Gaddi opens the door for me now I remember what I’ve forgotten it’s his present. The lights are all on in the house the baby’s in her high chair in the living room surrounded by toys facing the TV watching Begin on the Arabic news the dining table is full of dirty dishes scattered papers a tube of paint grandpa is sitting drinking coffee Gaddi runs to bring me a big picture Ya’el comes out of the kitchen in an apron.
“What happened? We were so worried. I didn’t understand a thing. What hundred thousand pounds went down the drain?”
“It didn’t. It came back up again.”
“Did you see my mother?”
“Of course.”
“Did something go wrong?”
“No. Everything’s fine.”
I head for the bathroom with her on my heels and Gaddi on hers.
“We didn’t know when you’d come, so we ate without you.”
“That’s okay. I just hope you left something for me.”
“Of course we did. Did something go wrong, Kedmi?”
“If you’d allow me to take a leak there might be some prospect of your serving me supper.”
I shut the door in Gaddi’s face to keep him from gate-crashing with his picture. I pee I wash my hands and face at the sink I go around the house turning off unneeded lights finally I sit down at the table. Grandpa moves his chair closer to me his face pale and serious.
“So tell us ...”
“In a minute. Just let me first put something in my stomach to draw the blood down there so that it doesn’t explode in my brain. If Kedmi gets a stroke, the Kaminkas will pay dearly.”
I settle into my chair take the check from my pocket place it on the table read it like the morning paper it’s certainly better news. He gets up stricken and walks about the room Ya’el sends Gaddi to the bathroom the baby quiets down so does Begin there’s just background music now. Ya’el looks pitifully gray and tired.
“Didn’t you eat all day long? Your mother called a few times to say she was waiting for you for lunch. Where did you disappear to? Did something happen?...Why don’t you say something?...She was terribly worried.”
“Then call her and tell her that I’m here with my mouth full of food. You can spare me the pleasure and her the worry ...”
All at once he stops pacing the room and bursts out:
“What happened? Did you see her?”
“Of course I did. Could I have some more egg, please?”
“How is she?”
“She’s fine. She was watering the trees.”
“But what did she say? How did she receive you?”
“Very hospitably. By the way, you have regards from the dog. He thanks you for the powder, Ya’el.”
I take a last look at the check I fold it and replace it in my pocket. “Did she sign?”
“Almost. She wants to think about it some more.”
“To think?”
“Such things happen.”
Why am I doing this to them? Is it just my lousy character?
At last Ya’el exclaims almost in tears:
“Can’t you talk like a human being? You insisted on going by yourself and now it’s like pulling teeth to get a word out of you.”
“All right, all right. I only wanted to eat in peace. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that you were so impatient.” (Kissinger presents his report to the Israeli government.) “I arrived there at three-thirty. I spoke with a young doctor whom I had to wake up. He said she was in good shape. A few of her friends in the hospital knew what I had come for too. I found her tanned and spry-looking, watering the trees. I don’t know if that’s some new sort of therapy but in any case it definitely works. There’s no comparing the way she is now with her condition several years ago. Do you remember that time I was with you, Ya’el?”
Her father leans toward me his legs spread menacingly Ya’el looks at me with loathing.
“I told her you had arrived and that you looked well. She asked if you still had a cramp in your neck and I said that I hadn’t noticed any cramp there. Then she asked if you were bothering the children.
I said on the contrary, the children are happy that you’re here. I did tell her that you were finding it difficult to adjust to Israeli time. I gave her the agreement and recommended it. She asked if she had to read it. I said yes because that’s our professional duty, not to let people sign any contract or document that they haven’t read. They won’t understand it anyway, but it’s better for them to feel that they’ve read it without understanding it than that they haven’t understood it without reading it, ha ha ...” (No one laughs.) “She tried to read it but she couldn’t because her glasses are broken. Or maybe the dog ate them. You really should take care of it, Ya’el. So I read it to her. She listened quietly while I explained all the fine points to her, how her rights are all guaranteed. I really did talk carefully and gently but she hardly seemed to respond. She just asked once about you, Ya’el...’’
“Why I hadn’t come...”
“Precisely. But I explained why and she understood. I told her you’d come tomorrow or the day after and meanwhile we agreed that she’d think it over and sign and give the agreement to you. Of course we’re pressed for time. I tried telling her that as gently as I could....Could I have another cup of tea? I’m totally bushed. I’ve been running all evening after this check...”
“She won’t agree,’’ blurts the old man hopelessly. He leaves the room. Deep down I know that he’s right.
“Why won’t she?” I object. “That’s not my impression. Can I have some more tea or do I have to request it in writing?”
Ya’el brings me tea her hands shaking she takes the baby from her chair and puts her into her crib Gaddi shows me his picture some tall women standing in the rain.
“It’s a terrific picture.” I kiss him and send him off to bed.
Ya’el’s father has disappeared. She looks at me hostilely.
“What’s gotten into you?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been a wreck all day.”
“That’s obvious.”
“It was all just too much for me.”
And really I’m dead on my feet it can’t be just that damn check something scared me today the world itself. Those broken alleyways ... that nude old woman in the yellow water ... that feeling of straw in my hair...
I get up to look at the mail I turn on the TV I’m exhausted my eyes close I can’t make out the words Ya’el is cleaning the table the baby’s already asleep. I turn off the light and get into pajamas I put the check in my pajama pocket and look for a newspaper I can hardly move I get into bed and pull the big blanket over me.
It’s ten o’clock. The telephone rings it’s my mother yes says Ya’el to her as though I were a three-year-old yes he’s eaten and now he’s in bed. Her father returns from a walk with a pack of cigarettes he whispers something to her. My eyes shut the newspaper slips to the floor. The old man comes into the bedroom to ask if I bought the present for Gaddi.
“I’m sorry. I forgot.”
He takes thirty dollars from his pocket and puts the bills on the night table by the bed.
“You don’t have to,” I whisper.
But he lays an ashtray on them. He stands there morosely. Ya’el is washing dishes in the kitchen.
“What should I buy him?”
He doesn’t answer.
“If it’s all right with you, I’ll find some little electric train. He’s never even ridden in a train...” He stands silently by my bed tall a handsome man a mane of graying hair bohemian-style on his neck. Fitted into his American suit his fingers stained with nicotine what does he want from me of course to ask about her but he’s afraid to talk.
“You’re going to Jerusalem tomorrow. To Asa’s.”
He gives me a hard look deep in thought he wants to talk but something won’t let him he puffs greedily on his cigarette.
Suddenly he sits down on the bed. Something draws him to me. The fact that I was with her but what
more can I tell him. Silence I’m fading out I curl up in the blanket and close my eyes from time to time to see what effect it has. But he goes on sitting there smoking his head in his hand. He’s a worried man. He needs the divorce he has a woman waiting for him there and if I let my intuition run free I’d guess that he’s made a little uncle for Gaddi. It’s quiet except for the dishes my body’s turning to lead.
“If you don’t mind turning off the light, we could sit in the dark for the same price...” I smile weakly hoping it’s my last joke of the day.
He draws back. “What?”
He’s gotten the hint though he straightens up looking down on me from above he turns off the light and leaves the room I bury myself underneath the blanket.
Once upon a time I used to feel desire at this hour but lately someone’s seen to it that I don’t. The baby’s begun to cry but I’m not getting up for her I’ve already put in a full day the title of my next best seller will be How to Subtly Get Your Marriage Partner to Take Care of the Crying Baby. I snuggle deeper into bed. They must be going over my agreement in the loony bin now assuming that the dog hasn’t eaten it why half asleep do I think of her again in the sharp light by the sea you’ve caught some of her madness Kedmi dear Kedmi poor Yisra’el Kedmi you aging hyperactive child who needs to sleep...
TUESDAY
Imagination protects sight
And taking art for act
Protects all life.
Wisdom’s pearls protect the tongue
A ring
The finger....
And so I think of wherewith to protect
Myself against the self’s own self-reversal.
Yona Vallach
Is this where he lives? On purpose in so drab a neighborhood or are such the meager rewards of a literary career? And does he really write his books facing that ugly peeling wall? He has three different mailboxes two broken and the third a giant new one its upraised slit hungry for mail. A man bounds quickly down the stairs he slows and stops in wonder pirouetting by the mailboxes fondling the air around me he steals a look at me and steps outside turning to look once more before he’s gone. The pain of your beauty wrote one of the boys in my high-school class who used to write to me and which of them didn’t try. Anonymous notes slipped into my schoolbag devious love poems intricately concocted from biblical verses and the sayings of our blessed rabbis with here and there a drop of plain hard filth when one of them beneath his knitted skullcap couldn’t stand it anymore. The Tartar cheeks the blue twinkle that smote their hearts. Because how could one not be in love with you tell me? I will tell you. You cannot be in love with me because you do not know the first thing about me but why shouldn’t you fall in love anyway and meanwhile can I look at your math homework I didn’t understand one single question.
Five minutes to ten. Wait. It’s gauche to come early even coming on time is bad form he’ll think how important I must be to her if she’s timed it so exactly I’m sure I’m not the first or last to pester him like this he’s too big a man for a novice like me but Asi had to prove what wonderful contacts he has. Perhaps he can help you make some contacts. A code word. From contact to contact we’ll all stay in contact until we’re a contact ourselves. My (even if I am being punished) love. My love verily my husband. What shall we do? If you fear my pain how shall I not fear it too?
So I’ll walk down the street a bit I’ll give him ten minutes more. A cloudy morning a chill breeze Jerusalem of cold. Frail cloud. So many young mothers out strolling with their babies all gone down in quick pain sweet perhaps too the whole world. It’s not the penetration that I know but the pain not the pain but the blood. Two years and running out of patience. Put me to sleep and then you can...
And then my mother:
I don’t want to interfere but sometimes a mother must and I can’t sleep at night because of it. You’ve been married for over two years you want your freedom I realize that but perhaps one has to think further ahead.
And my father:
It’s not so much the sin although that too but Asi believes in nothing and he’s managed to convert you you’ve given up the religious faith that we raised you in too easily still it isn’t that although...
And mother:
Don’t start with all that now it’s the medical side of it just the medical side of it that concerns me. You were once very sick I hope you haven’t forgotten and I read in the newspaper don’t laugh that sometimes women put it off because they think that they have all the time in the world but then when they want to they find out that they can’t the sooner the better it doesn’t happen by itself that’s only in novels and even there...
Father:
Why must you always make everything sound so complicated! Yes we want a grandchild. What’s wrong with that? Is it forbidden to want one? We deserve that much happiness God gave us an only child and He knows how hard we tried to have another but your mother couldn’t...
Mother:
Don’t start with all that now for God’s sake let me talk this over calmly it’s not for our sake it’s for yours. We’re in a position to help we’re not like his family which simply isn’t. We’ve actually thought of moving closer to you but it makes more sense for you to move closer to us we’ve even found you an apartment not far from here.
Father:
It’s not just evenings we’ll be able to help it’s days too business is so bad thank God that I can manage to lose money in the store by myself and spare mother for you her time will be yours.
Mother:
In terms of Asa’s getting ahead we’re thinking of his career if that’s the reason.
Father:
You won’t have to worry with mother around look how she raised you to be such a beauty when you were born we wondered where a monkey like you came from but little by little...
Mother:
That’s enough you’ll annoy her and ruin everything. You think that it’s me but you can see that it’s him he doesn’t stop talking I don’t get a moment’s peace. Yesterday I spoke to Sarah’s mother that girl from your class who was married a few months before you they’re already expecting a second grandchild. Don’t be angry I wasn’t making comparisons I know that’s all that she’s good for but you have to realize that time’s not standing still it never does...
A soft enclasping pleading cunning duet if only they knew how we’re still stuck at the starting line. They do but don’t know what they know.
But he does have a view on the other side of these houses a deep broad cleft toward the mountains and sky for inspiration is that west east or north I’m so bad at directions Asi can take one step in any room and know just which way he’s facing. Down dropping heavens. And in the plural too. Sometimes unexpectedly in a Talmudic text such a precise sense of landscape the boys would chop logic with the Talmud teacher while I dropped down heavens. A frail snake by a drowsing old man. Perhaps. We’ll have to see. In the end only words and the pain of words. And yet no blood of words.
It’s really cold and me in this light spring dress and open shoes. Is this icy wind supposed to be spring? Why it’s almost time for the seder. A few pale weak glizzly days and summer will be on us all at once. This land of all at once. A line for a poem. I must write it down. Some poet quoted in the paper as saying that he always carries a little notebook with him. Useful. What can he possibly say to me? Dina Kaminka you are a great talent. Yours is a name to remember. The great hope of a declining literature. Where have you been hiding until now? Baloney. Wanton women with shopping bags stare at me as they pass. Some women’s glances are more piercing than men’s as though I’d robbed them of something. But those who know me know the threat’s sheer bluff.
A small child backs against a wall of the stairway. His. You can tell right away the same curls the same look all he’s missing is the pipe. I put my hand on his shoulder your father is isn’t he? But he’s not impressed he’s used to being spotted to having a famous father he kicks a ball and trips down the stairs
after it.
Two facing doors on each (how odd) his name. I ring the bell of the one on the right a young faded woman in jeans holding a baby rock music inside before I can say a word she points to the other door softly retreating it opens while I’m still looking for the bell and out steps an older woman with another baby (his third child?) and a shopping basket.
(Does he really have two wives? But why not? The apartments are low-income. In the middle of the night he runs naked from one to the other.)
“I have an appointment with Mr....”
Mister?
“Come in.’’
She studies my fancy dress with an ironic smile and points to an inner door. It was an error in judgment to come traipsing into this hotbed of bohemia in high heels. I enter a small hallway the front door slams rudely cynically behind me the dim light is congested amid the low bookcases there’s a smell of mold and wet laundry a lyrical overture to a literary tribunal my head is a pennant in the flaking mirror among the winter coats the sharp slanty blue the open doggy mouth the curly until-two-weeks-ago-soft-honey-braided head my makeup’s come off in the wind. What have I gotten myself into? I pass the kitchen piles of dirty dishes on the stained marble counter of the sink. Maybe he’s looking for a third wife to do them.
What can he possibly say to me?
My wife has been secretly (secretly?) writing stories and poems for a while now I mean just for her own satisfaction maybe you’d be willing to read them and tell her what they’re worth. A professional opinion and a kind word from you. (Perhaps you can even talk her out of the obession.) She admires you greatly.
A Late Divorce Page 8