A. Yehoshua - A Late Divorce

“Say boy nice to him,” says Gaddi from under his blanket.

“All right, you go to sleep already…. Come,” I say to the child. “Come, good boy ”

My ridiculously meager English. I take a blanket and wrap him in it to keep him from getting chilled. Absurdly, though, I can’t lift him. Suddenly he’s dug his little feet into the mattress.

“Come.” I pluck him up by force and carry him to the living room, where I stand him in the darkness on the rug. “One moment, ” I say, going to look for a pair of Rakefet’s pajamas. He starts to whimper. Dear God, what should I say to him? “I change you.” Lord, was that right? Kedmi, come. “There there. Nice boy. Good boy. Kedmi! Are you up?”

All at once the telephone rings. It has to be her.

“Kedmi!” I shout. “Answer it! I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Are you already done talking? Who was it? Was it her?”

“ Hello, Moses. How do you do?’’

“I’m asking you something! Answer me. Was that Connie?”

“Hello, Moses. Bring him over to the bed here. He really does look like your father. It’s amazing…”

“Kedmi! Who was that on the telephone? Was it her?”

“Yes.”

“Then why the hell did you hang up so fast?”

“Let me have him…. You know, your family has this strong, really violent gene in its bloodline. I’m sure glad that Gaddi didn’t get it.”

“Kedmi, none of that now. What did she say? Why did you hang up on her?”

“I didn’t. She finished talking. Will you hand me that child now?”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing special.”

“Did she ask about the child?”

“Yes. I told her you were changing him and talking to him in English.”

“When is she coming back?”

“She didn’t say.”

“What do you mean, she didn’t say? Didn’t you ask?”

“It doesn’t look like she’ll be back before tomorrow.”

“Not before tomorrow? But why…?”

“Why not? Would you prefer her to stay away a whole week?”

“Why didn’t you let me talk to her?”

“She didn’t ask to talk to you.”

“Goddamn you! What are you two up to? Where was she talking from? Did she leave a number?”

“Hello, Moses. Would you hand him to me already? I can’t get over how much he looks like your father. Come on, let me have him. Since when does he belong only to you? You know, he stutters a little…”

“Kedmi, answer me. Where was she talking from?”

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know? Suddenly you’re the picture of innocence. What’s gotten into you tonight? How can you go on lying passively in bed at a time like this? What did she say to you? Where has she disappeared to?”

“What time is it?”

“Nearly eleven.”

“You don’t say. It really is late. And you want to get me up and into a chair at this hour? What did we buy a bed for? Hello, Moses! Be a sport, let me have him. I want to play with him too.”

“Kedmi!”

“Come on now, calm down. She’ll be back tomorrow, I promise you. Instead of running around the house like a nervous wreck you should take a look at yourself in the mirror. You’re still wearing the apron that you put on this morning… you really are a sight. Let me have the child. Why don’t you change his bed, and change yourself too while you’re at it…’’

He’s hiding something. That smile of his. What’s come over him? There’s something between them. There has to be. He’d never be so calm otherwise. What is he up to? Can it be… is she really capable of running off and leaving us the… but what face superimposes itself? I can hear the ring of a telephone in the distance… how strongly the memory of it flickers on… of course! How did I ever forget it? Was it that morning? A call from the prison. That man — that prisoner — that murderer of his — had escaped. I have it! They called that morning. It was raining. It was Saturday. That man — that prisoner — that murderer of his — had escaped. They called from the prison. Of course they did. And it was raining. Now I remember. Saturday. I have it!

All of a sudden the curtain goes up, is lifted, tom asunder. And Saturday shines through. Yes, that Saturday, breaking through just as it was, down to its last color and smell. That morning it rained… seize the day, Ya’el! And in the afternoon the sun came out… Saturday, the day before the seder, the veil has been rent… it can stand on its own feet now, every hour of it… and what pandemonium there was. I was cooking in the kitchen for the seder. Rakefet had woken up and was crying. A sour fear churned inside me. Father would soon be leaving, making his getaway: if anything happened to her from now on, I could never turn to him for help. Kedmi had surrounded himself with a pile of weekend papers and still was not talking to me. Tomorrow, at the seder, he was sure to find a way of taking his revenge on father. And just then they called from the prison. I happened to answer. “Something’s happened to your murderer,” I said, because that’s how we called him, that’s how he referred to him with us. “I’ve been to see my murderer.” “My murderer said…” “My murderer thinks…” Kedmi grabbed the phone from me savagely and stood listening to the news. I could tell at once from the look on his face what an awful blow it was.

The children’s room is dark. The pungent smell is everywhere. I have to let in some air. To open a window and let the pleasant winter breeze in. Everything is soaked in his pee. You’d think some geyser had erupted inside him. The sheets. The mattress. Rakefet sighs in her sleep, a little flower. Gaddi sucks his thumb, his eyes aflutter. I go over and gently remove the finger from his mouth. He opens his eyes.

“Where is he?”

“With your dad.”

“Will he sleep with you?”

“No. I’m just changing his bed.”

“Did he only pee, or did he…?”

“He only peed… don’t worry about it… go back to sleep now…”

The day of remembrance. The dam has burst. Saturday? Yes, that was it! How strongly, how full of light, it gushes forth now. The tears sting my eyes. How did I ever forget it? And yet I did. In its hurry to get to the accident my memory simply erased it, hectic interlude that it was: the phone calls from the prison, the mess in the kitchen, Kedmi’s search for his poor murderer, Kedmi’s mother, Rakefet’s constant crying, father’s arrival that afternoon — an onion shedding its skins one by one, the day shows through on different planes, in different places, unrolling like a sheet of bright tinsel… With what should I begin? With Kedmi. In a state of shock, swearing a blue streak, as though his prisoner had escaped for the sole purpose of ruining his career. “Why am I wasting my time being a lawyer? If I were a jailer I could free all the defendants I want.” He dressed quickly and rushed to the prison, leaving me — do I hear that faint musical score now? — in the kitchen with a mountain of vegetables and a bloody hunk of raw meat in a bowl, while Gaddi began to complain again of chest pains and Rakefet went on crying. The telephone didn’t stop ringing: Kedmi’s mother, Tsvi, Asi, the police. The hospital called to ask about the dog and then mother got on the phone to ask too. And soon father was due in the midst of all this madness, and already I could see how the seder night I had had such high hopes for was falling apart before my eyes…. Kedmi returned in a vile mood, still cursing like a trooper. “Please tell me what the big tragedy is,” I begged him. “You know they’ll find him in the end. You yourself said that he just ran away to be with his parents for the seder. When it’s through he’ll turn himself in.” But Kedmi’s great fear was that the police would catch him and worm out of him the confession that he had refused to give them so far… that Kedmi had desperately been trying to keep from them… because the murderer really was one… Kedmi didn’t believe in him himself…