Herzl did not agree. He declared that the Javne vision was fading, and the spiritual principles of Judaism would inevitably be corrupted because prejudice and social injustices obliged Jews to live in a world steeped in hatred of Judaism. He emphasized that it was not his aim to solve the Jewish problem by creating a spiritual center but rather by re-creating the Jewish nation-state after two thousand years of a sleep as deep as that of Cinderella. He stressed that at the same time he did not want to found a nation-state that resembled all the rest. He dreamed of a model state based on tolerance and equality, one that embodied the ideals that were Europe’s contributions to the world but had been betrayed by the nationalisms of the day.
Bernhard interrupted him to say that the Jews’ greatest contribution to the world was not monotheism but instead the law, the principle of universalism, the fact that the law applied to everyone and no one stood above it. Democracy could not exist without that principle, and the ideals of the French Revolution would be impossible to realize. The Jews’ contribution was to preserve and defend the principle of universalism, the very concept that linked them across boundaries and hundreds of years of exile.
Herzl countered that exile was a dead end, a barren waste where Jews had been stumbling around for generations. They had lost their compass and direction. Many faithful Jews, in his opinion, had exchanged their duty to hold high what Bernhard called the flag of universalism for the legend of the Chosen People. In their attempt to compensate for their hopeless physical vulnerability, they believed in their own spiritual superiority to others.
Bernhard could see that Herzl found it difficult to accept his opinion that exile to a life in reduced circumstances was in itself the logical continuation of the Jewish contribution to the world. He was moved to confide to Herzl that he’d inherited from his father a book by the philosopher Benjamin Spinoza. It had been in his family’s possession for more than two hundred years, he explained, and no outsider had ever been allowed to read it. The book contained reflections about some of the greatest issues of mankind. Shortly before he got on the train in Budapest, he’d read a passage that dealt with the true spirit of Israel; it had made a deep impression upon him.
He told Herzl that according to a legend recounted by Benjamin Spinoza, each one of the earth’s seventy kingdoms was watched over by an angel named Fürst, or Prince. The angel guided the people and went before them to the throne of the Lord. The people of Israel were the only clan that had no angel, for the Jews refused to accept an intermediary in their dialogue with the Lord or to subject themselves to any ruling power that didn’t originate directly from God. Benjamin Spinoza warned against calling for a Fürst or, rather, to be more specific, he warned of the miseries that would afflict a nation that worships itself and its own individuality and fails to recognize any other obligations. In the spirit of Israel, the philosopher had emphasized, the Jewish people should not express their collective egotism but instead embrace a truth beyond all nationhood, a higher realm which humanity is called to enter. Otherwise, the Jews would find themselves under the yoke of the Fürst—whether that Fürst is a human being or a small patch of earth or even an idol—and from that Fürst a god would be constituted. All of this has to do, Bernhard went on, with the Jews’ mission to battle against the worship of idols and to preserve universal values. It can also be seen as a warning against establishing a nation-state that will come inevitably to resemble any other.
Bernhard looked expectantly at Herzl. He saw immediately that it was no use waiting for Herzl’s reaction, because the man was leering and flirting openly with the elegant woman who had just seated herself at the next table, not paying the least attention to his revelation of Benjamin’s secret book and the lesson of the mission of Israel. Bernhard cleared his throat to attract Herzl’s attention. He said he was tired after the long journey, so perhaps it was time to finish up. They decided to meet the following day at the same time and in the same place to continue the dialogue, then went their separate ways.
Bernhard checked out of his hotel the next morning and took the train back to Budapest.
I’VE ALREADY MENTIONED that from the first to the very last my grandfather’s marriage to my grandmother afforded him very few moments of pleasure. He regarded his wife as a creature of split personality. One face was enticing and the other was horrific.
The Sara who was impossible to resist turned her compelling brilliance upon him during a boat trip on the Danube one warm Sunday in the summer of 1918. Her face glowed with youthful beauty and suppressed desire, and he fell at once for her gaze and her sparkling eyes, for the bare golden brown arms revealed by her red polka-dot dress, for the immediate feeling of intimacy. This sudden stirring of attraction lured him into dreams of bliss. Accordingly, he proposed to her only a few days later, with no idea who she was or where she came from.
HIS FIRST DISCOVERY of the horrific side of Sara’s nature came some months after their wedding night. With a listless expression and a sorrowful voice, she told him that she was pregnant. She had something to confess. She asked him to forgive her for not telling him earlier—perhaps she should have revealed her secret as soon as they met. Although he could expect her to be faithful, she could never give him her whole heart, because she loved another, a man who’d never come back from the Italian front. This declaration devastated my grandfather and would become—eventually, not immediately—an unending source of annoyance and provocation to him for the rest of his life.
I cannot imagine how I would have reacted if the woman I loved, already pregnant with my child, told me her heart belonged to someone else. I’ve avoided such risk, essentially because I’ve never loved any woman at all. Of course, I’ve been infatuated a couple of times, but I’m fundamentally shy, and I’ve always kept my distance. Whenever I met an attractive woman, I felt my cheeks burning, which bothered me, so I pulled back into my shell. I admit that at times I’ve felt I missed out, and I’ve yearned terribly to hold someone’s hand; my life has been a lonely, wandering journey through a desolate, haunted landscape. I’ve been afraid to initiate a relationship, mostly because I’ve always assumed nothing can be more terrible than the moment when love dies. It’s cruel and unfair to the children born to such a union. I’ve heard Grandmother out on the staircase telling stories to our woman concierge about her relationship with Grandfather and what came between them. My father was not one to complain. But I know it must have been hell on earth for him and his siblings to grow up in a home where the parents hated each other like the plague and were constantly quarreling.
MARIKA ÓVÁRI—THAT WAS THE NAME of the housemaid Bernhard had just hired. She was twenty-two years old, short, and plump; her rounded figure nicely filled out her tight dresses. She was from the city of Kolozsvár in Transylvania and was of unknown origin. Her mother had sung ballads with a wandering cabaret troupe when she was young; now she was the housemaid to a baron from Romania. Marika didn’t know who had fathered her. She’d occasionally asked her mother about her father—who he was and where he’d disappeared to—but her mother refused to answer. Sometimes Marika suspected that her mother probably never knew the man’s identity and that she’d been born as the unfortunate outcome of some obscure event. Even as a child she’d understood that her mother’s life hadn’t been free of such so-called accidents. Men were always clustered around her mother, swarthy men with hungry eyes who gave her money to spend time with her.
Marika’s mother taught her very early on that broad hips and a prominent bosom were God’s gifts to women, whose role in life was to please men in exchange for security of some form or other. She was fourteen years old when she discovered that she was especially talented in the art of love. To supplement her mother’s modest wages, she took the initiative of dropping by one of the city’s better brothels three nights a week and offering distinguished gentlemen the chance to satisfy their desires in her arms.
SHE ARRIVED IN BUDAPEST after selling her body in several villages along the way,
and she had the good fortune to meet a young gentleman wearing a custom-tailored suit of the finest English wool, decked out with a heavy gold chain for his pocket watch. He appreciated Marika’s professional services, and paid well for them. He also presented her to other young men of the better sort. Just as she began to enjoy this lively upturn in her profession, an ectopic pregnancy and the resulting complications obliged her to change jobs for a time. One of her clients helped her to secure employment as a housemaid for his aunt, the widow of Miksa Falk. Her duty was to prepare and serve the paralyzed old lady’s meals. A few weeks later the widow died and Bernhard engaged Marika to manage the Spinoza household. He knew nothing of her background.
Why am I telling you about this housemaid? Because she was one of the causes—although an indirect one—of the strife-filled marriage of my grandfather and grandmother. As well as my emigration to Norway.
MARIKA, WITH HER EXTENSIVE KNOWLEDGE and experience, quickly perceived that nineteen-year-old Moricz wasn’t attracted to women. He liked to boast of his adventures and worldliness, but he had noticeably little to say about the lusts of the flesh. She caressed his cheek a couple times, apparently in all innocence. His lack of reaction was a clear sign that he had no desire to get to know her better.
Therefore Nathan, years younger, became her candidate for initiation in the arts of love. The perfect opportunity presented itself one chilly autumn day. Nathan was studying mathematics at Eötvös Loránd University and getting along extremely well. One morning he went to the window, pulled back the curtains, and saw that the street outside was still dark, even though the clock had already struck six. He was still drowsy. He was strongly tempted to forget about his classes and spend the whole day in bed. He went to his father, who unlike him was always an early riser; Bernhard was putting the last touches on an article. Nathan complained that he felt a chill coming on. He gave a few dry coughs and asked if he might stay home, since he had no particularly important lectures that day. Permission was granted. On the way back to his room Nathan caught sight of Marika leaning over, gathering sweepings from the kitchen floor. He stopped and stood there transfixed, his gaze fixed on her pear-shaped backside as he imagined the pleasure of taking a firm grip on that rounded rump. He left, closed the bedroom door behind him, lay down in bed, and drifted off in erotic fantasies. Once all the other family members had left, Marika went into Nathan’s room without knocking. She immediately noticed the bulge under his blanket. His face turned red. After a moment of embarrassed silence, she offered to prepare a cup of chamomile tea with acacia honey, a reliable old Transylvanian recipe against the sniffles. Nathan had no objection. Fifteen minutes later she returned with the tea and settled herself on the edge of the bed. She said that where she came from, people used chamomile to cure all sorts of maladies, everything from toothaches to impotence. He didn’t hear a word she said. The top two buttons of her blouse were open, and she exuded a pungent scent of femininity. He could think of nothing but her bosom. He wanted to touch her breasts. He could scarcely restrain his hands. He was quivering with desire and felt that he would give anything at all to be able to take her in his arms. She must have noticed this, for she slipped her hand beneath the blanket and gently caressed his upper thigh. Nathan felt a thrill go through his whole body. He flushed and stammered. Marika told him that if he thought she was not serious, he was mistaken. Without waiting for a reply, she pushed the blanket aside; with avid desire flaming in her eyes, she wrapped her lips around his stiff male member.
Nathan was dismayed by his first effort, which was over and done with in a matter of seconds. Marika wiped her mouth. He wondered what semen might taste like, but didn’t dare say a word. She explained to him that physical love was a matter of natural aptitude; one was either born to enjoy it or else one never learned the art. She told him with great seriousness that their first experience together, as short as it had been, showed that many wonderful hours in bed were ahead of them; she promised to apply her talents for him, to become his tutor, and to give him all of the lessons he would ever need, for she found that with his well-developed organ, far superior to her expectations, he was created for the ecstasies of love.
She began caressing him once more a few moments later. When he was obviously ready to continue lovemaking, she positioned herself astride him. As they coupled, she whispered into his ear, “I’m all yours. Do with me whatever you want.”
Later, when she got dressed, he stared furtively at her hips and was grateful she’d made a man of him.
FOR THE NEXT SIX MONTHS Nathan had only one thought in his head, and it had nothing to do with mathematics. He couldn’t decide whether he was in love with Marika or only obsessed by her voluptuous body, but he was ready to do whatever it took, including selling his soul to the devil, to be alone with her and roll around in bed until he could do no more, for she was hot and greedy and bold and inventive and completely irresistible. The tension of their secret life together and the risk of being discovered simply increased his desire. The impressive performances she incited him to deliver—performances she said would put to shame even the most stiff-dicked he-men—made him immeasurably proud of his newly discovered manhood and inexhaustible energy.
Sometimes Nathan felt a touch of jealousy at the thought that Marika, never reticent about describing her erotic experiences to him in great detail, had met so many men in her life. Her perceptive feminine intuition included an uncanny sense for those small shifts in his mood. Perhaps she knew that his jealousy could easily deteriorate into suspicion, and she wanted to prevent that; in any case, at such times she would always murmur into his ear, “Nothing has any meaning to me except us, you and me.”
Early in the new year Nathan noticed that his father was more cordial to Marika than he usually was with housemaids. From time to time he caught sight of his father staring fixedly at Marika and then hastily turning his eyes to one of his sons. Nathan reacted to the intensity of his father’s gaze. He told himself in silence that his father was getting to be a bit of a dirty old man, harmless enough and not so surprising, considering that he hadn’t been with a woman since he became a widower. He would really be jealous of me, Nathan thought and smiled to himself, if he had any idea what Marika and I have been up to.
ON APRIL 9, a day that Nathan would remember for the rest of his life, Emanuel Lasker came to the university. The reigning world master in chess had received his PhD in mathematics a few years earlier. He was scheduled to lecture on his latest contribution to algebra, something he called “polynomial rings.” Students and teachers packed the lecture hall. The temperature in the room rose, and it became hard to breathe. Nathan had difficulty hearing Lasker, who was speaking in a monotone. He became distracted, and his thoughts began to wander. He thought of Marika. They hadn’t been alone for more than two weeks. Was it only by chance? Perhaps she was avoiding him. Suddenly he had the impression that she’d been a bit unreceptive of late. Then he immediately recalled that in the hallway only a few days before, she’d whispered to him, “The only thing that matters to me is us, you and me.”
He blinked and could see before him Marika’s naked body stretched out on the bed. He felt a wild longing for her. He wanted to stroke her smooth skin, take her nipples into his mouth and suck on them, bury himself in her sex. He decided to leave the lecture, since he couldn’t make out anything the grand master was saying, anyway. He slipped away and hurried to the tram line. When he finally arrived at the apartment building, he took the stairs two or three at a time, hurrying up to the fifth floor. He opened the front door carefully and stealthily, hoping to surprise Marika. As he stepped into the hall, he heard strange noises in the dining room. He froze, listening intently. Was that debauched moaning coming from Marika? Anxiety filled him and a foreboding shot through him—a premonition that what awaited him in the dining room was a discovery that would shatter his whole life. Should he turn around and leave? This is your destiny, said a voice within him. He took a deep breath and steeled h
imself. His face was pasty white as he tiptoed forward as quietly as he could. The instant before he reached the wide-open doors to the dining room, he heard Marika gasping, “Keep going. More. I’m yours. Do what you want with me.” And then he saw how his father was thrusting his flabby lecherous body onto Marika, who sprawled there, willing and open. His father was moaning and slapping her breasts with the backs of his hands, producing sounds like those of a wet rag whacking a stone. She had her legs wrapped around his fat buttocks and was quietly gasping and raving.
Nathan stared at them, betrayed and disgusted. So this was his father, heaving like a wild beast, brutal and sweaty. He let out a deep, shuddering breath. They realized he was there and a deathly silence filled the room. A dire and disagreeable silence. Bernhard gave his son a desperate look, his shoulders hunched with anxiety and his whole stance a plea for understanding. An apprehensive smile appeared on Marika’s face. Nathan said nothing and asked no questions. It was enough for him to look his father and Marika in the eye to understand clearly, once and for all, how things were between the two of them: This was obviously not the first time.
He had never seen his father naked before this. The sight of his father’s erect penis deep in his lover’s sex—this was unbelievable, unheard of. Nathan couldn’t bear the spectacle of their copulating bodies. He turned abruptly and rushed out of the apartment.
He leaped down the stairs and paused on the street outside. He’d never in his life felt so lonely and abandoned. This is worse than being flayed alive, he thought, his heart torn with pain. He recognized the feeling of sorrow; it was the same grief that he had experienced as a child when he first understood—oh, perhaps it wasn’t understanding but only some sort of awareness that slowly but surely filtered into his consciousness—that his mother would never come back. It was the same sorrow that had filled his chest when at the age of ten he’d been unjustly accused of stealing Turkish delight from Hermann Kohn’s delicatessen and his father had refused to believe him and had beaten him and had never apologized even after his innocence had been confirmed.
The Elixir of Immortality Page 57
