery he reduced your mother, how he humiliated her and impugned her honor and drove you yourself out from his presence like a loathsome offspring!

  So it is only right that now he has remembered to pay something as recompense for sorrow and disgrace. And right too that I should have decided to overlook our self-respect and accept his money. And have you perhaps asked yourself why I decided to accept his tainted money? For you, you ungrateful donkey! To try to raise you up onto the straight and narrow path!

  Now listen carefully to why I’m telling you all this. Not to make you hate your father, Heaven forbid, but in the hope that you will choose to follow my example rather than his. Learn that in me pride and humanity are expressed through mastery of the baser instincts. I accepted money from him instead of killing him. That is my honor, Boaz: that I overcame my sense of humiliation. As it is written: “Whoever effaces his own honor, his honor is never effaced.”

  I am continuing this letter to you in the evening, after an intermission to give two private lessons and get the supper ready and look after your poor mother, who is ill because of you, and then I watched the news and “Second Glance” on the television. I deemed it right to add something here about my own life, following on what I wrote about self-control and mastering the baser instincts. Without going into what we suffered, Boaz, in Algeria in our time, first from the Arabs as Jews and later in Paris from the Jews as Arabs and from the French as pieds noirs, if you happen to know what that means, I mention purely and simply what I myself have been through in this country and still go through because of my beliefs and opinions, my appearance and my origins; if you knew, you might realize perhaps that to get a little kick from a good, dear person like Abram Abudarham is really the equivalent of a caress. The trouble with you is you’ve been spoiled. You wouldn’t understand, anyway. I’ve been accustomed since the day I was born to get real, authentic kicks three times a day, and I’ve never raised a crate against anyone. And the reason for that is not just to fulfill the commandment “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself,” but first and foremost because I tell you that man must learn to accept suffering with love.

  And are you prepared to hear something else from me? In my opinion it is better to receive a thousand sufferings than to cause even one, Heaven forbid. No doubt the Almighty has a few black marks in his ledger against the name of Michael Sommo too. I won’t deny it. But among my black marks you won’t find any item under the heading Caused Suffering. No—not that. Just ask your mother. Ask Abram, after you ask him nicely to excuse and forgive you. Ask Mrs. Janine Fuchs, who knows me well from way back when we were still in Paris. While as for you, Boaz, who were gifted with physical size and beauty and wonderful skills and the outward appearance of a prince, you have already started to follow your father’s tainted path: arrogance, cruelty, and wickedness. Causing suffering. Violence. Even though in fact I made up my mind not to say a single word to you in this letter about the terrible sufferings you have been causing your mother for several years, so that now she is sick because of you—because as I see it you are still unworthy to be talked to about suffering. Apparently you are simply still too young. At least until you can get up and show like a man that you have some shame in your heart.

  And if you have decided to be a second edition of your dear father, then you can go and burn in Hell. Forgive me for those words. I didn’t intend to write them. But a man should not be judged in his sorrow, as it is written. In fact I want to say exactly the opposit
e: that I am praying for you, that you will not burn in Hell. Because, it’s the truth, Boaz, I have a fondness for you.

  So much for the preamble, and now for the main part of my letter. The following is written on behalf of myself and your mother. Both of us.

  1. You will go at once to Abram and ask him to excuse and forgive you. That’s the first thing.

  2. As long as the Fuchs family, Bruno and Janine, agree to have you stay in the shed in their backyard—why not, you can stay with them. But from now on I’m paying them rent. Out of your father’s reparation money. You shall not live there for nothing. You are not a beggar and I am not a welfare case.

  3. It is a top priority with me that you should go now to learn the Torah and a trade at a college in the liberated territories (your spelling is worse than a seven-year-old’s). But this is something we definitely don’t want to impose on you. If you like, we’ll arrange it for you. If you don’t, we won’t. We have a saying about the Torah: “Its ways are ways of pleasantness.” Not ways of compulsion. As soon as your mother is well again I’ll come and see you for a chat and we’ll see? Maybe you’ll agree? But if what you want is to study optics, just tell me about the course or, better still, show me a prospectus, and I’ll pay. From the fund I mentioned earlier. And if by any chance you want to look for another job, come here to Jerusalem, live at home, and we’ll see what we can fix up for you. Only, no crates.

  4. All this on the assumption that from now on you are going to mend your ways.

  Yours sadly and anxiously,

  Michel, Yifat, and Mother

  P.S. Please note, on my word of honor: If there is so much as one more tiny act of violence on your part, Boaz, even your mother’s tears won’t help you with me any more. You will walk your evil way on your own and go to your fate without me.

  ***

  The Sommo Family

  7 Tarnaz Street

  Jerusalem.

  Hi. I got your long letter Michel and I foned sorry to Abram even tho Im not sure who should say sorry to who. Also I left a note to say thanks a lot to Bruno and Janin Fuks before I went out. When this letter reaches you Ill be at Sea already on board ship. As far as Im conserned forget me. Despite the fact I quite like Yifat from the two times I visited you and I quite admire you to Michel even if you nag sometimes. As for you Ilana Im sorry for you becos it would be much better for you if youd never had me.

  With Thanks,

  Boaz

  ***

  To Ilana and Michel Sommo

  7 Tarnaz St.

  Jerusalem

  8.5.76

  Michel and Ilana: When Michel rang yesterday and asked if Boaz had turned up here I must have been too stunned to grasp what had happened. And the line was so poor I could hardly hear. I didn’t manage to understand the story of the to-do that Boaz was involved in. This morning I tried to call you at your school, Michel, but it was impossible to get through. That’s why I’m writing these lines, which I’ll send to you with the treasurer of the kibbutz, who’s going to Jerusalem tomorrow. It goes without saying that I’ll let you know at once if Boaz suddenly turns up here. But the fact is I don’t think he will. I’m optimistic and I believe that in the next few days you’ll get some sign of life from him. It seems to me that his need to disappear and break off contact does not spring from the particular incident in Tel Aviv. On the contrary, the latest complication, like its predecessors, perhaps springs from the urge to distance himself from the two of you. From all of us. Naturally I’m not writing this note just to calm you and to recommend that you sit back quietly and wait—it’s vital to go on looking for him in every way possible. But nevertheless I’d like to share with you my feeling—and perhaps it is only a feeling, an intuition—that Boaz will be all right and will eventually find his niche. Of course he is liable to get mixed up over and over again in little troubles here and there, but during the years he was living here in the kibbutz I could observe his other, more positive, side, a solid mental element of decency and clear logic. Even if it’s a different kind of logic from yours or mine.

  Please, believe me: I’m not writing this just to encourage you at a difficult time, but because I’m convinced that Boaz is simply not capable of doing anything really bad, either to others or to himself. Let us know at once, via the treasurer who is bringing you this note, if you want Yoash or me or both of us to get a few days’ leave and come to be with you.

  Rahel

  ***

  To Professor Gideon

  Via Mr. Zakheim, Lawyer

  36 King George

  By the Grace of G-d

  Jerusalem

  9th of Iyyar 5736 (9.5.76)

  LOCAL

  Dear Sir,

  I the undersigned had sworn a solemn oath to have no further dealings with you, whether for good or ill, whether in this world or the next, on account of what is written in the Book of Psalms, Chapter 1, Verse 1. “Happy is the man who has not walked in the counsel of the wicked nor stood in the way of sinners nor sat in the sitting of the scornful.” The reason for my hereby breaking my oath is that it is a matter of life or death. Perhaps even, Heaven forbid, two lives.

  A. Your son Boaz. As you are aware from reading his mother’s letters, the boy has already gone slightly off the rails once or twice, and I have tried to get him back on the straight and narrow. Two days ago we received a phone call from the dear family Boaz was staying with: he has disappeared. I went there immediately with all the speed I could muster, but what could I do? And then this morning we had a sign of life from him, a short letter to say that this time he is running away to work on board a ship. And this after he was mixed up in more devilment.

  For reasons that someone like you, sir, would be unable to understand, I decided not to remove my supervision from him and I instantly pulled some strings to make sure that he would be sought on every ship, whether Israeli or foreign, that was about to leave. To my regret there is no certainty that the searches will produce a positive result: it is possible that the boy is not at sea at all, but on dry land, wandering around somewhere in the country. That is why I have decided to turn to you, despite everything, to ask that you should also do something in the direction of offering help, on account of the great wrong you did him and his mother. For a scholar like yourself I imagine that a hint is sufficient, that you will understand that we are not asking for money, but that you should act urgently (perhaps by means of circles that are close to you). I mention this so as to avoid a repetition of the unpleasantness of the recent past, when my wife requested your help with the boy’s difficulties and you did not stir a finger to help but instead you perhaps tried to silence your conscience with money that you sent us without being asked. This is on the assumption that even someone like you has such a thing as a conscience. Perhaps I am still too naive.

  B. My wife Ilana Sommo. She is now on her sickbed in consequence of Boaz’s pranks. Yesterday she admitted to me that she had sent you without my knowledge another personal letter, following your financial payment. As you might imagine I was very angry with her, but I immediately withdrew my anger and forgave her because she had owned up and especially because suffering atones for sins. And Mrs. Sommo is someone who has suffered exceedingly, thanks to you, Mr. Professor.

  Naturally, for my part, it did not occur to me to investigate what she put into these letters (such a thing would be beneath my dignity), but she of her own accord told me that you had not replied to her. In my opinion, by your silence you are adding insult to injury. Don’t worry, I won’t read what you write to her, not only from religious scruples but because I consider you, sir, to be tainted. Maybe she will forget a fraction of the suffering you caused her if you write her a letter explaining why you treated her so badly and apologizing for all your sins. Without that, all your money was given in vain.

  C. The money. You, sir, sent me from Geneva on the seventh day of March an arrogant and even insolent letter, telling me to take the money and stop my mouth and not say thank you.
Well, take note that it never even occurred to me to say thank you! Thank you for what? Because you deigned to remember very belatedly to pay a small part of what fairness and justice demanded you should give to Boaz and Mrs. Sommo, and in fact also to our little daughter? It would seem that there is no limit to your impudence, sir. As it is written: a brazen brow.

  From the size of the sum you saw fit to send (one hundred and seven thousand U.S. dollars in Israeli pounds in three unequal installments) I understood that the contribution to the redemption of Alkalai House in Hebron had been summarily abandoned. I shall nevertheless take advantage of this unfortunate occasion to urge you once again to contribute without delay the sum of one hundred and twenty thousand U.S. dollars to this sacred cause: here too there may be an element of life-saving, as in the previous two items, albeit in a broader sense. As stated above, were it not a matter of life and death, I would not be communicating with you for good or for ill. I shall explain this below. According to our faith there is a connection between your wrongdoings and Boaz’s troubles together with his mother’s sufferings. It is possible that your repentance and your contribution will arouse the divine compassion for the boy and he will return safely. There are rewards and punishments, there is divine justice, even if I am unworthy to presume to understand its workings, or why your sins should be visited on this woman and child. Who knows? Could it be that some day your own son may be privileged to dwell in Hebron beneath the very roof we intend to redeem from alien hands by means of your donation, and in this way justice will be redressed, and He Who sitteth in Heaven will laugh? As Scripture saith, “The wind goes round,” and it is written, “Cast your bread upon the waters for in the fullness of days you shall find it again.” And perhaps this donation will serve to counterbalance your sins when your day comes to stand before a Judge before Whom there is neither laughter nor levity. And remember, sir, that there you will have no lawyer and your plight will be parlous.