He went to the improvised ark, explained briefly to those gathered the nature of the morning’s prayer, and began to sing the old hymn in a mild, clear voice:
Great King of All Whose reign began
E’er was there any living thing,
And Who, when All’s done by His will,
Forever still will be called King;
When All is gone and is no more,
Still will He rule eternally;
Imperially glorious,
He was, He is, and He will be;
And He is One, beside Him none...
A young couple arrived and stood looking on in the entrance. I felt rooted to my chair. Exhausted. Time was trickling away. But what time was it? The room began filling up. The box of prayer shawls was empty. The sun glared through the window. Hymned clarity. Stubborn flicker of thought. Fear-constricted. Gaddi turned uncomfortably to the rear. A small boy had entered the room, recognized him and pointed him out in a whisper to his father, who was wearing an officer’s uniform. He tugged at my sleeve, ill at ease.
“When are we going?”
“Soon.”
I shut my eyes, in thrall to the liturgy, around me the decorous silence of these non-observant Jews unaccustomed to the constant drone that accompanies prayer in an Orthodox synagogue.
“Mom and dad will worry,” Gaddi persisted, rising from his chair.
“All right, let’s go. Excuse me,” I said to a young man sitting next to me, “do you happen to know the time?” He showed me his watch, afraid to utter a word.
I took off my prayer shawl and skullcap and handed them without glancing up to a new congregant who had just arrived. The small boy rose too and made his way toward us, but Gaddi hurried up the stairs away from him and we stepped out into the spring day. The street was filled now with both adults and children. Cars streamed down the hill. I walked still staring down at the ground. What guilt they managed to infuse in you. Not that you ever believed but for a long while you didn’t disbelieve either. Leave God out of this Naomi said right away.
We continued back up the street. Gaddi strayed into a field and returned with a bent metal pipe. He stopped by a tree to pick leaves for his last silkworm that hadn’t yet spun a cocoon. Suddenly I felt that we were being followed by a car driving slowly behind us. I stopped. So did it. The light reflected from its windshield was too blinding for me to make out the driver. We turned into Ya’el’s narrow street and climbed the stairs to the apartment. The living room was still dark. Ya’el and Kedmi were in the kitchen, sitting at a table piled high with breakfast, with matzos and pitas side by side, both eating ravenously. Kedmi still wore his pajamas and was in high spirits.
“Last night you made off with our daughter and this morning it’s our son, eh, grandpa?”
“Gaddi keeps having these pains in his chest. You have to take him to the doctor tomorrow.”
“It’s nothing,” said Ya’el. “He’s just imagining it.”
“Still ...”
“All right, we’ll take him,” said Kedmi.
“Is that a promise?”
He looked at me, amused.
“It’s a promise. Where have you been?”
We told him about the new synagogue in the kindergarten.
“Didn’t I tell you they were taking over this country?” he shot back. “Before long we won’t even be allowed to drive a car on Saturday. We’ll have to get around on roller skates.’’
I asked him what happened last night at the police station. He had actually filed a complaint against the sergeant, who would, he claimed, retain that rank for the rest of his life. I asked him again about his murderer. Did he really think that he was guilty?
“Do I think that he’s guilty? What difference would it make if I did? My job is to keep the judge from thinking it.”
Ya’el brought me my breakfast.
“What time is it?”
“Did Rakefet break your watch after all?”
“No. I just left it in my room.”
“It’s half past eight. Have you begun counting the hours?”
“No. Why?”
The phone rang. Ya’el answered it and returned. It was Asi calling from the bus station in Tel Aviv. They were on their way. I returned to my room on a wave of emotion, knelt by my little valise, took out my passport and ticket, and checked the time of departure again. I reread the power of attorney that I had prepared for Asa and glanced again at the signed certificate of divorce. A shadow flashed across the ceiling. Mine or some object’s in the room? I folded my pajamas and packed them away. The sky outside was bright blue. Below on the corner I caught sight again of the white car that had followed us. Its driver loitered beside it, a slender man in a white suit.
I hurried to Tsvi, who was still sleeping in the dim living room, his white arm trailing on the floor. He open his eyes with a luxuriating sigh.
“Father? What time is it?”
“Already past nine.”
He sighed again deeply.
“Tsvi, get up. I think that man is waiting for you downstairs.”
“Who?”
“That man ... of yours. You know who I mean ... Calderon....”
“Oh my God. He’s here already? He’s really too much.”
“Are you getting up?”
“In a minute. What’s the rush? It’s only nine, and today’s a holiday.”
“Perhaps I should invite him up then.”
“Don’t. Let him wait. He’s used to it.”
He snuggled back under the blanket and shut his eyes again.
“I still think you should get up.”
“All right. In a minute. There’s plenty of time. Do you have the travel jitters?”
“Not especially.”
“Are you glad to be going back?”
“It’s not easy to leave you all.”
“Oh...” He turned over on his other side.
Kedmi sat down to read a newspaper. Ya’el cleaned the house. I looked out the window at the slender man, who was still in the same place, smoking a cigarette. I debated for a moment and made up my mind to go to him. He was standing and gazing up at the windows of the apartment when I approached him. Suddenly he noticed me. He made a movement as though to flee, recalled it immediately, smiled and held out his hand.
“Hello, Mr. Kaminka. I didn’t realize you had recognized me. How was your seder?”
“Pleasant enough. And yours?”
“The main thing is that it’s over. It dragged on and on. That’s because of my wife’s eldest brother ... every year he makes it longer. But we got through it in the end...’’
“Are you waiting for Tsvi? He’s still asleep.”
“Of course, of course, I knew he’d be. Let him sleep. I have something to tell him. Something new that may interest him. But never mind. Let him sleep.”
“Something new?”
“Oh, it’s just a business matter. Nothing very dramatic ... it can wait ... it’s not really that important. But how are you, Mr. Kaminka? I heard that the divorce went smoothly. I drove Tsvi up there yesterday and had the impression that she took it well.”
“Would you like to come upstairs with me?”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that! Not at an hour like this. I’ll wait here in the car. I have a radio and whatever I need. I simply misread my watch, and so I came early ... but never mind ... and after all, this is your last day here...”
“No, Mr. Calderon, I insist. We’ll wake Tsvi up.”
“Absolutely not! It’s just that ... just that I...”
He began to shake all over.
“It’s just that I ... I actually had meant to go to synagogue ... I never travel on holidays ... I have my prayer shawl and prayer book with me in the car ... that is, I was on my way to synagogue when suddenly the thought crossed my mind ... that it’s hopeless ... that he wants to leave me ... tell me it’s not so! You were a source of so much strength to me that night, that’s what’s kept me going until now ...�
��
I touched his light, warm arm and he sheltered against me, his lined face blotchy as though rouged, his eyes two bits of sunken coals.
“Come up anyway.”
His face lit up.
“He didn’t say anything of the sort about me ... Tsvi ... he didn’t say...?”
“No. Not as far as I know. But come up and have something to drink. We’ll wake him. He’s slept enough.”
“It’s no good for him, this sleeping late of his. It keeps him from getting ahead. I’ve told him that he can’t wake up an hour before the market opens and think that there’s still time to size it up. But today’s a holiday, why shouldn’t he sleep? Never mind ... he’ll only be annoyed if we wake him ... and perhaps I can still find some place around here to pray in ...”
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 fre
sh 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?
A Late Divorce Page 38