Don't Ask Me If I Love

by Amos Kollek

  My mother said that she thought the book was good and that she liked it, and I knew that neither statement was true.

  I knew she wanted me to do work that would benefit other people and my country. She did not consider literature or show business within this category.

  Joy had decided to take an intensive, two-month course in Hebrew. She said she hoped that by the time the course was over we would both have a clearer idea of our plans for the future.

  A few days after we moved to our flat my parents threw a party for us to celebrate our marriage. They invited only a few dozen people because we did not want it to be a noisy event. The guests were mostly old friends of the family and relatives. They were all gathered in the living room where Joy and I, smartly dressed, stood by the door and received their good wishes and gifts. The only guests I personally had invited were Gad, Udi, and the straw-haired lieutenant. Joy invited one girl who had worked with her in the bookshop in Tel Aviv, and Muhammed.

  “What a beautiful woman,” my father’s eighty-two-year-old mother shouted at me, pulling me down to her wheelchair, pointing at Joy with a shaking hand. She was an ancient-looking thing, nearly deaf and blind. She lived in Tel Aviv with my father’s younger brother who was a surgeon. We seldom saw her and I regretted it every time we did.

  “Yes, Grandma,” I said into the old woman’s ear.

  “The main thing is,” she shouted, “that she is a good Jewish girl.”

  “Yes, Grandma,” I said soothingly.

  “What?” she shouted.

  “Yes, Grandma,” I said and went to meet Udi who had just come in.

  “I’m glad you could come,” I said, meaning it.

  “Hi,” he said, “congratulations.” He pushed a long thin parcel into my hands.

  “Thanks.”

  “Mother couldn’t come,” he said. “She sends her regards.”

  “Thank you.”

  Joy came over to us. I introduced her to Udi and noticed their mutual curiosity as they looked a each other.

  “I am very happy to meet you,” Joy said. “Can I bring you a drink.”

  Udi blushed slightly. “Please,” he said.

  She picked up two drinks at the bar and walked back to him I watched them as they stood in a corner, talking.

  “She is lovely,” one of my aunts said, coming up behind me

  “Yes,” I said. “Excuse me.”

  I walked up the stairs and went into my room. I sat on the bed and wiped my head with the sleeve of my suit. Then I opened the long parcel that Udi had given me.

  It was an old Arabic sword coated with silver. I had seen it many times before, sitting in Ram’s room. It used to hang on the wall above his bed between two smaller bayonets. Ram had bought it in the old market in Acre, when he was fourteen. He had hung it on the wall instead of a picture. He had no interest in paintings.

  I tried to draw the sword from its sheathe but it wouldn’t move. There were small stains of rust where the silver coating had come off. I realized it needed oiling.

  I studied the walls, trying to find a place where I could hang it. Then I remembered I was not living there any more.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Joy asked me, about half an hour later when she found me there.

  I put the sword on the bed.

  “I’ve been here,” I said cheerfully. “How is the party going?”

  “People are looking for you.” She sat beside me. “It’s all right, I guess. I just felt a bit lost with all those curious people staring at me, and you vanishing without warning.”

  I took her hand and pressed it to my lips. “I am sorry.”

  She smiled at me.

  “It doesn’t matter.” She looked down. “So this is Udi’s present.”

  “Yes,” I said, “it used to belong to Ram. Shall we go down?”

  “We should, actually. A friend of yours just arrived.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “Very pale yellow hair, just like …”

  “Straw,” I said.

  “That’s right.”

  We went downstairs and joined the guests again. I saw the lieutenant standing at the bar by himself, looking indecisively at the various bottles.

  “Leave it,” I said. “That’s alcohol.”

  “You know,” he said, not turning to me, “I feel a bit guilty about all this. I keep telling myself that if I hadn’t intervened …”

  “You see,” I said, opening a bottle of Coke, “where your stubbornness leads you.”

  “You could have done worse though,” he said, turning to look at Joy. “I’ll take one of those too, if you don’t mind.”

  I opened another Coke for him. Joy disappeared into the hall, and a moment later walked past us, accompanied by Muhammed. The lieutenant raised a yellow eyebrow.

  “One of your relatives?”

  “No, just a guest.”

  “An enemy?”

  I nodded.

  “Quite good-looking,” he said, starting to drink again.

  I left him and wandered around among the guests for a while, shaking hands and picking up an occasional piece of cake. My parents sat among a large group of relatives and discussed the chances for peace talks without much enthusiasm. My father was a pessimist. He didn’t believe that anything helpful would come out of it. He had signed a contract with the government a week before, agreeing on a plan to build the aircraft motor factory. That was where his hopes lay.

  The only non-relative in the circle of people sitting around him was Gad, who sat listening with interest, and smoking a cigar I had picked up for him earlier. When he met Joy he protested against my hiding her from him when he still would have had a fair chance. Then he drew up a chair and joined the discussion saying that after that disappointment, politics could hardly depress him more. He was constantly backing my father’s opinions and I wondered whether he wasn’t thinking about his own future. Gad believed that having the right connections was the most important factor in a man’s success.

  It was after ten when all the guests had finally left and Joy and I stuffed all the gifts we could carry into the back of the car and drove to our flat.

  “Well,” I said to her when we lay in bed, “now that that is over I’ll start studying.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “My Hebrew course starts in three days,” she said. “We’ll have to start speaking Hebrew to each other. Imagine that.”

  I grimaced.

  “We don’t really have to.”

  “We will,” she said. “I have to learn this bloody language once and for all.”

  “Our financial situation is not bad,” I said. “I don’t have to send you to work yet.”

  “That’s reassuring. By the way, I think I’ll get used to your family, eventually. They are not as bad as I feared, as long as we don’t see them too much …”

  “I guess my mother …”

  “I didn’t mean your parents,” she said. “Just all those uncles and aunts and cousins.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. You won’t see a lot of them. We only meet at weddings and funerals.” I looked at her, “I noticed your friend Muhammed left early.”

  “He probably didn’t feel too much at home. He came out to be polite and left for the same reason. He is just very polite.”

  “My father chatted with him for a few minutes.”

  “So did your mother. They behaved rather decently. I really am beginning to like them.”

  I closed my eyes wearily. I wasn’t looking forward to studying for my exams the following morning. I thought maybe I’d delay it for one day.

  “Udi said we should come to visit,” Joy said vaguely. “He said his mother would like to see us.”

  “Really?” I said sleepily. “We should go then.”

  Ram’s mother took an immediate liking to Joy. It was obvious from the moment they met. She pressed her hand and smiled at her. It was one of the very few times since the death of her
son that I had seen her smile. We sat in her small living room for more than two hours and most of the conversation was between the two women. Joy spoke about her reasons for coming to Israel, about her life in the past and about her hopes for the future. Ram’s mother listened with open interest and from time to time nodded her approval. I chewed on my chocolate bar and watched them silently.

  When we got up to leave, Ram’s mother invited us to come for dinner. We agreed on two weeks from Friday.

  “I was worried when I heard you had married,” Ram’s mother said to me as she accompanied us to the door, “but I didn’t have to be. You have done well for yourself.”

  Joy bowed slightly and blushed a bit.

  “I am glad that is what you think,” I said.

  “I certainly do. See you two weeks from Friday, then.”

  The next few days I spent at home reading books on economics. Joy went for her courses every morning. In the afternoons she was usually home, reading books about history or theatre, the two subjects she was interested in other than psychology. In the evenings we sometimes went to see a film, or to eat out, but mostly we stayed at home. There wasn’t a lot happening in Jerusalem.

  “This is no good,” Joy said one afternoon.

  I put my copybook down and looked up at her.

  “What?”

  “I’ve just been thinking, I have to start doing something. Except for this course, I feel like I’m wasting time. I should get a job, or study. I can’t sit at home all afternoon and evening and watch you reading those bloody papers and drinking those bloody Cokes. I get to feeling like a useless ornament.”

  “It’s only for three more weeks,” I said. “I’ll be through with the exams and then …”

  “Then what?”

  “Well see … maybe we can make a movie.”

  She didn’t look enthusiastic.

  “Do you think that is realistic?” she asked. “And even so, it would take months, probably more than a year until we could actually start with it. What will I do until then?”

  “I don’t know. You can do anything, everything. Get your M.A. in psychology or study acting. Maybe we’ll go abroad for a while, I don’t know.”

  “It’ll be all right,” she said. “I am not worried. It’s just that I never intended to get married so soon. Anyway, not consciously. And so I’m not really sure what I want to do. But I’ll find out. There is no hurry.”

  “There is an acting group in Jerusalem which speaks English,” I said. “They put on plays from time to time in different places. I have never seen them but I’ve heard they’re not bad. Maybe you’d like to try and join them.”

  “What is the name of the group?”

  “I don’t remember, but it would be easy to find out.”

  “Will you find out for me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thank you, darling.” She laughed and came from the bed to the place where I was sitting. She hooked an arm around my neck, pulled herself up and planted warm kisses on my mouth. “I am in a good mood again,” she announced. “See?”

  “Yes,” I said amused.

  “Shshshsh,” she said, putting a long finger in front of her mouth. “Now you go back to your miserable studying while I fix us some delicious strawberry ice cream.”

  She got to her feet and marched out of the room. The bell rang.

  I went over and opened the door.

  “Can I come in?” my mother asked. She had a huge round cake in her hands.

  I stepped aside.

  “Sure, with that cake, you’d even be welcome.”

  “Hello, dear,” my mother said to Joy who came out of the kitchen. She offered her the cake.

  “Oohh,” Joy exclaimed, taking it, “thank you. That will go beautifully with the ice cream. Here, put it in the kitchen,” she told me. And turning to my mother: “Won’t you sit down?”

  I did as I was told and went to the kitchen.

  “No thanks,” my mother was saying when I reappeared in the room. “I just dropped in for a moment. What I actually came for,” she added, turning to me, “is to tell you that your father received tickets for the premiere of a new Israeli movie. I forget the name, but it’s about the Six Day War. He thought you might be interested in going.”

  “Certainly,” I said. “When is it?”

  “Tomorrow evening.”

  “That would be nice.” Joy said.

  “Well, here you are then,” my mother said, taking two elegant-looking white cards out of her wallet. “Starts at eight-thirty, I believe.”

  “Thanks. Aren’t you coming too?”

  She shook her head.

  “I think I’d rather stay home. Your father has a meeting tomorrow evening. You can tell me about it afterward.”

  It turned out to be a rather fancy event. The audience consisted of guests connected with the film industry, and people who could afford the costly tickets. The Prime Minister and some other celebrities were also there.

  We sat in one of the first rows in the gallery. Joy wore her most elegant dress, a silver maxi, and her silver shoes and silver earrings. Every head turned when we passed through the hall. She looked stunning.

  The film was called The Dead and the Living, and it was adapted from a novel of the same title that had been written by an Israeli author shortly after the war. I had not read the book but had heard a lot about it. It had been one of the most successful best-sellers in the country, the previous year.

  Before the screening started the producer of the film made a short speech emphasizing the importance of this moment in his life, and tried to spice it with a few anecdotes. He finished by expressing his hopes that the audience would enjoy this work of art.

  After the first ten minutes I lost interest in the movie. It was the usual sentimental, heroic story of gallant brave men and gallant women fighting for their lives and future with only God at their side. When the intermission finally came I told Joy I wanted to leave, but she wanted to stay. She said that if I ever wanted to make films I could also learn a lot from bad ones. I slumped down into my seat again.

  “Pardon me. But you are a lovely young woman.”

  I looked in the direction the voice was coming from. A tall, dark-haired middle-aged man was standing next to Joy’s seat, looking down at her with polite curiosity.

  “Good evening,” Joy said, gazing up at him.

  “I hope I am not intruding.” He spoke English with a distinct American accent. “Are you an actress?”

  “No,” Joy said, and then she smiled back at him, “not yet.”

  “I was sure you were,” he said, raising his thick black eyebrows admiringly, “forgive me.” He offered his hand. “I am Derek Bennett.”

  “Joy Ryke,” she said, pressing his hand. “How do you do?”

  Derek Bennett, I thought. I have heard the name before. Who the hell is he?

  “Joy Ryke?” he was saying, still holding her hand, “are you by any chance …”

  “I am his daughter-in-law,” she said. “This is my husband.” He turned and looked at me.

  “Assaf Ryke,” I said, offering my hand. “I am pleased to meet you.”

  “I am happy to meet you,” he said. “I know your father.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  We shook hands.

  “I am a producer,” Derek Bennett said. “This is my first visit to this country.” He looked around absent-mindedly. “I find it fascinating.” He turned back to us. “Do you have anything to do with movies?”

  “We are trying to get started,” I said. “I write a bit, and my wife wants to be an actress.”

  A bell rang three times.

  “I’ll have to go back to my seat,” he said. “Look, why don’t I invite you for a drink after this is over and we can have a quiet talk.”

  “Why don’t you?” I said, smiling.

  “Right, I’ll meet you at the exist.” He turned away.

  “Well,” Joy commented.

  “I’ve heard of tha
t guy before,” I said. “He must have produced a pretty important movie, but I can’t remember which.”

  We looked at each other and then she winked at me and burst out laughing.

  “You’d better watch your tongue then,” she said.

  The lights in the hall went out. On the screen, the young handsome heroes began dying again, saving their country in the process. I wasn’t interested in their troubles.

  “Shall we go to my hotel?” Derek Bennett asked, when we were standing on the sidewalk in front of the cinema. “We can sit at the bar there.”

  “That would be fine,” Joy said.

  “I’ve got a car here,” I said. “It’s a bit small, though.”

  He slapped me lightly on the shoulder.

  “Oh, I don’t mind that,” he said, in good spirits. “Let’s go.”

  I drove to the Ring David Hotel, careful not to have an accident on the way.

  We sat in the bar and ordered scotch and gin and ginger ale. Bennett sat with his back to the corner.

  “So what did you think of the film?” he asked.

  “Lousy,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “It’s too sentimental and too heroic,” I said. “It doesn’t look real and therefore it doesn’t involve you. A movie has to involve you in order to become a box office success. Plus, it’s too common. It has been done and done before. People have already gotten the message that we are all heroes. An antihero would look much fresher and more attractive.”

  He nodded his head thoughtfully.

  “What do you think?” he asked Joy.

  She smiled at him over her ginger ale. “I agree with my husband.”

  Derek Bennett laughed and took a sip of his scotch. He had a pleasant laugh. It made him seem younger.

  “So do I,” he said. He turned to Joy. “You must be from New York?”

  “Washington State originally,” Joy said, “but I grew up in New York.”

  “And came here on your own?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “About a year ago.”

  “A Zionist family?”

  “Not at all. Not even a Jewish family, in fact.”

  Derek Bennett raised his glass to his mouth. A flicker of interest showed in his eyes.

  “What brought you here?”