A. Yehoshua - A Late Divorce

“No.”

“Don’t get up.” She had made no move to. “I threw up in the station in Jerusalem. I feel like I’m dying. What a day! I’m glad you didn’t come, you would have gone out of your mind. At least I spared you that. I have to wash up, the briefcase is filthy too. I’m sick. I missed you all day. Were you at your parents’?”

She shook her head with a faraway look, remote, self-absorbed, in a world of her own. She had a new secret. Some new role she’d thought up for herself.

“My mother still won’t sign. It’s a whole comedy. You can be thankful that your own parents are sane. Better a sane grocer than a… what did you do all day long? Wait a minute before you tell me. I want to wash up first.”

But I went to the kitchen instead. More pages on the dining table. Dirty breakfast dishes still in the sink and on the counter. Crumpled pages everywhere in her large, clear hand. Something about a young woman with a baby carriage.

“Stop that immediately!” she hissed behind me. “Go wash up. You look as though you’d been rolling in the gutter.”

“What did you do all day long? Where were you?”

“Right here.”

“Did you go to the bank? Did you take out money?”

“No.”

“So what did you do all day?”

“I was here. I wrote a story… complete, in one sitting. I was all alone. It felt good to be without you for a change…”

I went on collecting the dishes, sorting the silverware and the cups.

“Stop that! Go wash.” She raised her voice at me. “You’re a filthy, stinking mess!”

I put down the dishes and went to the bedroom. More papers all over the bed. Piles of clothing, hers, mine, on all the chairs: she must have emptied out the whole closet. She followed me silently, careful not to get too close, her light eyes opened wide. I wandered distractedly about the room before going to the bed. On the night table lay an open history book in English that I had been reading in the morning. Portraits of young Russian revolutionaries in cravats and high collars, a photograph of the Tsar in full military regalia, pictures of ladies in long evening dresses, the date of birth and death under each. The earnest face of Vera Zasulich, a gleam of mischief in her dark, deep-set eyes. A flash of fear ran through me as it dawned on me whose eyes they also were.

I went to the closet and began taking out hangers for her clothes.

“Stop it!” she screamed. “Go wash up. You don’t know what you look like…”

Something happened today. Something will never be the same.

— Tsvi? Tsvi? Is that you, Tsvi? Tsvi?

— Refa’el. Tsvi?

— Refa’el. It’s me. Tsvi? Open the door a crack.

— Whom did you think it was?

— Nearly two o’clock. I was afraid at first it was your father.

— Nothing. I just thought I’d drop by. Were you really asleep?

— You don’t say! I knocked as lightly as a bird.

— Oh, dear! I’m so sorry. I thought I saw a light.

— There wasn’t a light on in the kitchen? But I saw the kitchen light from the street. I’m absolutely sure I did. It’s been on for at least half an hour. So I came up and knocked. But really lightly, like a bird.

— Are you sure?

— Perhaps your father left it on.

— But how could I be mistaken? It’s weird. Maybe that mouse of yours has been turning the lights on and off. Don’t laugh. Once a mouse got into my aunt in Jerusalem’s electric box and switched the lights on and off each time he ran around.

— Seriously. That’s no joke. They thought the house was haunted until a city repairman caught it. Well, I’ll be on my way. I see you really were sleeping. I’m awfully sorry to have woken you. But how was it you heard me? Are you such a light sleeper? I swear I hardly touched the door, just like a…

— Are you sure?

— Well, only for a minute. Really, only for a minute. I thank you.

— I don’t know what’s happened to me. I couldn’t catch a wink of sleep tonight. I’ve been driving around the streets for the past two hours.

— It beats me.

— Why in the kitchen? Go back to bed and I’ll sit beside you. Get back into bed. I’ll sit by your side and then I’ll go.

— Right. I’ll talk in a whisper. I’m terribly sorry. I’d forgotten all about him.

— Then we’d better sit in the kitchen with the door shut.

— Eh?

— I don’t know.

— What?

— No special reason. I’m just awfully nervous. A total wreck. The bottom’s dropped out of my life. Haven’t I already told you that you’ve made a hash out of me? I’ll live. But believe me, I’ll be a sick man from all this yet.

— No…

— Yes.

— Yes.

— Maybe.

— That too.

— You’re right. Of course you are. Just try not to mind me. I’ll live.

— Tea? No, don’t trouble yourself. Go back to bed. You’re still half asleep. I’ll be on my way…

— Are you sure?

— You really do feel like it?

— Only if you do too. I’ve noticed that you have a thing for tea in the middle of the night. You’re always looking for a chance to drink it. Maybe it’s come down to you from your ancestors in Russia who sat around the samovar.

— What? Yes. With us tea is like medicine. It’s something to drink when you’re sick.

— No, no, tea will be fine. By all means, tea. Tea suits me perfectly now.

— No, no. Honestly. Just tea. I’m as good as sick already.

— Any way that you like it. It doesn’t matter to me. You’re so kind. It pains me to have woken you. I never would have come if I had known you were sleeping. You shouldn’t have let me in. That light misled me.

— No… never mind… I’m angry at myself. Lately I’m angry at myself all the time.

— Thank you. Thank you so much. You know, it’s strange to see you without your glasses. I didn’t know you could manage without them.

— No, just a bit different. I have to get used to it. Now I understand your eyes better. I mean I see them. I understand them perfectly. Are those new pajamas?

— Very becoming. Soft. Very becoming. Where did you get them?

— Yes. They have lovely things there. Very becoming.

— How much?

— That isn’t so bad. They’re very becoming. Very handsome on you. So tell me first how your day was. When did he arrive? I phoned three times tonight but got no answer.

— What restaurant?

— Right. How is he? Have there been any new developments? Tell me.

— Just what you suggested to her…

— And what did he decide?

— In what way?

— Then…

— Congratulations! On Sunday… that’s the day of the seder…

— Are you sure you won’t want to be there? I can drive you.

— Never mind, I’ll manage…

— How can you talk about them like that? You slay me… how can you possibly…?

— Their story fascinates me. Not just on your account. I can’t get over her face. She made a great impression on me. A noble woman. I was very touched by her.

— Really? I’m glad to hear that. Tell me, do you think I could peek in on him for a second?

— Your father. I’m terribly curious.

— Just for a second.

— In your room? Why?

— Right. Of course. It was his bed. That was thoughtful of you. Just for a second. I won’t make a sound.

— Of course, in the dark…

— Just a wee bit of light…

— He looks like you. Why, he looks just like you. It’s astonishing. He’s a handsome old man.

— The spitting image of you. As though I were looking at you twenty or thirty years from now, when I’m already in the grave…