The Lover (20 page)

And this way I snatch some sleep. In Bible or Talmud or Citizenship. Of course not in maths, because I’m too scared of Baby Face, who stalks around like a fat cat, always picking on me. But in the subjects in which I’m strong I don’t care.

Best are Arzi’s Talmud classes. For one thing, he’s
shortsighted
, and then, he hardly ever moves from his chair, he comes in and sits down and doesn’t get up until the bell rings, one of these days the chair will catch fire underneath him and he won’t budge, also, he talks in a sort of quiet drone that’s just great for sending you to sleep. Finally, and most important, in his lessons I don’t miss much by sleeping. Even if I sleep right through till the bell goes the class has only learned two lines in the meantime.

The others in the class have got used to the idea of me catching up on my sleep like this, and Tali, who sits in front of me, is always having to wake me up if anyone comes near. But today there was bright sunlight and I was dead tired. I got into my corner, put the pillow in place and leaned against the wall (where the plaster had already peeled right off) and went to sleep straightaway. Suddenly Arzi stood up, something made him excited or maybe the sun went to his head, and he started walking about among the benches. He saw me at once and when Tali tried to warn me he said, “Sh … sh …” and the others all held their breath, grinning as they watched the little old man creeping towards me. He stood there beside me for a few seconds (so I was told later) and suddenly he began to sing, “Sleep, sleep little girl,” and the class started laughing. But I still didn’t wake up, I think I was actually dreaming, I was that tired. In the end he touched me, thinking maybe I’d fainted or something, and I opened my eyes and saw his kindly, smiling face. Lucky that it
was him. And he began to intone like a proper Talmudist, “And what do we learn from this?” And his answer: “That they are repairing the beds at your house!” The old man had a sense of humour. And everyone roared with laughter. What could I say? I just smiled back at him. Then he said, “Perhaps you should go home and sleep, Dafna.” And I really should have refused and told him I wanted to learn Talmud, but the idea of more sleep appealed to me so much that I stood up, shoved my books and note pads into my school bag and left, slipping away through the empty corridors before Shwartzy could get on my track. I walked home quickly.

At first I was so bleary I thought I’d come to the wrong house, because when I opened the door I saw a boy I didn’t recognize standing in the kitchen trying to drink something. But it really was our house and the boy was just one of Daddy’s workers who’d come to collect a briefcase that Daddy had forgotten. I startled him, he picked up the briefcase and left in a hurry. I undressed, in midmorning, put on my pyjamas, pulled down the blinds and got into bed. Bless Arzi, a real teacher, so considerate. But this damn bed of mine. I just lay down, and closed my eyes and again sleep fled.

And one morning they pulled me out from under a car and said, “Go to him, he wants you.” So I went to this Adam. He looked at me and said, “What’s your name?” I told him again, “Na’im.”

“Good, take this key and go to my house and on the little cabinet on the right in the hall you’ll find a black briefcase. Bring it here. Do you know Carmel?”

“Yes,” I said, I didn’t really know it at all but I just felt like wandering around the city for a while. He wrote the address on a piece of paper, told me which bus to take, took out a fat wallet full of notes, gave me ten pounds and sent me off.

And I found his house on my own without asking anyone. A three-storey house in a nice quiet neighbourhood, full of trees and gardens. And from everywhere you could see the sea, really beautiful, a slice of blue between the houses. I kept on stopping to take another look at it. I’d never seen the sea from so high up.
Not many people in the streets, just a few old women with baby carriages, feeding the fat babies. These Jews spoil their children like hell and then send them off to war.

I went into the building. The staircase was brightly polished, I went up to the second floor like he told me and found the name on the door. I rang the bell first so if there happened to be anyone at home I wouldn’t be accused of breaking in.

I waited a moment and then opened the door myself. The apartment was a bit dark but very tidy. Chaos in the garage and here everything’s tidy, everything in its place except for his briefcase, which wasn’t on the cabinet on the right or on the cabinet on the left but was on the dining table. I picked it up and was about to go because this was all he’d asked me to do but suddenly I didn’t want to go, I liked the look of this dark apartment. I went into the living room, treading on the soft carpets. I looked out through the window and saw the sea again. I even sat down to rest for a moment in an armchair beside a green potted plant. I looked at some of the pictures on the wall. Beside the radio, in a black frame, there was a picture of a boy, about five I’d say, I could tell right away it was his son. I really ought to have gone, it isn’t nice to walk around like this, touching things, but suddenly I wanted to have a look inside their kitchen. What do the Jews eat? I’d never looked inside a Jewish fridge. The kitchen was very clean. The table sparkled. In the sink there was just one unwashed cup. I opened the fridge. There wasn’t much food in it. Some cheese, a few eggs, some yogurt, a bottle of fruit juice, a piece of cold chicken on a plate, a few medicines and about a dozen different kinds of chocolate. I guess they eat chocolate for lunch.

That’s enough, I thought, I’d better go. But a big jug with a thick red drink in it looked interesting. I’d never seen a drink like that before. I decided to have a taste of it, though I wasn’t at all thirsty. I found a cup and poured out a little bit, and I was drinking it, it had a funny taste like turnips, when I heard a key turning in the lock. Quickly I emptied the cup into the sink, turned on the tap and washed the cup. A girl about the same age as me in school uniform came into the apartment and threw down her school bag inside the doorway. Suddenly she noticed me and stood there looking confused, like she thought she’d
come into the wrong house. I walked a few steps towards her, feeling myself blushing, waving the black briefcase and before she could scream or anything like that I said, “Your father sent me to pick up this briefcase that he forgot and he gave me the key as well.” She didn’t answer but she gave me such a sweet smile. I knew straightaway that she was his daughter, she was very pretty with big black eyes and fair hair. A bit short but very pretty, a bit tat but very pretty. It’s a pity I’ve seen her because I won’t ever be able to forget her. She’s one of those girls that I only have to see and I know I loved them even before I saw them. And she said, “Would you like something to drink?” and I said, “No,” and walked past her taking care not to touch her, holding the briefcase tightly under my arm, and I fled.

Half an hour later I was already downtown on the way to the garage. But suddenly I had an idea. I went into a hardware shop and got a copy of the key to the flat. I went back to the garage and personally gave him the briefcase and the key and the change from the ten pounds. And in my shoe I could feel the duplicate key against the sole of my foot.

But of course he didn’t suspect anything, smiling at me like his daughter.

“Thank you. That’s fine. And very quick.”

And he let me keep the change.

That was all.

The end of December already. More than two months have passed since the end of the war. Every day I still hope for some sign of him, but there’s no sign. Did he just get tired of us? But where is he? Asya hardly ever mentions him but it seems to me that she thinks I should be out looking for him. I spend a lot of time driving around the streets, searching for the little Morris at least. How can a car disappear without a trace? Once I caught sight of a blue Morris and followed it through the streets until finally it stopped outside the Technion and a tall old man, smartly dressed, got out of it, looking at me angrily. Naturally hardly a day passes without my going down to the old house in the lower city to see if a shutter or a window has been opened
there. But the apartment on the second floor is just as he left it on the first day of the war. Sometimes I’m not content with looking from the outside but I go inside and up the stairs to knock on the door itself. On the first floor there’s a clothing store. It’s always closed. And on the second floor, aside from the grandmother’s flat, there’s another apartment and an old widow living alone. She’s watched my investigations with great suspicion. I had only to walk up the stairs and the door of her flat would open a crack and she’d peer out at me, watching in silence as I knocked on the door, waited for a while and then went down again. At first I used to ignore her, after a while I decided to try getting some information out of her.

She was very suspicious of me –

Had she seen Gabriel Arditi? No. Did she know of any change in the old lady’s condition? She didn’t. Which hospital was she in, by the way? Why did I want to know? I explained that I was a friend of Gabriel and since the war I’d had no news of him.

She thought for a moment, then gave me the name of the institution to which the old lady had been taken. A geriatric hospital not far from Hadera.

She was a heavily built woman, with bright eyes, a little moustache sprouting from her lip. Still she looked at me dubiously.

“Do you happen to have a key to the flat?”

No, she had no key, she gave hers to Gabriel.

“I suppose I shall have to break down the door,” I whispered to myself, thinking aloud.

“In that case I think I’d better call the police at once,” she said without a moment’s hesitation.

“Who?” I smiled.

“The police.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean coming here and breaking the door down? It’s not even your friend’s house.”

She stood in her doorway immovable as a rock. There was no doubt she would call the police.

I went away.

A few days later I arrived there late at night. Slowly I climbed the stairs and in the dark I began quietly trying to open the door
with a bundle of keys I’d brought from the garage. But after only a few minutes the other door opened and the old neighbour appeared in a nightdress and with a kerchief on her head. She looked at me angrily.

“You again.”

I decided not to answer, to ignore her, continuing my vain attempt to open the door with my keys.

“I shall call the police.”

I didn’t reply. She watched my unsuccessful efforts.

“Why don’t you go and see the old lady herself, perhaps she’ll let you have the key.”

I said nothing, didn’t respond. But the idea seemed to me a good one. Why not, after all? I went on trying the keys. In the end I went away slowly in the dark.

Two days later I was at the geriatric hospital. An old building but painted green, between the orchards, on the edge of one of the older settlements. I went into the office and told them I was a relative of Mrs. Ermozo and I’d come to visit her. They sent for the matron, an energetic, vivacious woman about my age. She greeted me with enthusiasm.

“At last somebody has come. We were afraid she’d been completely forgotten. Are you her grandson too?”

Strange, thinking I was her grandson.

“No … I’m a more distant relation … has Gabriel Arditi been visiting here?”

“Yes, but for a few months now there’s been no sign of him. Come and see her.”

“How is she? Still unconscious?”

“Still unconscious but in my opinion there’s been some improvement. Come with me, watch them feeding her.”

And she took my arm and led me into one of the wards. She pointed to the bed where the old woman lay.

So this grandmother really does exist. Wrapped in a white smock, like a big ball. Sitting up in bed apd looking around her wildly. Her long hair, still dark, scattered over her shoulders, a big napkin tied around her neck and a dark-skinned little nurse, probably a Mexican from the immigrants’ settlement, feeding her with endless patience, with a wooden spoon, giving her a grey porridge that looked like soft mud. It wasn’t easy to feed her
because she seemed quite unaware of the fact that she was being fed, and every now and then she’d suddenly turn her head to one side, looking for something on the ceiling or at the window. Sometimes she spat out the food and the grey liquid trickled down her face. The nurse took a sponge and wiped her carefully. There was something very sad in the empty eyes moving
backwards
and forwards about the room, sometimes pausing on some random object.

There were several old women in the ward, they got up from their beds and approached us with great curiosity, standing around us in a little circle.

“Every meal takes nearly an hour,” the matron said with a smile. I was staring at her as if hypnotized.

“How old is she?” I asked suddenly, forgetting that I’d introduced myself as a relative.

“I’m sure you don’t know … even though you are one of the family … guess …”

I mumbled something.

“Well then, you won’t believe it … but we’ve seen her Ottoman birth certificate. She was born in 1881. ’81. You can do the arithmetic yourself. She’s ninety-three years old. Isn’t it wonderful? 1881 … Do you know any history? That was when the first Bilu settlers arrived in the country …
Hibbat
Zion
… the beginnings of Zionism … to say nothing of world history. Isn’t it amazing? She was alive then … a lady of history … a real treasure … perhaps she concealed her age from you? And her hair is still black … her skin is smooth … only a few wrinkles … it’s a wonder … and that’s the truth, although we’re used to old people here, that’s what the place is for, after all. We’ve never had such an old lady before.”

And the matron went to her, took out from the old lady’s hair a little comb that was hidden there and started to comb her hair, smoothing it over her cheeks, pinching them gently. The old lady didn’t look at her, feeling nothing, staring at the window.

“I tell you, if she hadn’t gone into a coma she could have carried on for years … or perhaps it’s the opposite … it’s because she’s gone into a coma that she will carry on for years … come and see … come closer … don’t be afraid … perhaps she’ll recognize you … perhaps something in you will revive her …”