I stood watching him, listening in silence, cheerfully, smiling to myself, I knew just how it would be, that I was involving him in a repair job beyond his means. I was calm. But Erlich, who came and stood beside me and also listened, was furious.
“Then why did you leave it here to be repaired?”
“I thought it was something trivial … a screw…”
That screw again –
He was very pale, confused, but nevertheless retaining something of his civilized manners, taking care in phrasing his answers.
“Then kindly borrow some money,” Erlich interrupted him.
“But from whom?”
“From relations, your family, anyone. Haven’t you any relations?”
Perhaps, but he didn’t know anything about them … he had no contact with them …
“Friends …” I suggested.
He had none … he’d been away for more than ten years … but he was prepared to sign a promissory note … he’d sign … and as soon as …
I was inclined to leave him alone, but Erlich was getting more and more angry.
“Of course, we can’t let you take the car. Give me the keys, please.”
And he almost snatched them away from him, went into the office and put them down on the table. My first thought was, the car is staying with me.
We both went into the office.
“If you don’t pay within a month we shall have to sell it,” Erlich announced triumphantly.
“We can’t, Erlich,” I explained quietly. “The car doesn’t belong to him.”
“Doesn’t belong to him? What is this?”
The man began to tell his story again, the grandmother whose death he was awaiting …
To Erlich the whole business was a scandal, all this talk about an old woman dying. He stood there stiffly by the table, with his short khaki trousers and his army-style close-cropped hair, staring at him with disgust.
“How is she now?” I asked, taking an interest, retaining my composure. Suddenly I too depended on his grandmother’s death.
“She’s unconscious … no change … I don’t understand … the doctors can’t say how long it will go on like this …” He was desperately unhappy.
“But where the hell do you work?” yelled Erlich, losing his temper. “Don’t you work?”
“What for …?” The man was very pale, trembling, his hands shaking, Erlich had terrified him, and suddenly, I could hardly believe my eyes, he collapsed at our feet on the floor.
“He’s only acting,” hissed Erlich.
But at once I felt concerned for him and picked him up in my arms, a light warm body, sat him down on a chair, cleared space around him, opened his shirt buttons. He recovered immediately.
“It’s only hunger.” He covered his eyes. “I’ve eaten nothing for two days … I’ve got no money left … yes, I’m in a mess, I know.”
DAFI
Supper isn’t really over yet. Daddy’s drinking his coffee, Mommy’s already washing the dishes, in a hurry to get back to the study, and I’m standing in front of the big mirror with a little mirror in my hand examining my back and behind my legs, carefully touching the sunburned places, tasting the taste of salt. A week ago the long vacation began and because the Girl Scout camp was cancelled Tali and Osnat and I began going down to the beach every day, sitting there till evening, we want to be really black when school starts again, and suddenly Daddy says:
“I must phone Shwartzy …”
“What’s happened?”
“To ask him if he wants a French teacher at the school.”
“What on earth?”
And he starts to tell a strange story, to which I listen with half an ear, about a customer who fainted in the garage because he couldn’t pay a repair bill, someone who arrived in the country without a cent, a crank, an immigrant who’d lived many years in Paris and came here to pick up an inheritance and found that there wasn’t any …
“And you want them to give him a job as a teacher in our school,” I interrupt. “Aren’t there enough idiots there already?”
“That’s enough, Dafi!”
It’s very unusual for Daddy to tell stories about what goes on in the garage, sometimes you forget there are people there as well as cars.
But Mommy thinks it’s a strange idea too, asking Shwartzy to give a teacher’s job to some guy who left the country.
“All right then, not a real teacher … a temporary appointment … an assistant teacher … he needs help … he hasn’t got a job … he fainted of hunger in the garage.”
“Hunger? Is there still anyone who’s hungry in this country?”
“You’d be surprised, Dafi. What do you know about this country?” says Mommy coming out of the kitchen, her hands wet, taking off her apron.
“How much does he owe you?”
“More than four thousand pounds.”
“Four thousand?” We’re both astonished. “What did you do for him that cost four thousand pounds?”
He smiles, surprised at our excitement, he does repairs that cost much more than that.
“So what will you do?”
“What can I do? Erlich has confiscated the car, but that doesn’t help because the car isn’t his anyway … it can’t even be sold …”
“So what will you do?”
“I shall have to cancel the debt …”
Oh, I see, Daddy’s a public charity –
“A debt of four thousand pounds?” I feel really bitter. Just think what I could do with four thousand pounds.
“It’s none of your business, Dafi,” says Mommy.
But she too looks baffled, standing there in the doorway of the study, wondering how Daddy can throw away so much money so easily.
“Perhaps you could find him work in the garage …”
“What could he do there? It isn’t his kind of work … well, it doesn’t matter …” And Daddy turns to go.
“Bring him here,” I say.
“Here?”
“Yes, why not? He can wash the dishes and scrub the floor and that way he can gradually pay off the debt.”
Daddy bursts out laughing, “It’s an idea.”
“Why not? He can do the ironing, the laundry, tidy the rooms for us” – I’m getting carried away, as usual – “he can take out the rubbish …”
“That’s enough, Dafi,” says Mommy, but she’s smiling too. A strange family conference this, I in front of the mirror, half naked, Mommy with her hands wet at the study door, Daddy in the kitchen door with a coffee cup in his hand.
“When a man’s suddenly down on his luck” – Daddy tries to explain – “you feel sorry for him, and he really is a nice fellow, pleasant, educated, he even studied for a while at the university in Paris … perhaps you need somebody to copy, to translate for you … I know …”
“What on earth for?”
“I just thought … oh, it doesn’t matter.”
“But I could use a secretary” – I’m all excited again, trying to make them laugh – “someone to copy, to translate … to do my homework for me … I shall find work for him.”
Mommy laughed, at last, and perhaps this laughter meant that the idea didn’t seem so odd to her, or perhaps she really was upset over the loss of the money, because next day when I came back from the beach in the evening, suntanned and stained with oil and my hair in a mess, I found someone sitting in the living room with Mommy and Daddy. Maybe this was the first time they ever succeeded in surprising me. At first I thought he was just a guest, I didn’t realize he was the man they’d been talking about, they too were a bit confused and embarrassed, sitting there in the dark room, in the twilight, staring at the thin, pale man with the big bright eyes. He looked as if he’d once suffered from a severe illness, no wonder he fainted in the garage when he heard the price. He blushed when he saw me come in, jumped up from his seat and held out his hand. “Gabriel Arditi,” he said and shook hands with me. Why on earth did he want to shake hands with me
, what kind of manners are these? Right from the start I didn’t like him, so I didn’t tell him my name, I fled to my room and undressed, hearing Mommy ask him about his studies, Daddy murmuring something and he talking about himself in a low voice, talking about Paris.
I went to have a shower, washed off the oil stains. When I came out he wasn’t in the living room, Mommy had disappeared too, only Daddy was still there, deep in thought.
“Is he still here?”
Daddy nods, pointing to the study door.
“When are we going to eat?”
He doesn’t answer.
I go back to my room, put on a blouse and shorts, return to the living room, find Daddy still sitting there motionless, as if he’s been turned to stone.
“What’s going on?”
“What do you want?”
“Has he gone?”
“Not yet.”
“What’s happening?”
“Nothing.”
“Do you really mean to employ him here?”
“Perhaps.”
I go into the kitchen, everything’s tidy and clean, no sign of supper. I take a slice of bread, go back to him, pick up the paper and glance through it, go to the study door and listen, but Daddy looks up and angrily signals to me to move away.
“What’s she doing in there? How long’s he going to stay?”
“What business is it of yours?”
“I’m starving.”
“Then eat.”
“No, I’ll wait.”
It’s a bit strange to see him sitting there in the dark, without a paper, without anything, his back to the sea.
“Shall I put the light on for you?”
“There’s no need.”
I eat another slice of bread, which only increases my appetite. At the beach we hardly had anything to eat. It’s eight o’clock now, I’m frantic with hunger.
“But what’s happening?”
“Why are you making such a fuss? If you want to eat, eat,” he snaps. “Who’s stopping you … anyone would think Mommy still had to feed you …”
“You know I don’t like eating alone … come and sit with me.”
He looks at me angrily, groans, gets up from his seat, scowling, comes into the kitchen and sits down beside me, helping me to slice the bread, bringing out cheese and olives and salad and eggs and after a while he too begins to nibble, digging around in the dishes with a fork. The study door is still closed, she’s gone quite crazy, taken my idea seriously, made him her slave.
Suddenly the door opens, Mommy comes out to us, her face tense, she’s very alert.
“Well?” I say, jumping up.
“O.K.” She smiles at Daddy. “He can help me with translating at least … he’s translating something already …”
“Now?”
“He’s got time to spare … why not?”
“Come and eat with us,” I suggest.
“I can’t leave him on his own, I’ll make sandwiches and coffee, you carry on without me.”
Hurriedly she prepares sandwiches, makes coffee, puts some olives in a dish, lays it all out on a big tray and disappears again into the study. We finish our supper, Daddy insists that I clear the table and wash the dishes and then he goes and sits down in front of the TV.
Nine o’clock. Ten. They still don’t come out, now and then I hear their voices. Daddy goes to his room, but I can’t relax, I don’t know why, this strange and sudden invasion has upset my balance, made me nervous. I undress slowly, put on my pyjamas, feeling the pain of my sunburned limbs. I sit in the living room and watch the closed door. At a quarter to eleven he leaves the house, I leap up and rush into the study. Mommy sits there in a chair, the room’s full of cigarette smoke, she’s flushed, papers and books scattered about her in a chaos that reminds me of my own room, a light smell of sweat in the air, in her hands a bundle of papers covered with a strange, rather ornate handwriting.
ADAM
Erlich of course wasn’t impressed, wasn’t mollified, a hard-boiled yeke, standing erect at my side, his turnip head tilted back, glaring at the pale man with the stumbling speech. To him, all this fainting was just an act, an attempt to escape payment.
“That’s all, Erlich,” I said pleasantly. “It’s O.K … you can go home now … I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Erlich was taken aback, blushed a bright red, mortally offended, never had he heard such an explicit order from me. He snatched up his old briefcase, tucked it under his arm and stormed out of the office, slamming the door.
By this time the garage was empty. I’m always struck by the sudden silence that falls within a few minutes of the workers leaving. The old watchman came in through the gate, Erlich stumbled against him, the dog barked at Erlich, Erlich kicked the dog and walked out.
I knew I’d offended Erlich, but I wanted to be left alone here with the pale young man who sat there with his head in his hands. Did I already know what my intention was? Is it possible? I knew very little about him, but enough to feel that unconsciously I’d cast a net and a man was caught in it, and was writhing in my hand. The sense of warmth that I’d felt when I helped him up from the floor, it certainly wasn’t regret at having involved him in such an expensive repair job, because I was already prepared to cancel the debt, but …
I smiled at him, he looked at me gloomily, but then a light flicker of a smile appeared on his face. My slow, relaxed, assured movements can instil calm all around me, this I know. I bent down and picked up the bill, which still lay on the floor. I read it through, folded it and put it in my shirt pocket. I left the office, called the watchman and sent him to buy coffee and cake from a nearby café, I switched on the electric kettle and made coffee for him and for myself.
Again, the story about his grandmother, which sounded to me more and more like a hallucination. A very old woman who had brought him up after his mother died. A few months ago she fell into a coma and was taken to a hospital, but only two weeks ago he received a letter in Paris, a neighbour found his name and address and wrote to him, telling him that she was dying. He wasn’t sure whether to come, but since he knew he was the only heir he decided to come and claim whatever there was. There wasn’t much, he had no illusions, but there was after all an apartment in an old Arab house, this car, a few bits and pieces, perhaps some jewellery that he didn’t know about. What did he have to lose? He spent most of his money on the plane ticket … he didn’t intend to stay here long … he thought he’d just sign some papers, take the money and go … but in the meantime … from an official point of view there was nothing he could do … the small amount of money that he’d brought with him was running out fast … it seemed prices had risen a lot … and his grandmother wasn’t yet … almost … today he was at the hospital again … she was like a vegetable … worse than that … a stone … but, alive …
What did he do in Paris?
All kinds of work … in recent years he even taught Hebrew … private lessons … the Jewish Agency even sent him three priests who wanted to learn Hebrew, enthusiastic and reliable pupils … and friendly, not like the Jewish businessmen … aside from this he taught French to foreigners, to other Israeli immigrants, Arabs, Africans, students especially, helping them to write their papers … recently the agency had sent him some Zionist publicity to translate … he hadn’t been short of work and his needs had been few.
Had he studied there?
Yes … no … a little … years ago he attended lectures on history and philosophy but because of his illness he’d been forced to give them up … he used to feel faint in crowded rooms … not enough air … but this last year he’d started going to lectures again … not for a degree … for pleasure … now if he was going to have money he’d be able to spend more time studying …
Meanwhile he finished off the sandwiches, eating delicately, picking up the crumbs around him. A hungry man in Israel in 1973.
“Do you intend to work now?”
If there’s no alternative … if he has to
wait much longer for his grandmother to die … but not work in the sun … he’ll go to the Jewish Agency … perhaps I know somebody there …
Such an alien passivity amid the chaos of life all around, but no particular worries either.
The watchman came in, took away the empty cups, the man put his hand to the keys lying on the table and played with them.
“Excuse me, I don’t know your name.”
“Gabriel Arditi.”
“You won’t be able to take the car.”
“Not even for a few days?”
“I’m sorry.”
He put the keys back on the table, I took them and hid them away in my pocket. “Don’t worry,” I said, “we’ll take care of it here, nobody will touch it, until you’re able to pay the bill …”
He was disappointed but he bowed his head with a captivating gesture, thanked me for the meal, put on his cap and left. A few seconds later he came back, asked me to lend him five pounds. I gave him ten.
He left the garage, the dog no longer barked at him but followed him for a few paces. I hurriedly finished my work with the bills, went out of the office and climbed into the Morris, which stood there in the middle of the floor. I was going to move it into a corner but I changed my mind and decided to take it home with me, to see how it climbed the steep slope of the hill. It went up slowly but surely, the engine throbbing steadily. Everyone overtaking me turned to look, some with astonishment, some with a smile.
At noon the next day someone touched me lightly. He stood there beside me, a pleasant smile on his face. He held out ten pounds.
The Lover Page 13