A. Yehoshua - A Late Divorce

I weave in and out lightly fending off bodies like a submarine in a busy harbor.

“But I did. Of course I read it… that is, the parts that I could understand… it’s just that…”

Now he’s trying to stammer his way out of it. But then I didn’t hear a single word from him. We stand facing a strong dry wind in the plaza outside. Dina rushes to catch up with us. She clings to me hugging and kissing me for all the students to see.

“It was such a lovely class!”

“But you kept disturbing me.”

She giggles.

“He started up with me. It wasn’t my fault. He’s one of those eternal students. He was once even in a class of mine. But we talked in a whisper.”

“Forget it.” I take a step back from her. “Were your parents happy to see you?”

“At least now they’re sure that you weren’t immaculately conceived… even if you would have liked to be.”

Father laughs.

“I’m glad Dina made me go. It was a must. They were so happy to see me. It was a short but successful visit, wasn’t it, Dina? They’re very likable people.”

“That’s good, father, but we have to move. We have a long trip ahead of us.”

Again I feel the sting of the lost day. My precious time… and it almost Passover and the library soon to be closed…

“Yes, let’s go,” says Dina animatedly.

“You’re coming too?”

“Of course.”

“But how can you? Aren’t you going to work today?’’

“I’m taking the day off. I’m coming with you.”

My wife the playgirl.

“Absolutely not. There’s no reason for you to be there.”

“Then I’ll wait outside ”

“But what on earth for? I don’t get it. You haven’t gone to work for several days. In the end you’ll be fired, you do know that, don’t you?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

The selfishness to keep taking off from work and coming home at the end of the month with hardly any paycheck. If it weren’t for what we get from her parents…

“Then I’m coming.” She turns beseechingly to father who says nothing.

“You are not!”

“I haven’t seen your mother for so long.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to see her. She’s not going anywhere. And neither are you today.”

I squeeze her arm hard to show her I mean it. She has new little pimples on her face. Brackish blue eyes. Cheekbones that protrude as though about to puncture her thin skin. How did I ever get stuck with her? A stubborn Mongoloid child.

“Why don’t you go to work.”

She retracts her arm from me.

“I don’t want to. And you can’t make me.”

Father turns away smiling faintly half listening to our enjoyable little spat.

“Of course I can’t. Who can make you do anything? Come, father, we’ll be late.”

She stands there stunned flushed with rage. Students stare at us as they pass. Father lays a light hand on her.

“So we’ll see you on the holiday? You’ll come to say goodbye… we’ll be in touch…”

She doesn’t hear him though. Doesn’t look at him. She stares at me floored by my refusal.

“Then give me some money, Asa.”

“What for?”

“I need some.”

“But just yesterday…”

“It’s all gone.”

“Do you two need money?”

“No, father, it’s all right.’’ I take out my wallet and give her five hundred pounds.

“That’s all?”

“That’s all I have. I need some for myself.”

“If you two need money, say so.”

“Fine. I’ll go to the bank.”

“There’s none left there either.”

“He’ll give me some anyway.”

“Who?”

“The teller who brought me the cheese last night.”

All at once she bursts out laughing gaily. Warmly she throws herself on father’s neck then shakes my hand stiffly and disappears among the students.

“Very simple people. I was in their grocery store. Straight out of a nineteenth-century Hebrew novel, with a barrel of pickled fish by the door. A genuinely literary grocery! A most depressing one too. And they’re very religious, even if her father doesn’t grow long sidelocks. Very religious, I tell you: I have a sixth sense for that sort of thing and I could feel it right away. In fact, in no time they were telling me that they belong to a small sect of Hungarian Hasidim with some very old rabbi whom they consult about everything and who tells them just what to do and think. Were you aware of that? You too, my dear Dr. Kaminka, are in his hands. You too are being manipulated by him by means of some hidden string, heh heh…”

(Why is he carrying on like this?)

“Is this our bus? The express to Haifa? You’d better make sure…. Let me pay for us. It’s frightful that I still haven’t gotten to the bank to change dollars….All right, then, I’ll pay you back in Haifa. The main thing is to be in the station there by one o’clock. Ya’el and Kedmi will be waiting for us…. It makes no difference to me, you can sit by the window…. What I’ve been asking myself since my fascinating visit with your in-laws this morning is whether you knew what you were getting into or whether you simply saw a pretty young thing at the university and didn’t bother to ask what she came with. What a hodgepodge world it’s become! Twenty years ago a young girl from such a family would never have left the streets of her neighborhood; she would have gone about so muffled up in long dresses that you wouldn’t have bothered to look twice at her in the street. But today there are such astonishing leaps and transitions… the barriers have all come down. A total chaos. Just look what an anarchist like you has gotten involved with! But I suppose you manage to get along with them… leave it to you. From the time you were in nursery school you always had the knack of getting along. Asa knows how to minimize conflict, mother and I used to say to each other…. When is this bus going to leave? I’m glad I went to see them, they would have been hurt if I hadn’t. I really don’t understand why you were so against it. After all, we got back in perfectly good time. Your Dina can be a bit childish, and I’m happy you didn’t let her join us for the drama that’s in store for us today. You saw that I kept out of it. But this morning she was right. Why should you have been angry? After all, I did it for your sake too. I really don’t follow you there. Are you ashamed of them? They may be simple folk, but they’re certainly decent ones. And your own father is no model of perfection either, heh heh…”

(He’s got this new way of laughing. Almost reedy. What’s come over him?)

“Well, someday they’ll be gone, and you’ll be left with a wife who ten years from now will be a notorious beauty. I’ve noticed how people stare at her… right now she’s still half-baked, but give her a few years’ time. She’ll open a lot of doors for you… your father has some knowledge of these things…”

(Did he really wink at me? How revolting!)

“Of course, we talked about you too. They’re very fond of you. Maybe fond isn’t the word, but they do respect you, perhaps even fear you a bit. And her they absolutely adore. If you treat her like a little girl, they still treat her like a baby, waiting on her hand and foot, thrilled with every step and bite of food that she takes. I’m glad you don’t live any nearer to them — if you did they’d crawl into bed with you at night from sheer concern and devotion…. Perhaps if you gave them a grandchild they might bother you less. Take my advice, think it over. I know how you value your time, but it’s still worth considering. She doesn’t really have a steady job anyway… so why not let her raise a child and write her poems? They alluded to it a few times themselves, trying to get me on their side. I suppose you must hear it all the time from them. Perhaps their rabbi is after them, heh heh… and yet they’re good, simple people. We must seem like freaks to them. I saw how they kept looking at me, and I couldn’t help wondering whether they knew the whole story about mother or whether you had spared them the gory details…. Don’t think they’re not in awe of you, though. You can consider yourself lucky that they didn’t come to hear you lecture about that young Miss Zasulevich whom you described so vividly, as though she were a friend of yours…