8 Great Hebrew Short Novels

by Неизвестный

  Ja, ja, der Wein is’ gu—et,

  I’ brauch’ kei’ neuen Hu—et.

  I’ setz’ mei’ alten auf,

  Bevor i’ a Wasser sauf’.

  Gina leaned against the balcony railing. She looked at the deserted midnight street and beyond, toward the sea that heaved silently, interwoven with night into one great heaviness. A slight sadness rose within her, but not without a touch of pleasantness. For some reason, she recalled a night, a few years ago, when she had first come to know Barth. After a long walk in the Prater parks, she had stood in her room before an open window, also facing the summer night, and the gentleness of her feelings toward Barth, as if swelling from that night into her soul, filled it to overflowing and compelled her to cry and sing. Through dense silence, she seemed to sense the strike of a match, an unreal scratch in the next room, where her father might have lit a cigarette while studying his textbooks. Her father, Professor Karl Funken, his eyes filled with supreme wisdom and understanding which could probe the depths of her soul so painlessly, those eyes that she loved. He was a rare person, whose presence alone could soothe the heart with comfort and strength. Actually, she had been born under a good sign, Gina thought. Her life had flowed with pleasure, full and clear, without the superfluous turbulence that may disrupt internal balance. Her love for Barth, deep, consistent, never knowing fatigue or boredom, contributed a lot to it.

  Latzi drew closer, quietly, and uprooted her from her thoughts.

  —Excuse me, madam, if I’m interrupting, for some time I have wanted

  —I mean your face is very interesting. One could make an excellent portrait. I would love very much to paint your portrait.

  This man bothered her. A real barber, she would think of him as she dismissed him with a yes and no answer and hurried inside. She sat in an empty chair beside Barth, who was talking to Marcelle and didn’t notice her coming. A line that slipped out of his mouth that very minute made her somehow shiver.—The way something appears is sometimes different from the way it is, it could even be its opposite—…Gina wondered about the nagging feeling that this line, which apparently did not refer to her, inspired in her. Moreover, there arose in her an inexplicable fear of the continuation of their conversation, as if something that would truly sadden her might be said along the way. She felt compelled to end their conversation immediately. She moved her chair nearer to Barth and put her hand on his arm. He turned to her and smiled softly.

  —What is it, Gin?—he whispered enticingly, and added, Are you bored?

  Gina looked up and gazed at him, her dark eyes now tinged with the light sadness that was so familiar to him. He gently stroked the skin of her cool arm, smooth like the skin of a peach, until her face lightened into a scant smile.—People aren’t happy here,—she said,—or maybe it just seems that way to me.

  Facing them with his back to the wall, Cici looked at her, his heavy, insistent gaze not leaving her for a moment. It made her uncomfortable. —Maybe it would be best if we went to sleep.

  —Soon, replied Barth without moving.

  The gramophone began to play again. Gina rose, pulling Marcelle with her to dance. In a corner of the room, the Japanese fellow, tipsy by now, kept kissing Jacqueline, the little Parisienne, Marcelle’s friend, who from time to time uttered a sharp, grating laugh. Not far away sat the Englishwoman, a foolish smile jelling on her flushed face. Through the mists of fox trot and alcohol, she gestured to them with her fan. The translator pulled her from her stupor and began to dance with her.

  They went out onto the drowsy road. Gina, Barth, and Marcelle. They walked quietly in the middle of the dewy street, and the tepid night slowly lifted the alcoholic haze from them. The mixture of drunken voices and the sounds of the gramophone receded into the background, becoming more and more attenuated, and finally lost its reality. A remnant of the evening’s vapid feeling remained inside Gina. She felt empty and bored. A warm fatigue was spreading through her limbs. She sat on one of the rocks that were scattered along the length of the beach.

  —Eating and drinking, that’s an intimate matter. There is something immodest in it with strange people to whom you have no tie…

  —Sometimes one forms a connection by sharing a meal, Barth remarked.

  Sitting with their backs to the sea, they looked at the row of darkened houses and were filled with the night’s loneliness. Far away, a few short barks punctured the night as if with nails. Then nothing else. Just behind them, the ocean heaved ceaselessly with muffled breath.

  After a moment, they rose and continued their walk to the edge of the village, to the point where the shore outlines a semicircle, as if embracing the water. They then retraced their steps, and turned into the side street where Marcelle lived. When Gina and Barth returned to the main road, Cici caught up with them. He was running toward them, extremely upset, almost crying. It was a bizarre sight. He began to talk immediately, in fragments, and in a choked voice quite unlike him.

  —You understand, and madam will excuse me…such a disgrace! Don’t think I’m drunk…I’m not drunk, not a bit, you hear!…I’m not trying to defend myself—it’s not my nature…you know me a little! I don’t want to embellish anything…Imagine, a man drunk as Lot, as a skunk, who can’t tell a cow from a chicken! So what did he do to me, would you ask? Nothing…absolutely nothing. I asked forgiveness from him…I cried in front of him…I kissed him…I am a man of justice, you can tell! That’s my nature!…and he forgave me…in front of everyone he forgave me…and cried too…But I’m not sure if he did it for show and because he was drunk. He was the only one who was really drunk, much more than the translator or Latzi. But how can I be sure? I don’t want him to hold a grudge…because I admit my mistake soberly and I regret it, you’re my witnesses. Everyone cried with us and everyone kissed everyone else…but…

  —But what happened there?—Barth interrupted. Tell things the way they were!

  —Tell…there’s nothing to tell…It’s not even interesting…Do you find a smack interesting? This work, I don’t like it…better call it an accident, an idiotic incident, than a premeditated act. It just happened, and only then did I realize it. But drunk I am not…He was drunk, not me.

  They were passing by the Japanese man’s house, from which burst a thunderous hail of wild laughter. Cici stopped, and stretched his arm out toward the orange squares of light of the door and the two open windows:—Here, can you hear? They’re laughing!…Laughing! Unless they’re hiding their grudge under the laughter…the Japanese guy especially…him more than anyone else…

  —My God! Just tell us what happened!—Gina cried, excited.

  —This is it, madam! Nothing happened…almost nothing…It’s just that Jacqueline threw off her dress and danced naked. Suzi also stripped and danced. Then the Englishwoman joined them. Three of them naked. Because the three of them were drunk, and all danced. There is nothing so say against that. They were drinking and dancing, off and on. Afterward, Jacqueline found herself in my lap, didn’t she? Because the lights were back on…she was crying because she was drunk. I felt sorry for her. And so she sat on my lap and cried. And then the Japanese guy, naked also except for his bathing trunks, told me to get her off my lap, didn’t he? Nothing wrong with that. Didn’t he buy her with his own money? But the girl didn’t feel like it. Because she said, “Watch out for Cici! He knows how to box!” And the Japanese guy said to me, because he was drunk: “Really? You know how to fight? Let’s see!” And he grabbed me by the nose and pulled me here and there like this—Cici imitated the Japanese guy’s action with his own hand.—You understand that it was not the pain but the humiliation. No one has ever dared pull me around by my nose. Everyone laughed at me. And then I jumped and planted a punch right under his eye. One of my best!…His eye swelled totally. And immediately I felt badly and asked forgiveness. With tears and kisses. Because maybe he had no bad intention—drunk as he was. And yet I was not drunk.

  Gina suddenly burst out laughing. By now they had rea
ched their apartment and the garden gate, and Bijou pushed himself under the latch and threw himself on them with grunts of contentment. Barth shook him off with a slight rebuke.

  —You’re laughing, madam! There’s no place for laughter here. Cici, his head is still in its place. You’d better not laugh! What do you say, Mr. Barth? Did I act improperly? I’m neither a doctor nor an engineer, it’s true, but I’m not a boor! And certainly not a villain, that’s for sure! It’s not my way to hurt anyone by word or by gesture, you’ll admit that yourselves, the Japanese guy is a decent fellow, a drunk though. I regret the incident. I don’t want him to hold a grudge. That’s it. But there’s no place for laughing here.

  —And you haven’t drunk a thing all evening?—teased Gina.

  —What do you mean, haven’t drunk? I did drink. But not much. Anyway, here, we’re used to drinking. Have I ever acted like a drunkard? Here…would you like to go for a sail now? I can take Marco’s boat. No? Not because I insulted you, God forbid. If I insulted you unintentionally with anything I said, let me apologize—He put his hand on his breast.—Well, I should go back to the Japanese fellow right now.

  —Why don’t you go to sleep?—said Barth.—It’s already three in the morning.

  —No, I wouldn’t be able to sleep, not until I knew for sure that he has nothing against me.—Cici ran back to the Japanese man.

  They were still in the middle of breakfast. Kraft, self-assured, greeted them simply. Although he had already eaten at his hotel, he agreed to drink a cup of coffee with them, for the “sake of hominess.” A simple and modest good feeling prevailed in Madam Bremon’s dining room. The thin semidarkness was sweetened by a spray of sunlight streaming diagonally through the door, in which joyous flies bathed.

  Gina placed in front of him a saucer of jam, and buttered him a roll. All her being radiated a virginal freshness, yet something in her graceful movements, soft and animated, was endowed with a motherly calm. Irwin Kraft, enchanted by her at first sight in a way not diminished by habit, felt a moment’s secret sadness when he recalled another young woman whose essence had been quite different. The other would evoke feelings of confusion around her. Her movements, incoherent because of an inner disorder, always caused anxiety in objects and in people, to a point where their special identities were canceled. In his imagination there flashed the image of a grotesque illustration of this idea, an upside-down table, its legs in the air, a change making it so ridiculous that now you don’t know for what use it was intended.

  He leaned back in his chair and wiped his sweet mouth with a napkin.

  —And now, I think—a pity to waste anything of such a beautiful day.

  Gina asked him to wait a moment for Marcelle. He will excuse her for inviting her on her own to join them. She is a lovely girl, charming, and “won’t spoil the view.” She herself would run upstairs in the meantime to get ready.

  Marcelle brought with her the radiance of the morning, burnished orange and blue. She sat diagonally across from Kraft, wearing a tight, steel-colored dress and a similarly colored beret. Light conversation flowed slowly, brightened by the lightning of her clear laughter. Barth mused, with no bearing on the conversation, that this Kraft was actually endowed with something straightforward and captivating. How sharp were Gina’s perceptions, how right and to the point her judgments of people! For this, one could rely on her, without a doubt or hesitation.

  Gina returned and everyone rose got their feet. Within a few minutes, the car was rolling along the smooth road, glossy black, that ran like a spine through all the coastal villages, inlaid with the lush greenery of southern flora. Their first stop after a short drive was in a small bathing resort that had only recently become popular. It rose in the sun’s heat with its new hotels colored chocolate, lemon, and light coffee, the casino adorned with miniature palms, the huge garages, and the magnificent restaurants and their verandas shaded from the sun by huge, colorful umbrellas—an international meeting place for celebrities—sports heroes, beauty queens, film stars, polished salon writers, various adventure seekers, and simply crazy American women and their ilk. All of them wandering on the clean streets that spread out to the shore, half-naked in their bathing suits and also in their pajamas. Someone dressed in regular clothing here would certainly seem of a different species.

  Kraft parked the car by a pine grove set on top of a small hill next to the casino. They left their clothes in the car and walked through the small grove where some bathers were sprawled on benches scattered among the trees or on the dark ground, which was covered with dry and trampled needles in a patchwork of glowing sunlight. Here and there a joyous laugh would sparkle in the viscous heat and reverberate through the silence of the tall trees. Freeing themselves of clothes renewed an inborn sense of freedom. The touch of sunlight made their laughter clearer, somehow more wild and free. Although strangers to one another, they saw themselves as a single family: their nakedness canceled the distance between them, making them fundamentally equal to each other, as at the time of birth and death.

  —I’m surprised you didn’t decide to settle here,—said Gina, turning to Kraft.—In the summer it’s as if Nice were a hall decked for a party to which the guests didn’t show up.

  —I prefer it to this pandemonium. Would you like to live here?

  —My drowsy fishing village? —I wouldn’t exchange it for anything.

  On the other side of the grove, which came suddenly to a steep slope, a swirling mélange of colors shone before them, sparkling in the sun: bathing paraphernalia and hundreds of boats gliding back and forth not far from the shore—a mixture of all the tones of the spectrum set against the sea’s vivid blue, which softened as it approached the horizon, blending into the lighter pastel of the sky and fusing with the lush green groves and gardens to the right.

  —Hey, boys! Who’s ready to jump in?—Marcelle’s good spirits imparted a beautiful luster to her dark, half-laughing eyes, and animated her shapely limbs. She hopped from one foot to the other.

  —I’m with you!—cried Barth.

  —And you, Gina?

  —No,—she smiled. They are people who are settled, she and Kraft. Isn’t it so?

  They walked down the broad stairs that led from the grove to the water. Down, Marcelle and Barth went onto a narrow, damp, wooden, pier that ran from the shore to a point where the sea was deeper than a man’s height and ended in a high, square platform with a board on one of its sides inclined into the water for sliding. They swam far out to a necklace of red buoys that enclosed an area reserved for swimming. Side by side on their backs, they gazed up into the depths of the sky, spilling still and pure upon them. The noise around them, pierced by shrieks, was slightly muffled, as though filtered through a curtain. At times they encountered an icy current, as if they had entered a root cellar. The violent change in temperature sent a shudder through their flesh, a shudder of panic. Immediately, a thought forced itself on him, the frightful possibility of a heart attack, although his heart was completely healthy. The newspaper would carry a typically terse announcement; the sort that the eye glances over inadvertently while one sips the morning coffee. At times like these, Barth would decide that if he ever made it out of the water, he would never swim again. Yet the next time, as soon as he touched the water, he was compelled to outdistance himself, as if driven by a youthful recklessness whose pointlessness was not unknown to him.

  —We’re going back!—announced Barth, frightened, although he wasn’t particularly tired.

  In the midst of the stunning clamor, Gina and Kraft sat on the warm sand and waited for them, their feet outstretched to the little waves that broke on them. They walked into the water to rinse the sand from themselves as everyone returned to dress, for it was already noon.

  Soon after lunch, they found themselves rolling down the lustrous road. The sea to their left, now seen, now hidden, and whose sight alone somehow sweetened the insufferable heat. The car sliced through the sleepy yellow air, drawing forth little ton
gues of wind that licked their faces and hair. How pleasant to cut through the flesh of the day, to wrest from it even the faintest comfort.

  Sunk in the luxurious softness of the seat, Gina closed her eyes and imagined flying backward, but then forced herself to gather her senses and realign her sense of direction. But as she opened her eyes, she was seized for a moment with a slight dizziness. It became evident that despite her effort to direct her inner sense in the direction she was going, she nevertheless experienced slight confusion; and in that sudden shift to reality, it was as if something in her were jolted out of place. She repeated this game a few times. Then she fixed her gaze on Marcelle, who sat beside her. She focused on her profile, an outline of pure and open lines. A moment passed as the lines blurred and quivered before her eyes. From the imbroglio of vague sensations that stirred within her, one clear thought slowly detached itself and floated to consciousness. It was of prophetic certainty that needed no evidence, that from her, Marcelle, no great evil would come to her, not now, not ever. For this, Gina stirred with sympathy for Marcelle, perhaps because for a moment she saw Marcelle as weaker than herself and unlikely to harm her in any way. She took her hand. Marcelle turned, looking at Gina strangely, as if jolted from a dream.

  —Do you like him?—She gestured with her chin toward Kraft’s back.

  Marcelle considered the broad and straight back in the tight robe that revealed the agility and strength of an athletic man.—He’s not unpleasant.

  Without pause, Gina whispered:—If you love him, jealousy is not my nature…

  —Him?

  —Of course not.

  She started speaking about Barth, who was sitting with Kraft in the front seat, analyzing his qualities and revealing his strengths before this Marcelle, as if driven by an impulse to heighten any danger.