The Lover (31 page)

When I got back she was sitting in her chair, everything was clean and tidy, she looked at me angrily.

“Where have you been?”

“I was just walking in the street.”

“You must always tell me where you’re going. I’m responsible for you.”

I felt like shouting, What do you mean you’re responsible? but I didn’t say anything.

And she picked up
Ma’ariv
and I picked up
Yediot
Aharonot
because that was all there was, she didn’t have a TV or a radio for listening to music, and we sat there opposite each other like a pair of old people, quietly reading. It was really boring. And every five minutes she asked me what the time was. In the end she got tired of reading, took off her glasses and said, “Read me what Rosenblum says on page one.”

And I read it to her, I can’t remember all of it, the main thing was that all the Arabs want to destroy all the Jews.

She groaned, nodding her head.

Then I couldn’t stop myself and I asked, “Do you think I want to destroy you?”

She smiled and muttered, “We’ll see, we’ll see. What’s the time?”

“Seven o’clock,” I said.

She said, “Off you go to bed, he may be coming to fetch you tonight, we don’t want him to find you tired out.” I wasn’t a bit tired but I didn’t want to argue with her on the first evening so I stood up to go to bed. And I looked at her, she really scared me, with her pale face and red eyes she looked like a witch. Staring at me so hard. I started trembling inside. She was really scary. And then she said something weird, crazy, whatever could have put the idea in her head?

“Come here, give me a kiss.”

I thought I was going to faint. What was the big idea? Why? I cursed myself and her but I didn’t want to quarrel with her the first evening so I went up to her and quickly brushed my lips against her cheek that was as dry as a tobacco leaf. I made a kissing noise in the air and ran off to my room, wishing I was dead. But then I cheered up a bit because through the window I could see the lights of the harbour coming on, really beautiful. I undressed slowly, put on my pyjamas and got into bed, thinking maybe tonight I’d see the girl I love in a dream and I really did see her but not in a dream.

At the time of the siege of Old Jerusalem, just two years after the cursed World War, I realized that God had lost consciousness. I didn’t dare say he no longer existed, because it’s hard for an old woman of sixty-seven whose father was a great Jerusalem rabbi to start fighting against God and those who believe in Him, but when my daughter Hemdah, Gabriel’s mother, was killed by a bullet and I went with the child and his strange father to the New City and they put us up in a monastery in Rehavia, I used to say to all the people around me, whether they wanted to hear or not, “He is unconscious,” and they thought I meant the child, or his father, but I said, “No, up there,” and they would look up, searching and not understanding, and I said, “Don’t seek Him, He isn’t there.” And the people cursed me, for to lose Him at such a time was the last thing they wanted. It was then that my
love for Jerusalem died. It was a city of madness, and when they offered me a deserted Arab house in Haifa I accepted it at once and moved there with the child Gabriel, whom I had to bring up. And his strange father didn’t want to go to Haifa, but he didn’t care in the least that I was taking the child, he wasn’t much interested in him, he spent all his time wandering about trying to remarry and not succeeding. And the child loved his father greatly, pined for him all the time. And when at last his father went to Paris to try his luck there, because his prospects in Israel were very bleak, Gabriel never stopped thinking about Paris, collecting pictures of it, reading books about it, and the more I tried to make him forget his father, the more he remembered. I bought an old car and after taking the test seven times I learned to drive. I used to take the boy with me on little trips, to Galilee and other parts of the country, but he had only one idea in his head, how to get to Paris to be with his father, he wrote letters, made plans. As soon as he finished his army service he went to Paris. And so for the last ten years I have been alone, no family around me, they’re all in Paris, dying off one by one, I can’t even get to the funerals. And the world has become strange, but it’s still here and it’s not so bad, it could be much worse. I said to myself, perhaps it’s a good thing that He is still lying there unconscious, if He wakes up then the troubles will begin. Please, good people, speak softly, don’t wake Him. But I began to yearn and my yearning was so great that in the end I lost my wits, I don’t even remember how it happened. It was in the middle of lunch, because Mrs. Goldberg came in that evening and found me still holding the fork. And I lay unconscious for maybe a year and if I met Him I do not know, for every meeting was unconscious. But in the end I woke up, and still I don’t know why. For now I feel no yearning for anyone. Perhaps Gabriel’s return did touch me after all. And I go home, an old woman of ninety-three, that’s the truth, and this loneliness again. What will become of me? But mercy and grace are still with me. On the first night that I’m alone in the house, a thunderstorm outside, that bearded man breaks into the house – Gabriel’s friend, kindred souls they are, he will search for him on my behalf. A wonderful man. He reconnects my telephone, takes care of everything, and one afternoon he even brings along a little Arab
boy to stay with me. It’s a little sad that it should end like this. The second generation of a great Jerusalem family, every other Sephardi who walked the streets of the Old City at the turn of the century was somehow related, and now at the end of my days I have nobody in my house but an Arab. Better if he had brought me a Jewish orphan and I could have performed a mitzvah before my death, but what can you do, there are no more Jewish orphans on the market, only Arabs, at least
they
do not flee the country. God is having a joke at my expense, that at the age of ninety-three I must look after a little Arab, send him to the bathroom to wash himself, give him food, I know, he’ll grow up an ass like all the rest of them, you can’t trust them an inch, but for the time being it’s a pretty boy that I see, a typical Arab face but intelligent, sitting on the chair beside me, like the little grandson that I once had years ago, and there’s light in the house again, I can hardly conceal my joy. He brought vegetables and eggs from his village in a suitcase, like the good Arabs, the Turks. He really makes me happy, I can give him little jobs to do. I held his hand and led him to his room, gave him a good meal. He cleaned his plate. Thank God he has an appetite, now I shall have to cook proper meals. A little man. He may be an Arab, but he’s somebody at least. A quiet boy, knows what he wants, looking at me suspiciously but without fear, on his guard, knows how to defend himself, even though he doesn’t respond to my teasing, I talk to him in Arabic to make him feel at home, but he answers in Hebrew, that’s how far they’ve infiltrated us.

He cleared the table by himself, without being told, went out with the rubbish and suddenly disappeared, I was afraid he might have run away but he came back. He offered to do some work in the house, I asked him to change a light bulb and I watched him as he worked, quietly, without giving himself a shock, without a lot of noise. If he stays with me till Passover he can help me remove the
hametz
and we shall make the place very kosher. He can read newspapers too. Adam has brought me a real treasure.

But when evening came and darkness filled the house, I saw that the two of us were alone here for the night and panic seized me. Suddenly I thought, he’s not a little child, he’s a big boy, he has a dark and dangerous face. He could steal my gold coins, attack me, if not he then his brothers, these people always have
big brothers. He will open the door to them in the night. This boy has already broken into the house once. Why did I have to be so foolish, wasn’t it better before, when things were quiet? Four bolts I put on the door and Mrs. Goldberg has perfect hearing. I was well protected and now I have let the enemy inside.

Strange thoughts began to confuse me.

I asked him to read me something from the paper, to see how he would read, perhaps his voice might reveal something of his intentions. I gave him the article by Dr. Rosenblum, who uses short sentences and simple ideas. He began to read, reading very clearly, and the gist of the article that we hit upon was something I have known for years, that the Arabs have no thought other than to destroy us all. That was all I needed now, to put the idea into his head. And he actually paused, thought for a moment, looked up at me and said, “Do you think I want to destroy you?”

“Of course,” I wanted to say, “but you can’t, thank God.” But I said nothing. He was so sweet when he asked that question, full of sweetness. Again I remembered Gabriel and how he disappeared, all so quickly. Then the idea occurred to me of asking him to kiss me. Once he’d kissed me he couldn’t use violence against me in the night and I’d be able to sleep
peacefully
, he might perhaps steal something small, but nothing worse than that. I watched him, sitting there, brooding, plotting. I said, “Come here, give me a kiss.” The little bastard couldn’t believe his ears, but he controlled himself, he couldn’t refuse an old woman like me and he came and touched my cheek with a flutter of his hot lips. Perhaps my first kiss in fifteen years. So sweet. I sent him off to bed. I’d hidden the key to his room beforehand, so he couldn’t lock himself in and make plans. He put on his pyjamas, got into bed and went to sleep. I washed, put on a nightdress, switched off the lights and sat down in the dining room, listening to his breathing. Eight o’clock, nine, ships’ sirens in the harbour. I went into the bedroom to look at him. He lay sprawled there on the bed, flushed with sleep. I tidied his clothes a little. Ten o’clock, eleven, and I’m still dozing in the armchair in the dining room, waiting, perhaps the telephone will ring. At eleven-thirty the lights in the bay go out, I go to his room. He’s
in a deep sleep, the blanket slipping off the bed. I cover him up. Suddenly I bend down and kiss him lightly. What can I do? So sad.

I go back to the dining room, still hoping for a call.

What’s the time? Nearly midnight. I’ve slept two hours and wakened. Dark in the house. A light and simple wakening, that’s what’s been frightening me lately. My sleep is like straw in the wind, leaving no traces.

Daddy’s going out to work tonight, between midnight and two he must be on call. I heard it all yesterday, I know all about it. Looking for the lover at night and through the window I see the tow truck parked at the kerb, the yellow crane like a finger pointing at the sky. I get out of bed and put on the clothes that I got ready during the evening. Corduroy trousers, woollen vest, warm sweater. I’ve decided to go with him. Hiking boots, a scarf. Winter clothes that I’ve never worn in winter. Just pray that some car will have an accident, or break down.

I get dressed in the dark, outside the moon moving fast against broken clouds. The water sounds in the gutters but you can’t see the rain. I think of a car on its way from Tel Aviv to Haifa. I even see its shape. Its colour – bright blue. I think of the driver and I see him, a young man, very sexy, in a black golf shirt, looks a bit like a gym instructor. Beside him a small woman, his wife or his mistress, very sweet. They’re coming home from a play or a party, the radio plays soft dance music, he lays a hand on her shoulder, caressing her, the other hand rests lightly on the wheel. I see the speedometer – a hundred and twenty kilometres. He leans towards her and kisses her, but the lady isn’t content with a kiss, she leans over and lays her head on his shoulder, distracting him. They’re talking about themselves, about how charming they are, and meanwhile the rain sets in (I see it, the moon is hidden, the sky grows dark, rain lashes the windows) and he simply misses the bend, crash, the car smashes through the iron fence between the lanes, the bumper is crushed, the door caves in, the lights shatter, the woman screams, the brakes squeal, the car nearly overturns but ends up on its side. They’re alive. Just a
few scratches and bruises. I go on quietly dreaming as I lace up my shoes. I see the man climbing out through the window and helping his lady friend to get out. Running and flagging down a car coming the opposite way, giving the details, a few minutes later the phone rings in the control room. The bored duty clerk takes down the details, looks in the register to see who’s on call. I see it there, Daddy’s name, and beside it our phone number. She lifts the receiver and dials.

My heart misses a beat. At this very moment the phone rings. I freeze. This is crazy. The dream is becoming reality. I run to the phone in the study. I pick up the receiver and say, “Yes?” but Daddy has beaten me to it with the receiver beside his bed. I hear the particulars. BMW, 1972 model, registration number so-
and-so
, three kilometres south of the Atlit intersection. Daddy writes it all down in the little notebook that I put beside the phone for him yesterday. I go into the bathroom right away, wash my face, clean my teeth and come out expecting to give Daddy a surprise but the house is in darkness, as if he’s already gone. I go quickly into their bedroom, God Almighty, he’s asleep again, the bedside lamp’s switched off. I rouse him, shaking him roughly. “Daddy, are you crazy, have you forgotten? You’ve got a tow job to do.” He sits up in bed, confused, bleary with sleep, he suddenly looks old. “What’s the matter? What is it?” He thought he dreamed it. “Lucky that you’re awake.” Mommy stars under the blanket. He starts taking off his pyjamas in a hurry, stripping almost naked in front of me, completely befuddled. I run to the kitchen, put water in the kettle to make some coffee. Daddy goes into the bathroom, comes out dressed.

“Come on, Daddy, the coffee’s ready.” He smiles. “Dafi, you’ll make a wonderful wife.” I phone the old lady’s house to wake Na’im, curious to see how he’ll react to the sound of my voice, but it’s the old lady who answers.

“Good evening, could you wake Na’im, please? Daddy is on his way to collect him.”