A Late Divorce (49 page)

He wiped his eyes.

“Come, then, let me show you a little synagogue that just opened today. Gaddi and I were out walking this morning and we found it in his old kindergarten ... some people in the neighborhood have gotten interested in religion ...”

He wavered. “I'm sure they're not Sephardim ... it's only the Ashkenazim who are returning to religion now ... and I'm not up to a whole lot of new melodies. Never mind, though, I'll go ... where is it?”

He took his prayer shawl from the car and donned it, placed a black skullcap on his head, rolled up the windows, and locked the doors.

“When I got into the car this morning and started out on the highway I felt like I was driving on fire. I've never traveled on a holiday or a Sabbath before. It's a good thing that my father is dead and doesn't know. But I'll make it up ... I'll give God back what I've taken from Him ... I'm keeping accounts. It's just that I feel so hopeless. The bottom has fallen out of my life. I'll be good and sick from this yet, I know I will.”

He grabbed my hand.

“He really said nothing to you? He hasn't told you what he intends to do?”

“No.”

“But I know it ... no, don't try telling me ... I know that he wants to ditch me ... I can feel it. If he were a woman ... but where am I going to find another man to fall in love with? This whole thing has been such a disaster for me, right from the start ...”

He stood in the sunlight by the stone stairs of the synagogue, raving with a nasal whine. Down below it seemed like a regular service now: children ran about, voices were lifted in prayer, men lounged by the entrance in their prayer shawls. I wanted to comfort him, to make room for him in me too.

“Let me talk to Tsvi about it...”

“But you mustn't! He'll be furious with me ... and you've had enough worries as it is, quite apart from your leaving tonight. By the way, I told Tsvi that I would be happy to drive you to the airport. I'll miss you, Mr. Kaminka ... we all will. Well, I'll see you later. Maybe praying will calm me down a bit. Tell Tsvi that I'll be over soon.”

 

His long crooked shadow snaps on the descending stairs he vanishes into the kindergarten and is gone. And you where are you? Your shadow frozen on the concrete wall plastered there larger than life laced with foliage like a frilly dress. I'll miss you. How quickly farce turns to tragedy. I'll miss you. Whose shadow is now blotted out. The chill light. A sky arrayed in the deepest of blues. The softly stirring air. We all will. Your guts are hanging out your flattery gets you nowhere you are a run-down washed-up old man. And nevertheless. Straight simple streets avenues of eucalyptus trees. March on. March on. Homeland can you be a homeland. A small dog with its tail in the air leads a large dog nose-down after it. Children people the traffic in the street. What time is it? The jungly green ravine between two houses. A sense of depth now. It mustn't be said must not even be said but the state of Israel is an episode. Or will history have mercy? Asa do you hear historical mercy there's a concept for you to work on. March on. March on. Easy. A matter of hours. Or else to stop time in its tracks. You who thought to slink away in the night will be missed. Not even angry with you. Overwhelmed by your generous concession. Asa and Dina are coming all this way they feel close to you after all. Down down into the ravine oh to disappear there following a path through the fragrant tangle of bushes to where the bay opens up at a new angle. Far away dogs bark. The squat buildings of the Technion across from me. To remember. To cleanse my tired eyes in this light. At first the longing for another landscape you saw then that landscapes were replaceable. Sitting on this rock unbuttoning your shirt airing out your scar contemplating it pleasurably scratching it here by yourself in this lush moist brush. Dawn knife flash. No fantasy no nor regret. Promiscuously doubling herself demanding the impossible from me to keep a promise meant only as a metaphor as a landmark of longing. But is it thinkable? And suppose that I did disappoint that I was afraid but I wasn't ask the dog. One day the children will understand what really happened.

 

“Hey, someone's down there!” shouted a youthful voice above me. “Some old man.” All at once a column of youngsters filed overhead, slithering out of the bushes like a colorful snake and tramping down the path a few inches from me with giggled whispers.

“What time is it, kids?”

“Almost eleven.”

The column continued down the ravine and vanished in the undergrowth. I climbed back up, passing the synagogue, which was now a kindergarten again. A heavy lock glinted on the door. The white car was gone. Dressed in old clothes Kedmi stood in front of his house with a hose, rags and bucket, washing his car and barking orders at Gaddi, who was assisting him.

“Are Asa and Dina here yet?”

“No.”

“Is Tsvi up?”

“Why should he be? Is the stock market open today?”

“What time is it?”

“Time enough for you to take a few more walks.”

I quickly climbed the stairs. The door of the apartment was open, admitting the sounds of the neighbors and of someone's radio. Ya'el stood washing dishes in the kitchen while the baby sat gaily in her armchair at the table, waving a big-nippled bottle.

“Tsvi's still sleeping?”

Ya'el smiled serenely. “He doesn't want to wake up. You know what he's like in the morning.”

“But we can't let him lie around all day. I'll wake him.”

And I stormed into the darkened living room, pulling open curtains, raising blinds, shaking him back and forth. “That's enough, you lazy bum! On your feet!” An obscure anger swept over me. “Up, you brute!” I pulled off the blankets with one jerk. The smell of his bedclothes. He sat up in a daze, groggy and annoyed.

“What's going on?”

“Get up! What's going on is that I'm leaving for America soon, Asi and Dina are about to arrive, and you're wallowing in sleep right in the middle of everything!”

He tried pulling the blanket back over him but I jerked it wildly away. His degenerate, smooth, unsullied face. A portrait of me as a young man.

“What's gotten into you, father? Are you out of your mind? What time is it?”

“That's enough, can't you understand! The rest of us have been up for ages ... that's enough ...”

He sat up, squatting on his haunches among the crumpled sheets, holding his head, regarding me with a troubled look.

“I think I dreamed about you again...”

“You dreamed about me?” I broke into a hysterical laugh. “God help us all! Now get up.”

“Don't you want to hear about it?”

“Later. First get up.”

I turned on the radio full blast, rocking the house with loud choral music, and hurried back to Ya'el, who was in the bathroom getting ready to wash the baby.

“Here,” I offered eagerly, “let me help you.”

“Why bother, father? Go lie down. You've been on your feet all morning, and you still have a long day ahead of you.”

“I don't want to lie down. I want to be with you all I can. Here, hand her over. I'll hold her.”

I carefully undressed the baby, laying her on a fresh diaper, while Ya'el filled the little tub with water. Steam rose from it and fogged the mirrors. I removed her tiny shirt and undid her diaper, smelling her thin, odorous BM. I prepared the soap and baby powder and checked the temperature of the water. Outside we heard Gaddi and Kedmi, who had come back upstairs. The kibbutz choir on the radio sang even louder, celebrating the Festival of Spring. An announcer read verses from the Bible. Who would have imagined that all these old rituals were still kept up? Amazing. More voices of neighbors, someone stepped in to borrow a cup of milk. An Israeli morning. I took off my shirt to keep from wetting it and swung the baby's rosy little body over the water, lowering her slowly into it, crooning to her and trying to make her laugh. Ya'el sought to help me but I waved her away. She watched my deft, vigorous movements with astonishment.

“We'll miss you.”

“You'll what?”

“We'll miss you, father. I mean it. I never realized...”

“Don't be silly. You'll finally have a little peace and quiet when I'm gone.”

“No, it will be sad without you tomorrow.”

“Not for Kedmi.”

“For Kedmi too. He's gotten to feel close to you these past few days. I can sense it. He doesn't let it show but still...”

“Oh, I know that. He's really not a bad sort. I've gotten more used to him too.”

“He really isn't It just seems that way because of how he talks...”

She blushed, afraid of having said the wrong thing.

I smiled and said nothing. Rakefet gaily slapped the water with her hands, sending it spraying. Her chaste, dainty pudenda. With a start I recalled Gaddi had said she looked like Naomi. I gripped her little form hard to keep it from slipping. Tsvi came in to wash and shave, fully dressed, making his way between us to the sink, where he stood watching me in amazement. The baby shut her eyes while I took her for a swim in the water.

 

To have room enough for them all. Crazy thought. Out there peaking now the behind you before you darkness. Brave widow turned corpselike in the huge bed. Illimitable desires. Taking off from them a few hours from now perhaps really making them sad. Left to wish you were here. To miss you. But will they?

 

“That's enough, father.”

“Just a little more. Can't you see how she's enjoying it?”

The choir was still going strong, soprano voices raised in an Israeli oratorio. Kedmi entered the bathroom too and watched me float the baby with superior amusement.

“We'll miss you, grandpa. How will we manage without you tomorrow?”

“I just said the same thing to him.”

He walked out again, switching off the light and leaving us in moist, vaporous darkness. Ya'el spread a large red towel.

“That's enough, father.”

I fished the baby from the water and handed her to Ya'el, who wrapped her quickly in the towel. The doorbell rang. Someone entered the apartment. Gaddi knocked on the bathroom door.

“They're here from Jerusalem!”

I felt honestly moved to be seeing them both again and hurried down the hallway half naked, my hands dripping water. Timidly, like strangers, they were standing in the doorway's square patch of light. She had had her hair cut boyishly short and looked different in her old-fashioned, puritanically long-sleeved black dress with its white, nunlike collar; tall in high-heeled black shoes, a black patent-leather bag in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other, she might have been paying a condolence call. A pale black candle. Older-looking than when I last saw her, she stood chatting with Kedmi and threw me an anxious glance when she caught sight of me. Something in the beauty of her extraordinarily chiseled face with its high cheekbones and large bright eyes had changed, grown deeper and more inward. She stared at the floor, nervous to be meeting me again, while Asa, oblivious of my presence, made straight for the living room, where he halted by Tsvi's unmade bed to examine the books on the shelves. I hastened after them, my heart pounding for no good reason, thrilled by her beauty as first I was in that Jerusalem street by the taxi.

“It's so good to see you children. We were in the middle of bathing Rakefet. I'm soaking wet.”

Kedmi stood hulkingly in the middle of the room and winked at them. “He's doing his internship with us.”

They smiled uncomfortably.

“Have a scat, have a seat. The mess you see is pure Kaminka.”

He himself sat down first in the big armchair.

The two of them looked at me silently, a great gulf between them. I should have gone to my room but instead I stepped up to them in my state of undress and hugged and kissed Asi, feeling him draw back from me.

“Don't be afraid, it's only water. And thank you for coming,” I murmured emotionally. He didn't answer. I turned to her, reaching out to grasp her too, but she too recoiled from my nakedness. I smiled and bent to sniff the flowers that she held. She clutched them tighter, extending a rather cool hand.

“How are you, Yehuda?” she asked.

“You can see for yourself ... it's my last day ... how was your seder?”

“Very sederlike,” snapped Asi with a sharp sideways look at us.

She didn't turn to look at him.

“And how are your dear parents?”

“Fine, thank you.”

“I mustn't forget to say goodbye to them. Perhaps I should call them now.”

“That would make them very happy. But not now ... tonight ... they don't answer the phone on religious holidays...”

“Of course not. Tonight, then. I must make a note of it.”

I put an arm around her thin shoulder.

Ya'el emerged from the bathroom with the baby, all scrubbed, combed and snugly wrapped in snow-white diapers. With a quick cry of admiration Dina turned to hand her the flowers, taking Rakefet in return with a graceful movement. Just then Tsvi stepped into the room, freshly shaven and nattily dressed. He nodded to Dina.

“Was it still dark out when you left Jerusalem?”

He went over to embrace his distinguished younger brother, who shrunk back from him too while casting a glance at Ya'el. Shyly he went over and kissed her warmly, clinging to her like a mother. I felt a sharp pang. For a moment we were all too disconcerted to speak. Kedmi alone remained seated in his armchair.

“Go on, kiss away, you Commie Russians,” I heard him mumble under his breath. “Later you can knife each other and drink tea.”

I was so stunned I couldn't move. What a vile character after all. How could he talk that way? But the others didn't seem to have heard him. I felt befuddled. The cold breeze coming through the window made me shiver. I hurried to my room and took out a folded white shirt from my valise. My fingers touched my watch. It still said eight o'clock, it must have stopped. I held it uncertainly for a moment, then put it back. I checked my passport and ticket again and found the power of attorney for Asa, which I folded and stuck in my pants pocket. Suddenly I felt dizzy. How to find room for them all?