“Raising prices again?”
“Ah, Dinaleh, it’s good you came. Asa called. He’s been trying to get hold of you.”
Father is already hugging me from behind he’s left the customers.
“Be careful, you’ll get her pretty dress dirty!”
“I’ll buy her a new one. So what did he say?”
“Who?”
“That author, what’s his name ...”
“Let her catch her breath first!”
“How do you know about it?”
“Asa told us.”
My room never had a lock or a key no bolt even in the bathroom they just barged in without knocking without asking in my bed in my drawers no secrets no privacy an all-loving all-knowing omnipresent world invading every pore choking me with embraces yet I’m to blame I ask for it I collaborate going out of my way to come see them each day if I didn’t they’d turn up in disgrace at suppertime wanting to know if their daughter is still alive or has she gone up in smoke.
“So what did he say? Did he like...?”
“Yes ... more or less ... he had some comments but ... yes ... on the whole...”
“Leave her alone. Mrs. Goldberg is waiting for her bill. Don’t make her nervous.”
He kisses me and goes back into the store.
“Do you want me to help you, mama?”
“No, darling, absolutely not. Sit down and rest a bit. I’ll make you something to eat in a minute. Just get in touch with Asa. He’s already called three times today. His father is coming this afternoon.”
“I know.”
“Call him now, he’s only in his office until noon. We promised you’d call him right away.”
“All right.”
I sit on a beer crate feeling weak as though I’d just had a tooth pulled.
“Would you like me to dial for you?”
“In a minute, mama.”
“Are you feeling all right? Come, I’ll make you a cup of tea.” “Not right now. One minute, mama.”
“His father is coming today at three o’clock, so we thought we’d invite the three of you for supper, that way you wouldn’t have to cook. And we have to see him once anyway ... he is our in-law, after all ... no one understands how we’ve never met him. Of course, I imagine he’d like to meet us too...”
“Not tonight, though, mama. He’ll want to be alone with Asi. They haven’t seen each other for years.”
“But it’s already been settled with Asi.”
“Will you stop badgering me! No ... please don’t feel hurt, it’s just that ... one minute ... I need to think...”
One minute one minute...
Father comes back he can’t keep himself away.
“So you’re eating with us tonight! You won’t have to cook.”
He returns to the store.
They cling to me without sticking they flutter apprehensively around me.
“No, mama, not tonight. Another time.”
“It’s for your sake. Do you have anything to make dinner with at home?”
“Yes. I’ll manage. Don’t worry.”
“It’s not for us, we don’t need it. We just wanted to help. And of course, he’ll want to meet us socially...”
“Of course he will. I’ll bring him. But not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Maybe for the seder.”
“I don’t think he can. He’ll want to be with Ya’el and the grandchildren. We may have to be with them too.”
She turns pale.
“You’re not planning to leave us all alone for the seder?”
“We’ve been with you every year. It would be just this one time, and even that isn’t definite.”
On one only child’s back two whole parents whither thou goest and the pain the hot twinge inside and old age and only the light in the eyes that you feel that you see how bossy they are yet they’re the ones who spoiled me without end to protect me from all pain why should he tear the light that glows and him surrounded by women wanting me exposed no wonder that I’m here among these bottles of cooking oil times have changed the sexual revolution group orgies hard porn a married virgin in Jerusalem with white cheese on the scales and a barrel of pickled mackerel never alone never never alone tracked by radar from afar they know all see all when I write they’ll stand by my side to hold the pen to be of help they mean so well and the onus is mine I’m to blame he’s started to punish me now he’ll go mad in the end what good is all my beauty everything will go up in smoke if I don’t let him in and I won’t my friend my love my true heart try my mouth if you want but not there.
“Dinaleh, you’re not feeling well. Maybe you’d like to go upstairs and lie down.”
Couldn’t you please be sick so that we could take care of you put you to bed undress you cover you up. Be a good sick girl. I feel as though I’ve turned to stone.
“Then call Asa.”
“In a minute ... that must be him ringing now ...”
“Dina? When did you get there?”
“Just this minute, Asi. Just now. A minute ago.”
“It took so long?”
“It didn’t take so long.”
“How did it go with him?”
“Later.”
“In one word.”
“All right.”
“In what sense?”
“Later.”
“My father’s coming today.”
“I’ve been told.”
“Something seems to have gone wrong there. Kedmi stepped in and insisted on going to get her signature by himself and messed things up. I warned them not to let him go alone but with Ya’el he does what he wants. That’s not for now, though.... He’s coming at three on the one o’clock car from Haifa but I don’t finish teaching until three-thirty, so you’ll have to meet him at the taxi station and take him home with you.”
“All right.”
“You know that the house is in total chaos. There’s nothing to eat. Your parents invited us for dinner tonight. Maybe we should accept so that you won’t have to cook.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll make something and you’ll help. He’ll want to spend a quiet evening with you.”
“As you like. I was just thinking of you.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t leave me any money in my purse again, though.”
“I can’t be responsible for your purse. I don’t have any money either. You can borrow some from your parents.”
“I’m not borrowing any money from them. You know they never take it back. Why did you take all the money from my purse?”
“I didn’t take a cent from you. I’m broke too. But take five thousand pounds from your parents. That much they’ll agree to take back.”
“I won’t. Stop giving me advice. I’ll go to the bank and take money out myself. Who do I have to see there?”
“Anyone. It makes no difference.”
“Where exactly is our branch?”
“On the corner of Arlosoroff Street, where it always has been.”
“Fine. Now I remember.”
“Take out two thousand pounds.”
“I’ll take out as much as I feel like.”
“All right, all right. Just don’t be late. Be there by three. Will you recognize him?”
“Yes. Don’t worry.”
“I’ll come straight home from the university.”
“Maybe you’d like to meet us in some café downtown.”
“No. That’s too complicated.”
“But why?”
“What on earth do you want to meet in a café for? He’ll be tired. I’ll be home by four-thirty. Go straight there, all right?”
“All right. Say something.”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“Am I still being punished?”
A long pause.
“It’s not a punishment. It’s despair.”
He hangs up.
Father and mother have already gotten the message into a shopping net go some rolls cans of spreads
and sliced yellow cheese teary in its plastic wrapper down from a shelf come spongy gray mushrooms the refrigerator is flung open they take they cut they wrap in a singsong Hungarian duet silently they consult each other just a few things to put on the table swish into the bag with them why should you go to the supermarket where everything is so expensive do you really enjoy being cheated anyway it’s Tuesday everything doses early the banks too already the cash register has sprung open with a rustle of bills here’s some money you can return it when you want it’s yours in any case so you’ll inherit that much less why should you care if we give you an advance money is worthless nowadays anyhow how much do you have here why it’s nothing if it’s heavy papa win help carry it to the bus stop why don’t you take it what’s the matter? Take your father and mother too squirming in the net missing you before you’re even gone counting the hours until they see you again tomorrow don’t hurt our feelings how can you refuse we’ve already sliced it we’ve already packed it everything will spoil.
But for once I do refuse. Stubbornly adamantly. No money either. I have my own. I’m not taking a thing. Out of the question. I don’t want advances you won’t take them back anyway. All I want if you don’t mind is that hunk of white cheese.
“What do you want that for? It’s dry as a stone. It’s not fresh.”
“I’ll grate it and make a soufflé.”
“You’ll never get a soufflé out of that. Dinaleh, don’t be a child.”
“I saw some recipe in a cookbook. Are you saving it for someone? How much does it cost?”
Father is in a rage you’re doing it to insult me he wraps it up angrily and flings it at me. The store is full of irritable customers the shopping net with the food lies on the counter father is red in the face mother is beside herself I’ve never said no to them like this before I kiss her and reach out my hand to him I slip away down the alley behind the Edison Theater walking by a high blank wall on whose other side is the movie screen recessed in its far end is a rundown kiosk with a leaky soda fountain and a few cartons of yellow chewing gum and dry wafers next to some thin writing pads and notebooks. Fat lame and inert the kiosk owner sits on his stool his back to the wall the sounds of the movie behind him a roar of cars of explosions all that American bang-bang he sits absorbed in the noise. I reach for a writing pad and choose an orange one with faded lines a product of the Jerusalem Paper Company.
“Are these the only writing pads you have?”
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t see me. In a trance he listens to the sounds from behind the heavy concrete wall.
“All right, then. I’ll take this one.”
He takes the pad from me to check its price. I hand him some change he counts it suspiciously I grab the pad back all at once my fingers are itching to write here on the border of downtown to one side of me the stone houses of Ge’ula a spiritual watershed down one slope of which flows a thickening stream of black coats before them a last display window with photos of leather-booted women a neighborhood of uglies who no longer turn to stare at me. I riffle through the small blank pages.
“Do you have a pen or a pencil?”
He produces a dusty pen I pay him he hands me back some moist change. I can feel an attack coming on. On one side I write Poetry I turn it over and write Prose on the other I lay the pad on the wet marble counter and write quickly.
Rockdrowsing snake. Rustling bleeding. Venomous skull soft bald head.
The kiosk owner looks up at me.
“Not here, lady. This isn’t a desk.”
But I pay no attention I flip it over quickly to the prose side. Father in knots large gloomy wall beyond the hum of projector muffled booms. Zombie-like kiosk owner selling soda in shade of banyan tree. She buys a small pad from him.
“Hey, lady, not here!”
A bus pulls up across the street the driver looks at me the doors hiss open and shut I signal him he brakes sharply I grab the pad and my bag and the cheese and dart to the opposite sidewalk the door opens again I’m safely inside. Thank you. He grins. He deserves to have me sit near him so I do smiling back sweetly as I pay him the fare but before he can get a word in I’ve whipped out my pad and plunged into it. The speedy recognition of beauty. And on the poetry side I write I saw her as she danced her body deep in soft melody.
It’s something else today.
The keys are already turning in the glass door of the bank but I manage to worm my way in. No one knows me though we have a joint account because Asi takes care of all our bank business but a nervous young teller takes me under his wing and manages to give me five thousand pounds even though I don’t have a checkbook he fills out the forms for me and carefully has me sign he runs to bring me my money in new bills and a new checkbook too I can feel him falling for me head over heels he’s the clean skinny intellectual type crushed by an ambitious mother he scents the tender virgin in me like a moth attracted to the light.
His thin wings beat against the counter of the emptying bank while the rest of the staff files away its papers and regards us with a smile. All of a sudden I must know exactly how much we have in our account. It turns out that we have several accounts he writes each down on a piece of paper and goes to check the computerized listings explaining everything precisely. Here you have twenty thousand pounds and here you have some German marks and here you even have a few stocks. I never knew or else I wasn’t listening when Asi told me. The amazing thing is that I’ve co-signed every one of them. Some little female clerk is impatiently jingling the keys but my moth with glasses has decided that now is the perfect time to sell me some new savings plan for the thrifty woman. I let him tell me about it acting docile even a little dumb nodding dependently but forced in the end to confess that my financial authority does not extend beyond five thousand pounds. I promise to send him my husband for a pep talk and slip the money into my purse letting my glance linger over him. He opens the glass door wide careful not to touch me.
I buy a cake and some flowers and board another bus. It’s already one o’clock I’d better hurry. I sit in the back I take out my pad and write noon light in an empty bank and on the flip side silver moth.
At home I take off my dress and change into pants I make the beds wash the dishes dust and air out the house. The refrigerator is practically empty. The white cheese has been left behind on the bus or in the bank. How stupid of me to say no to my parents they were so hurt perhaps I should call them. I run down to the corner grocery but it’s already closed. How could I have forgotten that it’s Tuesday? But the weather’s clearing up a bright blue sky is being unfurled the day that started glumly with such a cold wind is filling with warm clear light now.
I return to the apartment throw out old newspapers put Asi’s papers into drawers arrange the books change my pants put on makeup the time flies by. At two-thirty I’m downstairs again a bus roars by me without stopping. I step to the curb and stick out my hand to thumb a ride. A car screeches to a stop. I hate to hitch just because it’s so easy. The driver in dark glasses looks like a pimp. Downtown? At your service. I press against the door gently laying my hand with the wedding ring on the dashboard. A deterrent or an invitation? These days one never knows. He tries striking up a conversation I answer politely but more and more drily the closer we get to downtown. We stop for a light. May I? I open the door and slip out.
It’s five minutes to three. Suddenly I feel a burst of emotion. Asi’s father. Kaminka himself. This man whom I’ve known only from stories from arguments from short letters bearing the usual political dirges with the requests for books and journals at the end. Asi’s father a processed element within Asi tumbling in our sheets with us thrashing about in the throes of our marriage. In a few more minutes I’ll see him alive and in person at the bottom of Ben-Yehuda Street a subject for inquiry and interrogation. The number of the one o’clock cab from Haifa is five-thirty-two sit down right here miss I’ll find your party the minute it arrives what did you say his name was? I sit among parcels in the ope
n office facing the busy street the sun at the top of it flooding the rooftops like a sea. People press around me the festive commotion of the approaching holiday I take out my darling pad the attack won’t let up today it’s been one continual rush of excitement. In prose throes of marriage. In poetry I cross out silver moth.
A taxi pulls up across the street. That’s it miss. The door opens I recognize him at once because it’s Tsvi. Amazing. Even uncanny. The most obvious thing about him they never mentioned to me that he’s the spitting image of Tsvi. Tall erect even powerfully built he stands by the car in rumpled clothes looking about glancing up at the sky his gray hair uncombed a little mustache what does he need it for. Something menacing about him. He looks tired confused but I’m frozen where I am. I watch him try catching the attention of the fat driver who’s taking parcels off the baggage rack shouting and joking with the office personnel across the street. Kaminka looks at me but doesn’t see me. At last the trunk is opened he takes out a coat hat and a small leather valise gathering them up while saying something to the driver he turns to look at the sun hanging at the top of the street. I must go to him but the pen won’t leave my hand I turn the page and write sun in the creases of a hat. He starts toward the office across Ben-Yehuda Street but abruptly veers and begins walking down it instead. Passing cars screen him from me I stuff the pad into my bag and jump to my feet the flow of cars keeps me from crossing the street he’s gone but at once I see him again about to turn into some side street by a traffic light he stops to ask something and light a cigarette I jaywalk quickly over to him and reach out to him in the middle of the street.
I put my arm around him and embrace him. Dina. He leans over me radiantly the lights keep changing next to us. At last. Asi is teaching at the university he’ll go straight home from there. I drag him back to the sidewalk slow-moving cars barely missing our feet He throws his cigarette into the street he’s confused he can’t get over me he leans heavily on my shoulder pedestrians jostle us stopping to watch us meet. I reach the sidewalk first I stand on tiptoe and kiss his face warmly generously. He’s moved he drops his valise at his feet and hugs me with tears in his eyes. It’s about time I laugh it’s about time he repeats mesmerized his eyes shut as he steps up onto the sidewalk.
A Late Divorce Page 10