Black Box

by Amos Oz

  Just now there was a hoot outside in the darkness. Because the darkness outside is complete, apart from a thin line of radioactive purple on the horizon. A hoot from the outer darkness where according to Jesus there is “howling and gnashing of teeth.” Was it a boat? Or a train arriving from the prairies? It is hard to know, because the wind is frenziedly whistling a single, sharp high note. And the power is still off. My eyes ache from writing in this mortuary light. I have here in my office a bed, a closet, and a small bathroom. But the narrow bed, between two metal file cabinets, suddenly frightens me. As though there is a corpse laid out on it. Surely it is only the clothes I unpacked in a hurry when I got back from London this morning.

  There is that hooting again. This time nearby. So it wasn’t a boat or a train, but the plaintive siren of an emergency vehicle. An ambulance? A police car? There’s been a crime in one of the neighboring streets. Somebody is in big trouble. Or is there a fire—a building on fire and threatening to take its neighbors and all the neighborhood with it? Has a man decided he’s had enough and jumped from the top of a skyscraper? Someone who lived by the sword dying by the sword?

  The emergency lighting sheds its pallor on me. It is a ghostly mercury light, the kind used in operating theaters. I loved you once and there was a picture in my brain: You and me on a summer’s evening sitting on the veranda of our home facing the Jerusalem hills and the child playing with bricks. Sundae glasses on the table. And a newspaper that we are not reading. You are embroidering a tablecloth and I am making a stork from a pine cone and slivers of wood. That was the picture. We weren’t able. And now it’s late.

  Your Vampire

  ***

  (Note delivered by hand)

  Dear Mr. Zakheim, I shall hand you this note at the end of our meeting today at the Cafe Savyon. I’m not going to go on meeting you. My ex-husband will have to find another way of getting his letters to me. I can’t see why he doesn’t send them by mail, as I shall do from now on. I am writing this note only because it would be difficult for me to tell you to your face that you disgust me. Every time I have had to shake hands with you I have felt as if I were holding a frog. The shady “deal” that you hinted at, in connection with Alex’s inheritance, was the last straw. Perhaps the fact that in the past you were a witness to my misfortune has unsettled you completely. You did not understand my misfortune and even today you understand nothing. My ex-husband, my present husband, and perhaps my son too, know and understand what happened then, but you do not, Mr. Zakheim. You are on the outside.

  Ilana Sommo

  Despite everything, I would do what you want if only you could find a way of bringing him back to me. And because of his illness it is urgent.

  ***

  Mr. Michael Sommo

  Isaac’s Tent Religious State High School

  Jerusalem

  Jerusalem

  5.7.1976

  STRICTLY PRIVATE: FOR ATTENTION OF ADDRESSEE ALONE

  My dear Mr. Sommo,

  I am in receipt of yours of 13 Sivan. I delayed replying so as to learn your proposals. Meanwhile we have succeeded by a combined effort in getting our elephant through the eye of the needle. It would not occur to me to compete with you on your home ground, but I wonder if my memory can be deceiving me about the city of Kiryat Arba, or is it somehow connected with giants even in the Bible? You did an excellent job with our young hero. (I gather that his new police record has been closed through internal intervention.) I take my hat off to you. Would it be possible to make use of your magical powers again on other occasions? With talents and contacts such as yours, it is not you who should hire my humble services—as you suggested in your letter—but perhaps the other way around?

  Which brings me straight to the body of your letter and to our very fruitful telephone conversation of yesterday. I confess unashamedly that I have no special feelings about the Territories, etc. It is possible that I should be inclined, like you, simply to swallow them whole were it not for the Arabs who live there. And I can do without them. I therefore perused respectfully the prospectus for your organization that you kindly enclosed with your letter. Your plan is to pay each Arab in full for his land and property and give him a one-way ticket at our expense. The aspect that strikes me as problematical is, naturally, the multiplication of, let us say, twenty thousand dollars by two million Arabs, give or take a billion dollars or so. To finance this migration we would have to sell the whole of the state, and would still get into debt. Is it really worth selling the State of Israel to buy the Territories? Surely instead of that we could simply do a swap: we can go up to the cool sacred mountains, and they can take our place on the damp coastal plain. They might agree to that of their own free will.

  With your permission I shall dwell for another brief moment on the notion of exchanging the coastal plain for the mountains. To my regret it would appear that our dear Dr. Gideon has changed his mind about selling his property in Zikhron Yaakov. Even though it is possible that in the near future he will change it back again. Recently it has proved rather hard to gauge his state of mind. Mr. N. of Paris will therefore have to gird himself with patience. You see, my friend, Zakheim’s long nose sniffs into everything: from certain delightful persons it has become known to me that Mr. N., who at one time was your friend in the Betar youth movement in Paris and who over the years has built up an empire in women’s clothing, is the holy ghost that begat, with your collaboration, the Jewish Fellowship Movement. Between you and me, Mr. Sommo, I am also aware of the fact that it was our very own Mr. N. who financed your semisecret trip to Paris last spring. Moreover, I am also aware that the purpose of your trip was to negotiate on behalf of your organization with a certain Christian religious order, whose headquarters are in Toulouse, concerning some land belonging to the aforementioned order and situated to the west of Bethlehem, on the West Bank. And again, it was the same tireless Mr. N. who exerted himself to arrange for the restoration of your French citizenship, so as to give you a legal basis for a transaction that Mr. N. himself, for understandable reasons, preferred not to be involved with in any formal sense. You see, my friend, this transaction fascinates me too. The robed gentlemen from Toulouse are not prepared to sell you their God’s little acre in the Holy Land, but they will apparently agree to exchange the fields of Bethlehem for an ample building with appropriately ample lands attached in a central location within the pre-1967 borders. No doubt for missionary purposes. All this seems perfectly logical to me. While the readiness of Mr. N. to finance such a deal I accept as a fact. So far, all well and good. We would be able to complete the triangle Bethlehem-Toulouse-Zikhron admirably were it not for the volatile state of mind of our learned friend. I shall endeavor to soften him up to the best of my modest abilities and to the advantage of all the parties concerned.

  And in the meantime my advice is as follows: Out of both ethical and practical considerations it is preferable for me not to undertake to manage your private affairs or to represent your organization. Which relieves you of the obligation to pay me any fee. On the other hand, I shall be delighted to advise you gratis on any matter on which you may decide to rely on my modest talents. (And with your permission I shall commence with the suggestion that you have one or two decent suits made: from now on you are, after all, a highly respected man of property, and liable to be even more highly respected in consequence of the tragic aspects of the Dr. Gideon episode. Provided of course you know how to take a hint here and there.) Your public position too contains the seeds of great and wonderful things, Mr. Sommo; it is possible that the day is nigh when you will be called to higher spheres.

  But the matter of dress is, of course, peripheral. The substance of my hopes I pin on the meeting I have arranged for Monday between you and my son-in-law, the industrialist Zohar Etgar, of Herzlia. (Zohar is married to my only daughter, Dorit, and he is the father of my two grandchildren.) I have no doubt, Michel—if you will permit me to address you by this name—that you will find him to be a young ma
n after your own heart. Recently he has been planning, like you, to move into land. And by the way, Zohar, even more than I, is inclined to bet on a change of government within the next two years. Such a change is bound to entail the opening up of exciting new horizons in the Sinai, the West Bank, and the Gaza Strip for forward-looking men like ourselves. I am certain that the two of you, my son-in-law and you, will bring abundant advantages to one another: your wealth and good connections will be worth their weight in gold in the aftermath of the aforementioned change, while Zohar’s energy will be directed into promising channels.

  As for me, as I have said I will continue to keep an eye on things from Dr. Gideon’s angle. I have reason to hope that I will soon be able to bring you glad tidings concerning the property in Zikhron. Provided we gird ourselves with patience and trust one another.

  In conclusion I am compelled to touch on a somewhat delicate point. I will do so with extreme brevity. An intensive correspondence has evolved between your good wife and her former husband. This correspondence strikes me as, to say the least, puzzling: in my humble opinion no good will come of it to any of the parties. Dr. Gideon’s illness is likely to drive him into unexpected behavior. His will in its present disposition is rather positive from your point of view (you will appreciate that I am unable to expatiate on this point). This matter opens up numerous avenues for future collaboration between your good self and my son-in-law. Whereas the renewed contacts with the lady are liable to upset the applecart, not to mention other avenues implied in this liaison, which are not compatible with good taste from your point of view. Women, my dear Michel, are in my humble opinion very much like us in certain respects, but in others they are astonishingly different. And I am referring to those respects in which the most stupid woman is cleverer than the cleverest of us. Therefore if I were you I would keep a sharp lookout. I shall take my leave of this embarrassing topic with the age-old words with which you closed your esteemed letter: “verb. sap.”

  With hopeful good wishes,

  Yours admiringly,

  Manfred Zakheim

  P.S.: Contrary to the supposition expressed in your letter, I do not have the honor to be numbered among the survivors of the Holocaust. My family brought me to this country in 1925, when I was a child of ten. This in no way detracts from my admiration for your perspicacity. M. Z.

  ***

  Sommo Family

  Tarnaz 7

  Jerusalem

  Hi Michel and Ilana

  Everythings fine with me here in Kiryat Arba and I havent got into trubble with anybody. But you no Michel your not rite? Even tho I respect you and Im not forgeting all the favors youve done for me every time Ive been in trubble but thats just the problem. I never hit anyone only when Im rite—not 99 percent rite but 100 percent rite. Even then I dont always hit them, mostly I just drop it. Thats how it was that time with the teacher in Telamim when I was rite and the same the time with Abram Abudaram and the time with the cops in Sharm. I was always in the rite and I still got into trubble and you really saved me, only every time you want to run my life for me do this dont do that like if I wasnt rite and like if I had to pay you back all the time for the things Ive done wrong that I havent done wrong at all. Your not rite Michel.

  You really saved me from reform school but only on condition I agreed to Kiryat Arba because theres an optics workshop here thats OK for me but the rest of it isnt OK at all. The religious studies Im not intrested in at all and as for girls you never see them here. Well only in the distance. The men do try to be nice (some of them) and to do favors all very nice but why me all of a sudden? What am I a religion freak or something? I dont like the way they talk about the arabs here behind there backs (some of them). OK maybe its true once an arab always an arab so what? They could say the same about you once Michel always Michel so what? Thats not a reason to look down on people or to make fun of them. Im against making fun of people. And Im against you looking after the money that belongs to me and Ilana the money from America and running my life for me. You run Ilanas life to but thats her problem. Do you think your G-d Michel?

  Now I supose youll rite me that Im biting the hand that feeds me but youre hand never fed me nothing Michel. All the time Im working and earning money. The money that youve got is mine and that means Im feeding you! I want to ask you too favors that you give me some money and permission from the police to leve hear and if you want to no were to? the truth is I dont no. So whats rong with wandering round some before you decide were to settle down. Didn’t you wander round in Algiers and France and Israel before you decided? The candy rappers in the envelope are for Yifat take care not to crumpel them and tell her there from me Boaz. Hi Ilana dont worry about me. Please tell him to pay me some of my money and fix it up for me to leve hear so as I dont get into more trouble for hitting people.

  Thanks Boaz B.

  ***

  To Boaz Brandstetter (c/o Schulvass)

  Ancestral Homeland Street 10

  Kiryat Arba

  By the Grace of G-d

  Jerusalem

  13th of Tammuz 5736 (17.7.76)

  Dear stubborn and rebellious wise-guy Boaz!

  More than anything else I am pleased with your progress in the optical department and because you are earning your keep honorably and participating in the rebuilding of the Land and going from strength to strength and even volunteering as night guard two nights a week. All this is on the credit side. Well done. But on the debit side, my heart bleeds at your slackness in your studies. We are the People of the Book, Boaz, and a Jew without Torah is worse than a beast of the field.

  Your letter was very poor (a) in its spelling and style and (b) in its content. Like a backward child’s! The reason I say this, Boaz, is precisely that I am very fond of you. Otherwise I would long ago have let you go to hell and there’s an end of it. It would appear that you are even more of an ass now than you used to be, and all you’ve learned from your troubles is how to go looking for more trouble. As it is written: “Though you should bray a fool in a mortar yet his foolishness will not depart from him” (Proverbs 27:22). Wisdom, Boaz, does not go according to weight or bulk; otherwise Og the giant king of Bashan would be considered by us the wisest of men.

  I have done a lot for you, far beyond what I had to, and you know that, but if you have made your mind up to leave Kiryat Arba and to go and do what is evil in the sight of the Lord, then let’s see you, go ahead, who’s stopping you? What, have I bound you with a chain? Please yourself. Go. We’ll see how far you get with the spelling of an Arab and the hooliganism of a gentile. You’ve already passed your bar mitzvah, thank God, and so you’re no longer subject to our authority. So why not? Go ahead, follow in the footsteps of your dear father and see what happens. Only don’t come running to Michel for relief and deliverance. Deliverance I can understand, but you have the cheek to ask me for relief as well? And since we are on the subject of relief, in other words the money that you so unwisely mentioned in your letter, that money really and truly does belong to your mother, you, and Yifat in three equal parts, and you Boaz shall receive your share from me in full when you are twenty-one and not a day sooner. If your dear father had wanted you to have the money right away, who was to prevent his giving the check straight to you, instead of to me? So it would seem that despite everything he knew what he was doing, more or less, and he gave me the responsibility over you. And if you don’t like it, please feel free to turn to him and lodge a complaint against me.

  In general, as far as I am concerned, Boaz, you can do whatever you like, you can even turn into an Arab if you are on their side. Only do me a favor and don’t try to teach me what an Arab is. I grew up among them and I know them well. You may be surprised to hear me say that the Arab is fundamentally very positive, he has many noble characteristics, and in his religion there are many fine things that were taken straight from Judaism. But bloodshed is very deeply ingrained in their tradition. What can we do, Boaz? It is just as the Bible says about Ish
amel: a wild man, whose hand is against every man and the hand of every man is against him. In their Koran it is written: the faith of Muhammad by the sword. And in our Torah it is written: Zion shall be redeemed by justice. That’s the whole difference. Now you choose which of the two suits you better.

  For the last time I urge you to take yourself in hand and not to heap wrong upon wrong. Next Tuesday afternoon we are having a birthday party for your sister. Come home the day before, help your mother a little and make the little girl happy. She loves you! I am enclosing a postal order for six hundred pounds for you. You asked me for money, after all. And don’t worry, Boaz, I am not deducting this from the inheritance that I am looking after for you until you grow up. You will also find in the envelope a picture of a dog by Yifat, only it came out with six legs.

  Listen to me, Boaz: Let’s consider your letter as if it had never been written, shall we? Call it null and void? Forget it ever existed. Your mother sends you her love, and I shall sign off despite everything with friendship and affection,

  Yours,

  Michel

  ***

  To Lt.-Col. Prof. A. Gideon

  Political Science Department

  Midwest University

  Illinois, Chicago, USA

  Hi!

  It’s Boaz Brandstetter writing to you. You know who I am. I got your adress from my mother because Mr. Zakkeim wouldnt let me have it and from Michel Sommo I dont want any more favors. Not from you neither. So Ill be brief and come strait to the point. You gave some money to Michel Sommo for me. I found out about it from him and also from Mr. Zakkeim who told me to go and get it from Michel. But Michel wont give me the money. On the contrary. Every time Ive got into trouble he helped me but the money he takes for himself, he only left me a few pennies and he also wants to tell me what to do and what not to do. Now I am living in Kiryat Arba working and earning money in a optikal workshop but its not the place for me and its none of your bussness why. What I want is for nobody to tell me what to do and what not to do. Now: if you really gave the money to Michel Sommo then Ive got nothing more to say and this letter is canceled. But if you meant it for me then why didnt the money get to me? Thats all I want to ask.