A. Yehoshua - The Retrospective

The sign-up is complete. Moses folds the page, sticks it in his pocket, promises to get back to them all, and invites the lovely scribe to join him at the buffet. As he piles food on the plate that the woman, Rachel Siko by name, has handed him, he takes the liberty to inquire where she lives and what kind of work she does, and naturally about her children, who, despite her religious proclivities, turn out to be but two in number, and still young. The older one, Yoav, celebrated his bar mitzvah not long ago, and he is the pale lad rocking the baby carriage in the corner and casting a longing eye at the buffet. Whereas the daughter, Meirav, who according to her mother is a ten-year-old beauty, is running around with the other kids. Moses listens politely and concludes that the children are too young; any permanent relationship is out of the question, only friendship. But the woman keeps talking about herself, fixing her radiant eyes on the listener, and with bold, near self-destructive candor, she tells him that in addition to her two children she has a grandson, seven months old.

“Grandson?” He tilts his head to make sure his hearing aid picked up the word correctly.

“Yes, a grandson. There in the carriage, with his father.”

“His father?” he asks. “Meaning your husband?”

“Not my husband, my son. Yoav, the boy sitting there.”

“The boy?”

“Yes, the young man sitting by the carriage and looking after his son. He is his father.”

“His father…” whispers Moses.

“Yes. And that’s the story my brother-in-law and I were thinking to propose for your next film… unless you’re already set on a different one.”

As Moses casts a horrified look toward the corner of the enormous room at the callow youth who sadly rocks his baby, he drops his plate, which shatters at his feet. But his conversation partner quickly calms him with “Mazel tov!” and bends over to pick up the pieces.

So, he wonders, fetching another plate, was it because of that bizarre story that Amsalem insisted he hustle down to Beersheba, or because of the woman telling it? Or both?

BUT THE STORY is interrupted, for Amsalem’s wife has enlisted her sister to help in the kitchen. Now Moses can recover and serenely amass his lunch upon his plate. He finds a seat at one of the small tables in the garden, and while eating he tries to decide who among the swirl of children racing around the empty swimming pool is the young beauty who became an aunt before entering junior high. An older couple, residents of Sderot, sits down at his table. They came to Amsalem’s house as a Sabbath respite from the rocket fire from Gaza. “But don’t the rockets,” asks Moses, “reach Beersheba as well?” Yes, they confirm, but only occasionally, with longer warning time, and besides, those who live outside of rocket range have not invited them to visit. They know who Moses is, Amsalem had invited them to the premiere of Potatoes, they loved it, even cried a little at the end. They have a big fruit and vegetable store in the produce market of Sderot and were pleased to see a story developed from such everyday material. The film he made was simple and realistic, they inform Moses, which is why it was so touching.

The boyish father enters the garden, carefully bearing a tray with plates full of food, as the grandmother, carrying the baby, scouts for a shaded table for the little family. Moses wants to join them but fears offending the greengrocers at his table. He signals to Amsalem, who circulates among the tables holding two bottles of wine, red and white. As red wine flows into his cup, the director whispers to the producer:

“Is this a true story or some fantasy of your sister-in-law’s?”

“Of course it’s true.” Amsalem is insulted. “I wouldn’t have dragged you down to Beersheba on a Saturday for a fantasy. You don’t lack for fantasies in Tel Aviv.”

“Where’s the baby’s mother?”

“You want to hear the whole story from my sister-in-law?”

“Give me the bottom line.”

“The baby’s mother is no longer here. I mean, she left Israel.”

“Who is she?”

“Was. I mean, still is. An American girl.”

“Actually American?”

“Also Jewish. Half, actually. From California. She came here with her father, who is a professor, geology or zoology. He came for a year to the desert research institute. She’s a year older than Yoav, but they put her in a lower grade because of the language. Even so she had problems, especially in Hebrew and Bible classes, because she knew next to nothing about being Jewish. But just so you know, Moses, I got to know her through my wife and sister-in-law, and she is a well-developed girl, both physically and personality-wise. Intelligent and cheerful, but neglected. Her father was always out in the desert doing his research, leaving her in an empty house, which became an open house where the kids, her group of friends, would hang out and have a good time, including our Yoav, whom she really liked. Just look at him, at the table over by the tree, a fine-looking boy — see? I’ll introduce him up close.”

“Why introduce?” Moses gets nervous.

“For the story… for a movie, maybe.”

“Wait… what is this? You’re going too fast… who said I want this story for my film?”

“Why not? It gives you a slice of life. You know there was a story like this in England? But there the youth are wild and violent. They were on television, two kids more or less the same age as Yoav who had a baby. The girl was big and heavy; the boy, the father, was like a little bird, a skinny English type, cultured… You didn’t happen to see it?”

“No, Amsalem. Wait…”

“I’m telling you. Believe me. If we don’t hurry with our movie, the Brits will beat us to it.”

“Let them. What’s going on? Why are you rushing?”

“I’m excited about the subject, the possibilities.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, problems of youth, too much freedom, permissiveness, alcohol…”

“But not here, not exactly. I still don’t get it.”

“What don’t you get?”

“Why they didn’t terminate the pregnancy.”

“Because this girl was essentially alone here, without her divorced mother, for whom the daughter was out of sight, out of mind, and with no family to understand what was happening. Her father, the professor, neglected her, spent too much time in the desert. By the time they realized she was pregnant, it was already late. Meaning that an abortion would have been too risky. So we all said, It’s not so terrible, let her give birth, then we’ll give up the baby for adoption. That’s what we all decided.”

“All of you were involved?”

“Yes, all of us. It’s such an unusual story, also from a family perspective. Though there were surely other boys who had slept with the girl, it was clear that our Yoav was the father. He was crazy about her, head over heels, and he took responsibility, though his father warned him to stay out of it. But his mother, my sister-in-law, defended her son, so her husband gave in.”

“And then what?”

“She gave birth… the delivery was not easy, she lost a lot of blood. For a minute there it was life-threatening, she was such a young girl. But at least her mother, who turned out not to be Jewish, came from America to be with her. But right after the birth, she and the zoologist and a sharp lawyer forced the girl back to America, so if the baby was adopted, his mother would not be able to stay in touch. So the baby’s American identity gets lost, but maybe when he grows up he can reclaim it.”

“Why wasn’t the baby put up for adoption?”

“Because the boy, the father, Yoavi — that’s the point — suddenly says he doesn’t want to give it up. If the baby stays with him, he believes, eventually the girl he loves will come back to him. Come back to her baby. In the meantime, he’s been trying, unsuccessfully, to stay in touch with her.”