A. Yehoshua - A Late Divorce

“It’s not easy to leave you all.”

“Oh…” He turned over on his other side.

Kedmi sat down to read a newspaper. Ya’el cleaned the house. I looked out the window at the slender man, who was still in the same place, smoking a cigarette. I debated for a moment and made up my mind to go to him. He was standing and gazing up at the windows of the apartment when I approached him. Suddenly he noticed me. He made a movement as though to flee, recalled it immediately, smiled and held out his hand.

“Hello, Mr. Kaminka. I didn’t realize you had recognized me. How was your seder?”

“Pleasant enough. And yours?”

“The main thing is that it’s over. It dragged on and on. That’s because of my wife’s eldest brother… every year he makes it longer. But we got through it in the end…’’

“Are you waiting for Tsvi? He’s still asleep.”

“Of course, of course, I knew he’d be. Let him sleep. I have something to tell him. Something new that may interest him. But never mind. Let him sleep.”

“Something new?”

“Oh, it’s just a business matter. Nothing very dramatic… it can wait… it’s not really that important. But how are you, Mr. Kaminka? I heard that the divorce went smoothly. I drove Tsvi up there yesterday and had the impression that she took it well.”

“Would you like to come upstairs with me?”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that! Not at an hour like this. I’ll wait here in the car. I have a radio and whatever I need. I simply misread my watch, and so I came early… but never mind… and after all, this is your last day here…”

“No, Mr. Calderon, I insist. We’ll wake Tsvi up.”

“Absolutely not! It’s just that… just that I…”

He began to shake all over.

“It’s just that I… I actually had meant to go to synagogue… I never travel on holidays… I have my prayer shawl and prayer book with me in the car… that is, I was on my way to synagogue when suddenly the thought crossed my mind… that it’s hopeless… that he wants to leave me… tell me it’s not so! You were a source of so much strength to me that night, that’s what’s kept me going until now…”

I touched his light, warm arm and he sheltered against me, his lined face blotchy as though rouged, his eyes two bits of sunken coals.

“Come up anyway.”

His face lit up.

“He didn’t say anything of the sort about me… Tsvi… he didn’t say…?”

“No. Not as far as I know. But come up and have something to drink. We’ll wake him. He’s slept enough.”

“It’s no good for him, this sleeping late of his. It keeps him from getting ahead. I’ve told him that he can’t wake up an hour before the market opens and think that there’s still time to size it up. But today’s a holiday, why shouldn’t he sleep? Never mind… he’ll only be annoyed if we wake him… and perhaps I can still find some place around here to pray in…”

He wiped his eyes.

“Come, then, let me show you a little synagogue that just opened today. Gaddi and I were out walking this morning and we found it in his old kindergarten… some people in the neighborhood have gotten interested in religion…”

He wavered. “I’m sure they’re not Sephardim… it’s only the Ashkenazim who are returning to religion now… and I’m not up to a whole lot of new melodies. Never mind, though, I’ll go… where is it?”

He took his prayer shawl from the car and donned it, placed a black skullcap on his head, rolled up the windows, and locked the doors.

“When I got into the car this morning and started out on the highway I felt like I was driving on fire. I’ve never traveled on a holiday or a Sabbath before. It’s a good thing that my father is dead and doesn’t know. But I’ll make it up… I’ll give God back what I’ve taken from Him… I’m keeping accounts. It’s just that I feel so hopeless. The bottom has fallen out of my life. I’ll be good and sick from this yet, I know I will.”

He grabbed my hand.

“He really said nothing to you? He hasn’t told you what he intends to do?”

“No.”

“But I know it… no, don’t try telling me… I know that he wants to ditch me… I can feel it. If he were a woman… but where am I going to find another man to fall in love with? This whole thing has been such a disaster for me, right from the start…”

He stood in the sunlight by the stone stairs of the synagogue, raving with a nasal whine. Down below it seemed like a regular service now: children ran about, voices were lifted in prayer, men lounged by the entrance in their prayer shawls. I wanted to comfort him, to make room for him in me too.

“Let me talk to Tsvi about it…”

“But you mustn’t! He’ll be furious with me… and you’ve had enough worries as it is, quite apart from your leaving tonight. By the way, I told Tsvi that I would be happy to drive you to the airport. I’ll miss you, Mr. Kaminka… we all will. Well, I’ll see you later. Maybe praying will calm me down a bit. Tell Tsvi that I’ll be over soon.”

His long crooked shadow snaps on the descending stairs he vanishes into the kindergarten and is gone. And you where are you? Your shadow frozen on the concrete wall plastered there larger than life laced with foliage like a frilly dress. I’ll miss you. How quickly farce turns to tragedy. I’ll miss you. Whose shadow is now blotted out. The chill light. A sky arrayed in the deepest of blues. The softly stirring air. We all will. Your guts are hanging out your flattery gets you nowhere you are a run-down washed-up old man. And nevertheless. Straight simple streets avenues of eucalyptus trees. March on. March on. Homeland can you be a homeland. A small dog with its tail in the air leads a large dog nose-down after it. Children people the traffic in the street. What time is it? The jungly green ravine between two houses. A sense of depth now. It mustn’t be said must not even be said but the state of Israel is an episode. Or will history have mercy? Asa do you hear historical mercy there’s a concept for you to work on. March on. March on. Easy. A matter of hours. Or else to stop time in its tracks. You who thought to slink away in the night will be missed. Not even angry with you. Overwhelmed by your generous concession. Asa and Dina are coming all this way they feel close to you after all. Down down into the ravine oh to disappear there following a path through the fragrant tangle of bushes to where the bay opens up at a new angle. Far away dogs bark. The squat buildings of the Technion across from me. To remember. To cleanse my tired eyes in this light. At first the longing for another landscape you saw then that landscapes were replaceable. Sitting on this rock unbuttoning your shirt airing out your scar contemplating it pleasurably scratching it here by yourself in this lush moist brush. Dawn knife flash. No fantasy no nor regret. Promiscuously doubling herself demanding the impossible from me to keep a promise meant only as a metaphor as a landmark of longing. But is it thinkable? And suppose that I did disappoint that I was afraid but I wasn’t ask the dog. One day the children will understand what really happened.

“Hey, someone’s down there!” shouted a youthful voice above me. “Some old man.” All at once a column of youngsters filed overhead, slithering out of the bushes like a colorful snake and tramping down the path a few inches from me with giggled whispers.

“What time is it, kids?”

“Almost eleven.”

The column continued down the ravine and vanished in the undergrowth. I climbed back up, passing the synagogue, which was now a kindergarten again. A heavy lock glinted on the door. The white car was gone. Dressed in old clothes Kedmi stood in front of his house with a hose, rags and bucket, washing his car and barking orders at Gaddi, who was assisting him.