Don't Ask Me If I Love

by Amos Kollek

  Cursing Joy and her robe, I pushed the buzzer and stuck my hands in my pockets.

  Her roommate opened the door.

  “Oh, hello. Good evening,” she said.

  “Hello. Is Ruthi in?”

  “No.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She went to her home in Tel Aviv,” the roommate said, embarrassed. “These are the holidays, you know, and her father has not been too well.”

  I considered her for a moment, but she was fat and ugly. Her eyes shied away from me. I called myself a few nasty names and then I called God a few more of the same.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Good night.”

  I went back to my car. I turned on the radio loud and pulled away from the curb. I made Tel Aviv in thirty-five minutes and enjoyed the reckless drive.

  When I reached town, I realized I had forgotten to ask for Ruthi’s address. I stopped for a hamburger in a small restaurant and looked her up in the phone book. A quarter of an hour later, I was there. It was almost eleven when I parked the car near the small house. It was on an alley that had no street lamps or lights of any kind. I went through the gate and up the short path and looked at the name on the door. It was the right one. I went into the garden and walked around the house. It was all dark except for one window which was dimly lit. I tiptoed up to it and listened. There was quiet popular music coming softly from within, and there was no other sound to be heard.

  She must be alone, I thought, not really caring but nevertheless remembering that her boy friend was serving far south in the desert. Highly unlikely that he is here now. And girl, I thought, you’d better not be difficult, because that would really make me mad.

  The window was half-open and only the curtain was in the way. I put my hand on the sill and slipped one foot over and then the other and landed in the room. I hit a small night table with a flower vase on it, which was standing beneath the window. It went with me to the floor, making an unpleasant smashing sound. I cursed and got to my feet. Someone gasped and then the lights went on. I took a look around, blinking my eyes at the sudden flash of light. Then I caught my breath. It wasn’t Ruthi who was standing by the door. It was her father.

  We looked at each other, and neither of us moved. His face was very red and his eyes stared at me, large and white. His breath came heavily and with effort.

  Hell, I thought, all of a sudden, this guy has really gotten a scare. His face was rapidly turning deep purple and his breathing came harder than before. I licked my dry lips with my tongue and opened my mouth to speak. I couldn’t think of anything suitable to say. Suddenly his feet gave way and he started going down. I took a few quick steps and caught him before he hit the floor. He was not heavy, just limp. My heart stopped for a second and then started beating again, faster.

  I dragged him to the bed and lifted him onto it. He felt cold and clammy. He was a thin elderly man with graying hair, and he was wearing a robe over his pajamas. His eyes were closed and his mouth opened helplessly, like that of a fish out of water.

  This doesn’t look good. I though, staring at him, hypnotized. Could be a heart attack. He might be passing away any minute.

  I’ll have to get a doctor, I thought.

  I spun around when I heard the key turn in the lock of the front door. I heard it open and shut softly. I was standing in the center of the room, frozen, when Ruthi walked in.

  She was wearing her elegant black dress and looking sweet and cute. For one second my reason for coming flashed back into my mind. Her jaw dropped in surprise when she saw me, and she stopped for a moment, startled. Then her eyes darted to the bed, and her face turned as white as the wall. I moved toward her wondering if she was going to slump down too, but she pushed me aside and ran forward. I backed away and watched her in silence. She knelt by the bed and shook him gently.

  “Daddy!”

  There was no reaction from the still figure.

  “Daddy, are you all right?”

  He still didn’t move. She jumped to her feet and rushed out of the room. I heard her dialing and talking urgently into the phone. Then the receiver dropped and she came back. She sat down on the floor and looked at the unconscious face. When she turned to me, her face was almost calm.

  “What happened?”

  “I came through the window,” I said, getting my hands out of my pockets and not knowing what to do with them. “I thought it was you, with this radio here. I wanted to surprise you. I surprised him, instead.”

  She nodded, not speaking.

  “How is he?” I asked.

  “I think he is dead,” she said simply.

  “Dead.”

  “You’d better go,” she said quietly. “The doctor will be here soon. Your being here will only complicate matters.”

  “Dead,” I said again, my voice sounding loud and peculiar.

  Ruthi reached her hand over to the small radio and switched it off. It was advertising Coca-Cola. The announcer had a deep feminine voice.

  “He had already had a bad heart,” Ruthi said. “The doctor said he wouldn’t live much longer. It was just a matter of days, or weeks at the most. You don’t have to blame yourself. It would have happened anyway.”

  “I thought it was you, because of the music,” I said.

  “Yes, yes,” she said. “I understand, but you’d better go now. The doctor will be here any minute. I will call you tomorrow and tell you how things are. You mustn’t stay now.”

  “I’ll go,” I said, still not grasping it all, and thinking to myself that this girl really had strong nerves. “I will, unless you don’t want me to.”

  “You should go,” she said. “There is nothing you can do.”

  “All right, I’ll go then.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye,” she said.

  She walked me to the door, as if to make sure I wouldn’t take the window again.

  I waited till I was back in the car, and then I wiped my face. I started the motor and drove slowly away, wondering why nothing ever worked out right.

  “You’re better off with Coca-Cola,” the announcer said in her deep, sexy voice. “Ice cold.”

  As I drove by, people were getting out of the second show at the cinema and going home. I watched the girls, freezing in their short dresses and thought that, if there was anything worth feeling in life except instinct, it was unknown to me.

  Passing through one of the streets close to the shore, I spotted a girl with dyed hair, leaning on a lamppost, winking at me. I pressed on the brakes and backed up to her.

  “Come in, doll.”

  She half-leaned toward me, not moving from the lamp.

  “It’s twenty pounds.”

  So why not? I thought. Whatever you lack, it’s not money. But then, taking another look at the ugly, dumb expression on her face made me feel sick. Why are professionals so ugly?

  I drove away and headed for the main road back to Jerusalem. I kept the accelerator down to the floor the whole time. There was almost no traffic. I passed three cars on my way back. They were the only ones on the road. I had passed the third one on a sharp curve when I saw two lights coming toward me. They were very near and I spun the wheel violently to the right and missed them by inches. I went clean off the road. It was a moderate slope of sand and stones, and I kept going down, slamming on the brakes and turning the wheel to the left. The car bumped and bounced and jolted, but it did not turn over. And then, I was back on the road again. Behind me, a horn was blowing frantically and I looked in the mirror and saw the car I had passed parked in the side of the road with its headlights going on and off. I stepped on the gas and shot forward again. There didn’t seem to be any serious damage to my car. It picked up speed, and smoothly and quickly I drove on.

  I fell asleep the moment I got into bed that night.

  I was walking through a large field surrounded by mountains. It was a dark night and the air was fresh and cool and soothing. I was on a narrow sandy pat
hway and I couldn’t make out where it was but it looked familiar and I knew I had been there before, and wanted to be there again. I advanced slowly, not hurrying at all because I had all the time in the world and then I saw him lying across the path with the blood all over his shirt but the helmet was not on his head and I could see his face and it was not the face of a dead man because it was laughing and I thought yes he was just that type of guy to pretend to be dead while all that time he was actually alive and having a better time than all of us here and I wanted to join in his laugh but I couldn’t it just wouldn’t come and I realized the joke was on me and I started backing away carefully and then he pulled the trigger and I felt the pain burning in my side but I thought to myself no I won’t fall no but I just couldn’t hold on and I dropped to my knees and I was sweating coldly and I said damn his soul if he would just stop laughing but as if he could see through me his laughter became louder and louder and I realized I could no longer stand and I was sagging down and there was nothing in the world I could do to stop the fall.

  “You have a phone call.”

  I had a hard time waking up. Sleep didn’t want to let me out of her arms, but my mother’s voice repeated the message again, louder.

  “You have a phone call.”

  I opened my eyes and shook myself out of bed. I was wearing all my clothes and they were moist and wrinkled.

  “What time is it?”

  “Eleven-thirty.”

  I rubbed my eyes vigorously with my palms.

  “Don’t rub them out,” my mother said.

  “For you, anything, Mom,” I said weakly, leaving them in their sockets. I got unsteadily to my feet.

  “You look terrible,” she said. “Where have you been?”

  “Out.”

  I walked into the hall and picked up the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me,” Ruthi’s voice said on the other end of the line.

  “Yes?”

  “Well. He is dead and it was a stroke. The doctor said he had expected it. He wasn’t surprised. You know, he hadn’t been working for the last two months. He had been in and out of the hospital.

  “Well,” the cool voice continued, “I have to be going back. The house is full of people. They are expecting me.”

  “When is …”

  “Twelve o’clock, but please don’t come. There would really be no point.”

  “I’d like to.”

  “Please.”

  “All right.” I said, resting my head heavily on my arm. “I would like to come and visit you, though.”

  “I will see you at the university in a week or so,” the voice said.

  “All right,” I said wearily.

  “So long.”

  “Yes, take care.”

  She hung up.

  Forget it, I thought, going downstairs. The guy wants to have a heart attack, let him. Easy come, easy go.

  I had my breakfast of orange juice and three aspirins, and then I went out to look at the car. It had a small bump in the front, and had lost some paint, but that was all.

  Around noon, the mailman brought me a letter from the connection officer of my reserve unit. It was an order to report to camp in a week’s time for a maximum of three days, for parachuting practice. It was the first time I had heard from the army since my discharge.

  God wishes to punish you, my boy, by preventing your parachute from opening. You’ll make a deep hole in the ground.

  The idea appealed to me. Yes, I thought, if God exists and he is angry, he can punish me now. This is his big chance.

  Throughout the week I spent a great deal of time reading detective stories. I did a little bit of studying. I didn’t write, and I didn’t see Joy.

  When the parachuting day finally came, I found that I was nervous. I sat in the Nord with thirty other civilians in uniform, and wanted it to be over with. Most of the men were older than I and married with children and permanent jobs. There were a few familiar faces. When the bell rang, we stood up and folded our seats back, then we checked the parachutes. I glanced at the open door in front of me and grimaced disapprovingly. It seemed like a long way down.

  “I don’t think your parachute is right,” I said acidly to the man in front of me. “The strings seem loose.”

  “You can make those stupid jokes,” he said angrily. “You have no kids.”

  “O.K. Don’t say I didn’t tell you.”

  Where did you get that hilarious sense of humor, Assaf, I thought. You should be in show business.

  The green light came on and we started moving toward the door. I dove out improperly with my head forward and my arms spread wide. The earth came rapidly toward me in wild circles, and then the harness pulled hard on my ribs and I stopped in midair. I gave God a wink and went slowly toward the ground. Landing, I rolled very correctly on my side and got up to my feet, shaking the sand from my face. I folded the parachute and thrust it into the bag, and started walking toward the gathering place. After a few yards, I bumped into a man lying behind a bush holding his foot and cursing violently. I went closer and took a better look. I recognized the guy who had stood in front of me in the plane.

  “What’s the idea?” I asked him.

  “I broke my goddam ankle,” he said, staring at me with impotent fury.

  “I’ll get the medic,” I said.

  I turned away, remembering his kids. I could sense his mean look following me as I retreated slowly. I guessed he probably thought it was my fault.

  I came home late that afternoon, took a hot shower, had a hot meal, and went to bed. My mother woke me about an hour later, with a loud knock on the door.

  I peeked at the clock. It was a few minutes after seven.

  “I’m sleeping,” I yelled back. “I’m sleeping, O.K.?”

  She opened the door.

  “You have a visitor.”

  “Tell him or her or it to come some other time,” I said venomously. “I’ve been up since five this morning. I’m tired.”

  “It’s Udi,” she said.

  I went into the bathroom and shoved my face under a stream of cold water. I wiped it fiercely with a towel.

  “O.K.,” I said, stepping back into the room. “O.K., send him in, and please”—I patted her cheek—”be an angel and send us up two cups of tea, sweetheart.”

  “All right,” she said, smiling against her will, “but you behave.”

  “Sure. Thanks, Mom.”

  I put on a shirt and ran a brush through my hair. It was quite long already. I had not had it cut since the army. I’ll have to cut it myself, I thought. It is getting too long.

  Udi knocked on the half-open door.

  “Yeah.”

  He came in. I had not seen him for over three months and his likeness to his brother shocked me. He was as tall as I and strong and slim. He is probably another one of those guys, I thought, who’ll be an officer in the paratroopers and get to be a dead hero.

  “Hi,” he said, a bit timidly. “Am I interrupting you?”

  “No,” I said, buttoning my shirt. “Take a seat and make yourself at home.”

  “Thanks.”

  He sat down on my chair and looked at me awkwardly.

  “You invited me once, remember? So I came. I wasn’t sure if you meant it, though.”

  “Sure,” I said. “I said I could beat you in chess. Would you like to play chess?”

  “I don’t know,” he smiled. “No, I think not.”

  “We’ll be getting tea and biscuits in a minute. Guests don’t get chocolate here. I use it all up myself.”

  “I read your short story. I think it’s great.”

  I studied his face. He looked as though he meant it.

  “I’m glad then.”

  “Are you writing anything else?”

  I moved uncomfortably on the floor.

  “I am trying a novel,” I said, “but it will take time.”

  The maid knocked on the door and came in with a tray. She put it o
n the table and left.

  “Help yourself.”

  “Thanks,” he said, taking a biscuit. “What is it about?”

  I gestured meaninglessly with my hand.

  “I don’t know exactly. A ‘fictional autobiography’ you might call it.”

  “Yes, that’s what I thought.”

  I got up and helped myself to a cup of tea. I put in two spoonfuls of sugar and sat down again.

  “I would like to read it. It will be interesting.”

  I gazed at him above the cup.

  “You seem to think I’m going to be some big author, some day,” I said.

  “You’ll do all right.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m sure. Also, Ram used to say that.”

  “O.K. Well, in that case.”

  I emptied my cup briskly and put it on the floor.

  “You just watch me and see what a smashing career I’m going to have.”

  “Yes, I will,” he said quietly, and drank from his cup.

  “I don’t understand. What is it to you?”

  “I would like to do the same thing myself, one day,” he said.

  I sat down again, wearily.

  “How’s your mother?”

  “Like always. Ram was her favorite.”

  “He was one hell of a guy.”

  “I know.”

  I drew a circle with my toe on the floor.

  “He was one person who shouldn’t have died. Want more tea?”

  “No thanks. I guess I’ll be going.”

  He got up. “I’ll be seeing you,” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  He went out, leaving me with a peculiar feeling. I walked to my desk and sat down. I took out all the pages of the book I had typed and leafed through them briefly. It seemed like an anti-everything book: lots of words against. I didn’t want to write a protest work, rebellion for rebellion’s sake. I wanted it to have some beauty. There has to be beauty in things; that’s what makes them worth while.

  Two female hands suddenly cupped themselves tightly over my eyes. I smelled the light perfume and recognized her, and it was a surprise. But I thought, O.K., if she wants to play, let’s play.