8 Great Hebrew Short Novels

by Неизвестный

  Nearby, Latzi and Suzi were romping on the beach with the interpreter and the “Arab.” The interpreter was somewhat tanned by now, though the difference between him and his friends was still immediately obvious. The remnant of his arm was wrapped in a towel as usual. Gina could overhear fragments of their conversation—about Italy and about Nice. She felt slightly intimidated by the man beside her, who belonged to another species, another social stratum, whose character was not clear enough to her. It was impossible to know what he was capable of. Nevertheless, she was unconsciously aroused by his unbridled passion. Gina was not without coquettishness. In a hidden corner of her soul, it was somehow pleasurable to be the cause of a man’s insomnia, a man who two weeks ago was not aware of her existence.

  Gina glanced at Cici. He sat dark and motionless. His collar was thrown open over his shoulders, revealing the broad convexity of his bare chest. This strong man, resembling a cast bronze statue in his stance, seemed so pitiful seated next to her in his misery.

  The water quietly washed the shore. Nearby crawled a boat filled with naked bodies, noise, and laughter. Stephano’s brood, accompanied by Marcelle and her Parisienne friend, were in it. Stray arms and legs, outstretched over the gunwales, splashed the water. The sounds of their voices were interspersed with a heavy, intense silence. A tall Englishman glided sidestroke along the shore, followed faithfully by his slender Great Dane. Twice a day, in the morning and early evening, the Englishman would swim the same distance with his dog, behind Stephano’s house and along the length of the entire village—always in the same straight line, as if swimming in an invisible lane. For a while Gina followed them with her eyes.

  The ice cream peddler appeared on the street with his pushcart, announcing his wares in a molten voice. Gina rescued Cici from his ruminations by giving him some change to buy ice cream. When he returned, he sat beside her again, folding his legs beneath him. He studied her avidly as she licked her cappuccino-colored ice cream.

  —Why didn’t you buy one for yourself ? Didn’t I ask you?

  Cici dismissed the question with a wave of his hand.—You’ve a hard heart, madam.

  —You think so?

  After a minute, as he dug in his pack of cigarettes:—Is it because I’m a worker…

  —You’re talking nonsense! I love my husband.

  —I’m no more a fool than anyone. I haven’t read books, but I’ve thought about what’s on my mind.—He tapped his finger to his forehead.

  —I don’t doubt it. Give me a cigarette.

  Cici continued:—I may go to Paris, I’ll find a living there too. I could sell fish. I have connections.

  Gina blew smoke rings, neatly formed in the sun. For a while she studied the nails on her outstretched toes, then turned her head back toward the nearby group that by now included Marcelle. Marcelle waved to her, smiling warmly. In front of Stephano’s store a truck was being unloaded of a barrel and several crates with black inscriptions. Stephano’s awesome roar was heard. Madam Stephano appeared at the door in her bare white feet and unkempt hair.

  —You’re quiet, madam. You have nothing to say to me.

  —Nothing.

  —Tonight I’ll get a boat—

  —Not tonight. When my husband gets better.

  —How you torture me.

  He rose suddenly, as if he had reached an important decision, and walked to the water.

  1

  —I’m so glad you came.

  Barth lay in bed, wearing gray silk pajamas, the sheet pulled up to his chin. The room was washed with a warm semidarkness.

  —One should visit the sick, said Marcelle.

  —I’m not seriously ill, laughed Barth.—If you hadn’t come today—I’ll surely get up tomorrow.

  —You’ve been here five days. What did you have then?

  —A fever. Slight congestion. Now it’s all over.

  —It must mean that swimming at night is dangerous. It’s a wonder I also didn’t fall ill, since I’m very sensitive.

  —You see, sometimes it’s those who aren’t sensitive who’re struck. Don’t you want to move your chair a little closer, so I can see your face?

  —And where is Gina?

  —She’s go to Nice on some errand.

  Marcelle leaned back in her chair. A necklace of blue glass clung to her. The richness of her tan was enhanced by her white cotton dress. Her thighs, dusted with a light down, were shapely and muscular, like a dancer’s.

  Barth gazed at her quietly for a moment. Then he ran his fingers through his thick blond hair to the back of his neck.—Your hat, don’t you want to take it off ?

  Marcelle did as he asked. She placed her broad white panama on a chair. With a graceful shake of her head, she fluffed her curly black hair, cut like a boy’s. For some reason she smiled an absent smile to herself.

  —It’s so warm in here, warmer than outside.

  Barth sat up and took Marcelle’s hand, long and slender, and touched it to his lips. He held it close, stroking it tenderly many times.

  The house was imbued with a deep stillness. The buzz of a hidden fly, just awakened, enriched the yearning silence and became part of it. Soon it was torn by the cry of a child that burst outside. The voice seemed like Didi’s, and Barth imagined his plump face, contorted by tears and ugly, as he had seen it many times.

  Her head tilted slightly, Marcelle was sitting slumped, close to the bed, her magnificent eyes gazing straight ahead. She was listening to an enchanted world which once was, and wasn’t at all, one hand absently stroking the sculpted arm of the chair, the other surrendered to Barth. After a moment, she pulled her hands back and crossed her legs.

  —So tomorrow you’ll be getting up already?

  —Tomorrow I’ll be getting up....After a moment, he grumbled, as if to himself:—It was clear to me all along that you would come. I’ve been waiting all along. Whenever footsteps scratched in the garden, my whole self sprang up toward you. And I—he stopped mid-sentence and fixed his eyes on her.

  Marcelle remained seated, leaning back, her head turned slightly from him, a warm smile cast upon it. Her eyes were half-closed, hidden through long lashes. Between her lips, slightly parted, smooth and even teeth shone white, seeming whiter still against the bronze of her skin and the hint of down at the corners of her mouth that lent an indescribable beauty to her features.

  There she was, sitting in front of you, Marcelle. The nymph as distant from your life as the limits of the earth, yet within the reach of a hand. And at that moment it became clear that a man is able to extract in a single instant the essence of all the joy allotted him for a lifetime and to feed on it for the rest of his days, from that moment alone. All the fatigue remaining in Barth from the fever melted from him.

  Outside, the rusty voice of the ice cream peddler could be heard as if from another world. He called out in single announcements. A molten silence stretched between the announcements. Barth turned his body toward Marcelle, until his head almost touched hers. He peered deeply into her delicate eyes for a few minutes, his heart exploding with each pulse. All of a sudden, he wrapped his arms around her neck and pulled her toward him. Darkness settled upon the world, past, present, future. Their lips mingled with one another’s.

  Then she freed herself from his arms. On either side of her nose a slight pallor rose. With disobedient hands Barth peeled off her dress, and the slip beneath it. She let loose a muffled laugh, slightly hoarse, and jumped onto Barth’s bed, sinking her teeth into his neck, his shoulders and chest, like a wildly stampeding animal.

  Gina planned to return on the six o’clock train. She had stayed on for two hours to stroll at her leisure and look at the lovely things in the shop windows. She stood erect, her lightly tanned face revealing an inner fire despite her tranquil expression. Her silk dress was the color of wild strawberries, and there were large rings in her ears. She exuded the fragrance of exotic countries, from lands across the ocean where people run naked, their impulses wild and noble, rooted
in prehistoric times and God. Men stopped in their paths, wondering about the proud arrogance of her stance, or the splendor of her movements. Some turned and followed her and tried with jumbled half-sentences to coax her into a café or casino. The heat bore the choking scents of the city. The horses’ heads were dressed in tattered straw hats, dusty with age. Their ears poked through two special holes and twitched incessantly against the biting flies.

  As she turned onto the main boulevard, Cici appeared before her, dressed in his best Sunday dark suit.

  —Ah?—Gina was taken aback.

  —I don’t mean to trouble you, madam. I’ll go away, if that’s what you want.—Squat, square, and muscular as a lumberjack, he stood before her. His bare head rested on shoulders without the grace of a neck.

  It slipped from Gina’s mouth, in spite of herself:—You can walk with me for a while.—And within a minute she corrected herself:—A half hour at most, then you must leave me.

  Cici’s face lit up. He made a motion to kiss her hand, but she pulled back, a gesture of disgust unnoticed by him.

  Amid the bustle of the boulevard he strode beside her, so small and pathetic in comparison to her. For a while he was silent. Yet a great exhilaration pounded within him, his pulse exulting for the magnificent woman beside him. He cast his gaze directly ahead, without seeing anything.—Lately I’ve been working from the inside scaffolding. I also had work to do outside, in the shade. All the same, I worked all day long in the sun, because from there I could see you walking to Stephano’s store and to the beach.

  Gina pretended not to hear. The heat was wrapped around her like a hot bandage. The wide boulevard seemed too narrow for her. And the squat Italian who clung to her, with his face red as brick, couldn’t ease the heat; on the contrary.—I thought you were going to visit my husband.

  —I couldn’t stay back there. I just wanted to hear you say that you didn’t hold it against me.

  —No, why should I?

  —I think I didn’t behave politely this morning.

  Gina stopped from time to time at the shop windows. She entered a cosmetic store to buy something. Cici waited outside for her. They continued along the boulevard that led to the beach, the casino, the big hotels, and the mansions that stood facing the sun and the sea. The shore here was very colorful with the beach umbrellas, the tents, and the bathing suits of the many bathers. Along the sparkling asphalt of the beach road, cars flew back and forth, honking noisily. The casino’s veranda was filled to capacity, and the band was tuning up for the afternoon’s dance.

  No, Gina did not accept Cici’s invitation to the casino. She reminded him that his time was up and that he had to leave her. Cici obeyed, and walked in the opposite direction. Yet a few minutes later, she saw him, not far away, leaning against the pier facing her. Furious, she stopped a taxi and jumped in. She let herself out in the center of the city, where she sat down at a sidewalk café, and breathed deeply, as if redeemed.

  When she finished her iced coffee, she glossed her lips and lit a cigarette. What an annoyance! Let him find me now! But she was suddenly struck by a wave of pity for this man, and had he appeared now and sat beside her, she certainly would not have protested.

  She leaned back, enjoying her respite from the bustle of the street. As she studied the passersby, examining the faces and dresses of the women, it got hotter and hotter. The life-pulse was pounding forcefully, as strong within her as without. Aware of her physical sensations, she was aroused with love for her mysterious and agitated body, as if, somehow, it were a creation apart from her.

  A man seated at the next table, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Gina all this time, slid his chair over. As if continuing a conversation interrupted just a minute ago, he said:—This city must be seen in the spring. Then it is lovely.

  He was a man of about thirty, his face open, and his gaze direct, inspiring trust.

  Gina smiled.—Who would you have said that to if I had not entered this place?

  —I wouldn’t have said it.

  —But now you feel like praising the city.

  —Hmmm…not exactly.—He called the waiter to bring him a pack of cigarettes.—Actually, I’d like to offer you my sincerest thanks.

  Gina raised her eyes to him, surprised.

  —Because you came here and you are so beautiful.

  —I have to admit, I hadn’t thought of coming here to give you pleasure,—smiled Gina.

  —It’s all the same.—He opened the pack of cigarettes and pushed a finger inside. He wiped his broad, handsome forehead.—You see, madam, sometimes a person wakes up in the morning, and everything is as it should be. The summer presents itself to him. The sun has painted a bit of a window at the top of the blue wall. The bustle of the street has the same smell and color as the day before. Apparently, nothing has changed, not even a bit, isn’t it so? And yet he immediately feels that this is not it. Something is missing today. Suddenly he can’t understand the meaning of the simplest things, neither their relationship to himself nor their relationship to each other—as if it became clear that the ultimate purpose that gives value to every thing and deed is not there at all… . Then he continues, out of habit, with his daily trivial actions—everything is fine. Except that from that point on there is no meaning to it all.

  He lit the cigarette, which had gone out.

  —And suddenly, quite by chance, there appears a strange woman, and all at once he is reconnected to the world.

  After a short silence, If I’m not mistaken, madam is from Germany.

  —Let’s say from Vienna.

  —Well then, we can rid ourselves of the constraints of a foreign language.

  But Gina was preparing to leave, lest she miss her train.

  —Hey, why? You’d do me an honor by letting me drive you. In ten minutes you’ll be home.—He introduced himself as Irwin Kraft from Munich, a prosecuting attorney who had retired because to make a profession of revealing other people’s crimes was against his nature.

  At that moment, Cici passed hastily in front of the café, on his way to the nearby station. Gina smiled gleefully to herself as she imagined his disappointment at not finding her there.

  —And so you float around at leisure in your car?

  —Something like that.

  —Not a bad life.

  —Not always.

  He suggested a drive through the city before taking Gina to her destination. Gina sat beside him, next to the wheel in the large gray sedan. They meandered through the network of streets, some of which were steeply inclined up the hills on which the city rested. They passed through the quarter of villas hidden in tranquil gardens and continued along the cobalt bay, which looked like a picture postcard. A refreshing wind blew toward them. And when he let her off by Bremen’s house, it was agreed between them that he would return one day soon to take them for a trip in the surroundings.

  1

  The translator was trilling Italian folk songs in a loud, shrill voice, while the “Arab” sat beside him, smoking. In spite of the door to the balcony being open, the room was filled with an asphyxiating heat.

  The table, usually extended, had been pushed by the sofa in order to make room for guests. Many bottles had already been emptied, and limbs were already leaden. Latzi wanted to dance, just to dance, and the Japanese fellow, who was giving the party, took care of that as well. The gramophone and a stack of records stood ready on a stool in the corner.

  Suzi chatted with Gina, and then seated herself beside Barth.

  —You’re not drinking, Mr. Barth. Apparently you prefer to be the only sober one among drunkards, to see them in their foolishness.

  —Not so. I’ve drunk more than anyone. What can I do if drink has no effect on me! Anyway, the night is young.

  The Japanese fellow’s companion sat close to them on the sofa. She fanned her hot and leathery face with a colorful paper fan. She refilled Barth’s glass and handed it to him.

  —Then you can drink to the health of all the
beautiful women here!

  Barth did as she asked, saying:—Cheers to the mistress of the house especially, and all beautiful women in general!

  The flesh along this small woman’s neck was wilted, scattered with many fine pendulous wrinkles, hanging limp, like an empty sack. The burden of all her years was borne by this neck. Yet Suzi was brimming with rustic health and joyous vitality, though somehow dull.

  —Will you be coming to Vienna soon? she asked Barth.

  —Perhaps in the winter. For Christmas.

  —Then you must visit us! Call first, or just pop in to the Café Museum. We’re there every evening.

  —Great. I’ll remember that.

  Latzi had switched on the gramophone and was dancing with Marcelle. Cici invited Gina and, in the middle of the dance, blurted in her ear: That strange man interests you more than I do.

  —Which strange man?

  —The one who brought you from Nice in his car three days ago—Cici was already a little drunk, his tongue was looser.

  —Listen, mister!—exclaimed Gina,—who gave you permission to spy on me?

  —I wasn’t spying. I just happened to see.

  —I forbid you to follow me! Do you hear?

  —I won’t tell anyone. Don’t worry. I also saw you sitting with him in the Café Monaco.

  —Don’t speak to me anymore!—Her voice quivered with rage.

  At that moment the waltz finished, and she went to sit beside Marcelle. Cici gulped down a glass of wine. His jaws were loosening even more. Now that the gramophone was silent, the translator started singing again. And Cici was humming along, his untrained voice deep and turbid. The waves of the warm melody spilled over the balcony into the darkness of the night, which was furrowed with light breezes, like a man’s breath, and into the breadth of the sleepy sea. A hidden tremor stirred in the hearts of the listeners, and a burning and strange day shimmered before them, spread over fields of yellow grain on the plains of a nostalgic land. Then Latzi, accompanied by his wife, sang a Viennese folk song: