She doesn’t hear him though. Doesn’t look at him. She stares at me floored by my refusal.
“Then give me some money, Asa.”
“What for?”
“I need some.”
“But just yesterday...”
“It’s all gone.”
“Do you two need money?”
“No, father, it’s all right.’’ I take out my wallet and give her five hundred pounds.
“That’s all?”
“That’s all I have. I need some for myself.”
“If you two need money, say so.”
“Fine. I’ll go to the bank.”
“There’s none left there either.”
“He’ll give me some anyway.”
“Who?”
“The teller who brought me the cheese last night.”
All at once she bursts out laughing gaily. Warmly she throws herself on father’s neck then shakes my hand stiffly and disappears among the students.
“Very simple people. I was in their grocery store. Straight out of a nineteenth-century Hebrew novel, with a barrel of pickled fish by the door. A genuinely literary grocery! A most depressing one too. And they’re very religious, even if her father doesn’t grow long sidelocks. Very religious, I tell you: I have a sixth sense for that sort of thing and I could feel it right away. In fact, in no time they were telling me that they belong to a small sect of Hungarian Hasidim with some very old rabbi whom they consult about everything and who tells them just what to do and think. Were you aware of that? You too, my dear Dr. Kaminka, are in his hands. You too are being manipulated by him by means of some hidden string, heh heh ...”
(Why is he carrying on like this?)
“Is this our bus? The express to Haifa? You’d better make sure.... Let me pay for us. It’s frightful that I still haven’t gotten to the bank to change dollars....All right, then, I’ll pay you back in Haifa. The main thing is to be in the station there by one o’clock. Ya’el and Kedmi will be waiting for us.... It makes no difference to me, you can sit by the window.... What I’ve been asking myself since my fascinating visit with your in-laws this morning is whether you knew what you were getting into or whether you simply saw a pretty young thing at the university and didn’t bother to ask what she came with. What a hodgepodge world it’s become! Twenty years ago a young girl from such a family would never have left the streets of her neighborhood; she would have gone about so muffled up in long dresses that you wouldn’t have bothered to look twice at her in the street. But today there are such astonishing leaps and transitions ... the barriers have all come down. A total chaos. Just look what an anarchist like you has gotten involved with! But I suppose you manage to get along with them ... leave it to you. From the time you were in nursery school you always had the knack of getting along. Asa knows how to minimize conflict, mother and I used to say to each other.... When is this bus going to leave? I’m glad I went to see them, they would have been hurt if I hadn’t. I really don’t understand why you were so against it. After all, we got back in perfectly good time. Your Dina can be a bit childish, and I’m happy you didn’t let her join us for the drama that’s in store for us today. You saw that I kept out of it. But this morning she was right. Why should you have been angry? After all, I did it for your sake too. I really don’t follow you there. Are you ashamed of them? They may be simple folk, but they’re certainly decent ones. And your own father is no model of perfection either, heh heh...”
(He’s got this new way of laughing. Almost reedy. What’s come over him?)
“Well, someday they’ll be gone, and you’ll be left with a wife who ten years from now will be a notorious beauty. I’ve noticed how people stare at her ... right now she’s still half-baked, but give her a few years’ time. She’ll open a lot of doors for you ... your father has some knowledge of these things...”
(Did he really wink at me? How revolting!)
“Of course, we talked about you too. They’re very fond of you. Maybe fond isn’t the word, but they do respect you, perhaps even fear you a bit. And her they absolutely adore. If you treat her like a little girl, they still treat her like a baby, waiting on her hand and foot, thrilled with every step and bite of food that she takes. I’m glad you don’t live any nearer to them—if you did they’d crawl into bed with you at night from sheer concern and devotion.... Perhaps if you gave them a grandchild they might bother you less. Take my advice, think it over. I know how you value your time, but it’s still worth considering. She doesn’t really have a steady job anyway ... so why not let her raise a child and write her poems? They alluded to it a few times themselves, trying to get me on their side. I suppose you must hear it all the time from them. Perhaps their rabbi is after them, heh heh ... and yet they’re good, simple people. We must seem like freaks to them. I saw how they kept looking at me, and I couldn’t help wondering whether they knew the whole story about mother or whether you had spared them the gory details.... Don’t think they’re not in awe of you, though. You can consider yourself lucky that they didn’t come to hear you lecture about that young Miss Zasulevich whom you described so vividly, as though she were a friend of yours...
“Zasulich, right, excuse me. Zasulich? What really could she have been like? Most likely simply another one of your disturbed young persons—after all, you yourself said that that general was a friend of her parents. To go and shoot him just because of something she had read ... oh no, you can’t convince me that it was a matter of ideology. What I look for in such cases is always the personal angle, and I wish my historian friends would get off their high horses and look for it too. Connie has taught me to pay more attention to the psychological fine points, and believe me, it’s as though a curtain had gone up on my world. But to do that you’d have to read in the original ... in Russian ...”
“I’m studying it now.”
“Are you! I’m glad to hear that. I’m sorry I don’t live close enough to help with it.... What was that?”
“What?”
“Those metal things sticking up back there.”
“It’s an air force memorial.”
“A new one?’
“No. It was there in your time too.”
“I’ve never noticed it before.”
“How often were you ever in Jerusalem?”
“That’s so. Those last years I was hardly there. I was imprisoned with her in the house. Every time I went out was a production. But you’ve forgotten all that, and now you blame me for trying to salvage what’s still left of my life.... What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“I know. I heard you tossing in bed. Why don’t you close your eyes? I promise you I’ll shut up ...”
“You don’t have to. I’ll never sleep on this bus.”
“You’re driving yourself too hard ... deliberately ... I could see it in your class. You’re so intense, like a bowstring ... you’ll burn out quickly, old man. And where did you get all that pathos from? Is it really from me? Certainly not the power of it, though ... and you’ve chosen such gloomy subjects. Although you do have a talent for making things seem important. Even when you were a tot you’d come home from school and have the whole family breathless with some account of a cat or a fly that you’d seen on your way.... Where are we now? What happened to the Trappist monastery that used to be here? Or am I completely confused?”
“We’re on a new bypass now.”
“Ah, yes, the famous new road. I read about it. There was even some picture in the paper of the ceremony when the Prime Minister or the President cut the ribbon. Zionism isn’t dead yet if we still hold such pageants for a few kilometers of paved road.”
“You were on it yesterday too.”
“I didn’t notice. I’ve no head for landscape, old fellow. I hardly know where I am yet, though I’ve been here four days. Ail right, the first day I slept right through, I was simply dead on my feet. Day Two I waited for Kedmi, who insisted
on going alone to the hospital and came back empty-handed. Yesterday I spent with you, and today I’m going back again. God only knows what she’s cooked up for us. I don’t trust anyone anymore. And I was so sure that it would only be a matter of a day or two, the signatures, the divorce ceremony, everything, and that I’d be free to spend some time with you afterwards, to see old friends, to look for books. Everything was supposed to be settled. All those letters back and forth, the long-distance phone calls ... Kedmi drove me crazy with the tiniest details, he’d call me about them in the middle of the night—collect, of course. He enjoyed torturing me.... What’s that over there?”
“I don’t know. What? That forest?”
“No, over there.”
“It’s just some little army camp.”
“Do you think you could close your window a bit? It’s terribly windy outside. Don’t tell me it’s raining again!”
“I can’t tell ”
“Ya’el told me that there hasn’t been a winter like this here for years. I know you’re angry at me for dragging you up there today. You’ve always made people feel that your time is a valuable commodity. Never mind, though: you can lose a day of your life for your father’s sake—and for your mother’s too. Believe me, it’s also for her. So you’ll get your professorship one day later....I simply couldn’t bear the thought of having to face her all by myself. And Ya’el is immobilized whenever the two of us start to quarrel. If only Tsvi had been willing to come. But he wasn’t.... Well, it doesn’t matter. You haven’t seen her for so long that you owe her a visit anyway. Kedmi claims that he’s seen more of her these past few years than you and Tsvi put together. And even if he’s exaggerating as usual, we can’t let ourselves be talked about like that. People will say that we’ve thrown her to the dogs. After all, Tsvi was always close to her, and you should visit her too now and then even if it is far away. Where are we turning off to now?”
“To the airport. From there we take the Petah Tiqva road.”
“Ah, I see. And this four-lane highway continues to Tel Aviv?”
“Yes.”
“Tel Aviv is the place I miss most, and in four days this is the closest that I’ve gotten to it. The humidity ... the sea smells ... the broad sidewalks with the café tables already set out on them in early afternoon ... Jews who visit this country always talk up Jerusalem and run down Tel Aviv—and I let them. Just try telling them that Zionism began with men who left Jerusalem for the coastal swamps. Who can appreciate that today? Jerusalem, Jerusalem, it’s a regular cult....I want you to do the talking for me there. Explain to her that it’s all finished- Talk about freedom, human values. Your moral judgments always counted a great deal with her. Be gentle but firm in that imposing way that you have.... After all, you’re on my side, we see eye to eye. Ya’el gets too emotional, that’s why it’s best for her not to talk. I won’t say any more than I have to either. Because once I start, everything will flare up ... I’ll keep my mouth shut, you’ll see...’’
(Then why don’t you start now?)
“Don’t say anything about another woman or a baby. Don’t talk about the past or even about me. Talk about principles. I’m glad Tsvi isn’t with us ... God only knows what he thinks. Kedmi can stay out of it too, there’s no need for him. The four of us will sit and talk quietly ... it’s all up to you. What will you say, have you decided?”
“More or less.”
“We’ll hear her out first, and then we’ll do some explaining. I want you to know, though, that I’m not at all dependent on her. She’s the one who will have problems if she doesn’t agree. I’ll manage, there are all kinds of ways ... if necessary, the child can be legally adopted by me. Don’t let her feel that I need her ... it will only bring out the cruelty in her. She still can’t accept the fact that I’m no longer under her thumb. Talk about principles in that logical way you’re so good at ... unsentimentally, as though it were a lecture to your students. I’m counting on you.... Isn’t there going to be a rest stop?”
“No.”
“Once they used to stop at some diner on this trip.”
“There’s no point in it anymore. The whole ride barely takes two hours now.”
“You look so pale.”
“I’m just tired.”
“Then why don’t you try to sleep? You can rest your head here, I’ll squeeze over.”
“No, I can’t sleep on buses.”
“That’s because you’re afraid of losing control.”
“Where did you get that idea from? You’ve suddenly become this big psychologist”
“I’m afraid to fall asleep when I travel too. But never mind. I’ve been meaning to ask you: do you have enough money?”
“For what?”
“In general. I’ve noticed that you worry about money a lot. If you’re hard-pressed, let me know. I’ll scrape up something over there and send it.”
“Hard-pressed? Whatever made you think...?”
“All right, all right, don’t be upset. I really enjoyed my stay with you. I’m sorry it had to be so short.... What are you working on these days, tell me. I apologize for not responding when you sent me your doctorate. I was actually very proud of it. After all, that’s something I dreamed of myself and never managed to achieve...”
“I didn’t expect you to read it. I just wanted you to have a copy. I knew it wouldn’t interest you.”
“No, I should have responded. I should have made the effort to understand at least part of it. Not that I didn’t thumb through it I even read that poem of Pushkin’s that you quote ... it’s a good one ... but my mind was somewhere else.”
(It always is. That’s why he’s never gotten anywhere.)
“Never mind.”
“But I do mind. When I get back I’ll read it and write you what I think.”
“Don’t bother. Really, father. It will bore you.”
“I’ll do it for my own sake. What are you working on now, those Russian terrorists?”
“No. That was just today’s lesson.”
“What then?”
“It wouldn’t mean anything to you.”
“Try me anyway.”
“On the question of historical necessity. On the possibility of shortcutting historical processes. Something having to do with the nineteenth century. A kind of a model.”
“But that’s very interesting. Why wouldn’t it mean anything to me?”
“Because it involves a controversy about theories that you know nothing about.”
“You and your controversies. You waste too much energy arguing with everyone.”
“I had a good teacher to learn from.”
“Maybe I once did let myself be goaded against my better nature ... but it happens less often now. I’m more on my guard. Connie ... well, never mind. Shortcutting history? Can it be done?”
“It can.”
“For example?”
“Not now, father. Not on this bus.”
“Right you are. But this, Asa, you must send me to read. Do you promise?”
“All right.”
“After all, how can I allow myself not to know what you’re doing, even if I am so far away? I’m sure to understand parts of it...”
“Parts of it, certainly.”
“I myself, you’ll be surprised to hear, am in a very productive period. I’m constantly doing new things. I have my little linguistic projects ... it’s very peaceful there ... and in the winter you can’t go out anyhow. And recently—I’ll let you in on a secret—I’ve been writing this ... these memoirs ... maybe one day they’ll turn into a...”
“Novel? I always thought you’d write one someday.”
“Why shouldn’t I try? There’s no need to be so scornful.” “Who’s being scornful?”
“You are. You keep parading this intellectual scorn for me.”
“I was never intellectually scornful of you.”
“But I keep feeling it. Well, it doesn’t matter. You’re like a small boy, angry becaus
e I’ve left you...”
“Since when? You’re totally mistaken.”
“But I’ll return. You may not believe me, but I’ll return to live here someday.”
“I never said you wouldn’t.”
“I keep feeling that you’re judging me.”
“I’m not.”
“For all it mattered to you, I could have stayed locked up with her in that house until I died. Just as long as I didn’t bother you.”
“Did I ever tell you to stay there?”
“If I had stayed, could I ever have hoped for such a relationship with a woman ... for such an intellectual renaissance? Tell me ... when I see your angry looks ... why, you would gladly have seen me taken away and locked up there with her!...What’s this, already the new road to Haifa?”
“It’s the old road. The inland route.”
“But it’s so wide. It looks new too.”
“They’ve widened it.”
“How soft and lovely everything seems ... these orange groves on either side ... it’s a beautiful country, we should be kinder to it ... But where was I? Enough, let’s change the subject...”
(Now! I can feel it coming over me. Right smack in his puss.)
“Did you tell Dina that mother tried attacking you?”
“Murdering me, not just attacking. You know perfectly well ... please ...”
“You know that’s not so.”
“What are you talking about? How can you keep insisting?...Tsvi saw me lying there in my own blood ...”
“All right, forget it. Don’t let’s start with that again. So she wanted to murder you. Why did you tell her yesterday...?”
“I just mentioned it in passing. What was wrong with that? So she’d understand why I didn’t come to your wedding. I owed her that much of an explanation.”
“Did you also owe it to her to open your shirt and show her your scar?”
“I don’t remember showing her ... did you say that I opened my shirt? How can that be ... is that really what she told you? Perhaps I just outlined it with my hand. She really said that? But you know what she’s like. Terribly childish, she lives in fantasies ... or call it the literary imagination ... and even if I did show her, so what? I suppose she thought it was a big joke.”
A Late Divorce Page 15
