A. Yehoshua - A Late Divorce

“Come, girls, sit next to me,” I said to Dina and Ya’el. “And you, Gaddi, you sit near me too.”

Tsvi took a turn about the garden, walking in the shady light of the trees and nodding haughtily to the old people, who had fallen silent and were watching us with interest. Calderon hurried over to confide something to him; he sought to take his arm, choked by his own love, but Tsvi brushed him off without looking. Two waiters set the table with silverware and plates, smiling at the baby, who had been placed on a second table next to us beside a large wicker basket of matzo, while staring at Dina out of the corners of their eyes, overwhelmed by her beauty, honored to be able to serve her. Asa went off to have a look at something, then returned and sat down at the far end of the table. Kedmi took a seat too. Tsvi was the last to join us. He picked up his knife and tested it carefully on his fingertips, looking at me hard as he stood by his chair.

“When I think, father, that in a few hours from now you’ll be gone… we really will miss you this time…”

I smiled, my cheeks red, a queasy feeling in my stomach, and turned to Dina, who was sitting next to me thin and virginal, her perfumed skin contrasting whitely with her mysterious black dress. She was involved with the baby, still oddly remote.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her, glancing at Asa sitting by himself at the table’s other end. Suddenly it struck me that they weren’t talking to each other. They hadn’t exchanged a word since they had come.

“Is anything the matter?” I asked again.

“No, nothing.” She smiled.

“This really is a lovely spot. Thank you, Calderon. It was a good choice.”

“I told you. Didn’t I tell you? You could be in Europe here.” Flushed and bright-eyed Dina leaned toward me in a low voice:

“Will you have some time for me later?”

“Of course. What a question! But what for?”

“I have something to read to you.”

“What? Ah… something of yours?”

She nodded.

“Of course. I’d be glad to. Whenever you’d like…”

“It’s long, though.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll find the time.”

I squeezed her arm.

“I’m so glad you came today. This whole visit has been like a quick dream. The evening I spent with you in Jerusalem already seems so far away… is everything all right with you two?”

“Yes.”

She wouldn’t unbend. And meanwhile the table was filling up with baskets of matzo, bottles of wine, condiments, platters of raw vegetables. The waiters poured the wine and silently handed us our menus.

Kedmi scanned his quickly. “The prices aren’t half bad,” he murmured.

“What did I tell you?” crowed Calderon.

The headwaiter appeared, a heavyset, immaculate, middle-aged Arab, and positioned himself next to me.

“Good afternoon, please. Would you care to order? I’ll bet it’s grandfather’s birthday…”

“You lose,” Kedmi shot back. “It’s actually a divorce party.”

The headwaiter laughed incredulously.

“Grandpa is leaving Israel. Aren’t you glad? There’ll be one less of us here.”

The man was stark raving mad. You never knew what he would come up with next. Calderon was alarmed. Ya’el laid a hand on Kedmi’s arm. This time he had really gone too far. But the headwaiter smiled imperturbably.

“The gentleman can’t be serious. Why leave Israel? What’s so bad about it?”

“Maybe it’s not so bad for you,” Kedmi answered with unaccountable, poker-faced vitriol. “After all, you people think you own it.”

This time the headwaiter frowned. The smile froze on his lips.

“Cut it out, Kedmi! That’s enough!” disgustedly hissed Asi and Tsvi.

The man was too much.

“Well, then, what will you have?”

We conferred. Calderon insisted that we all order appetizers. Even Gaddi. Even the baby.

“I’m asking you for my sake…’’ he pleaded. “Please do it for me…”

“Calm down there, Refa’el,” snapped Tsvi angrily.

Calderon shut up.

The meal was tasty, though: consommé, chopped liver, tender chicken breasts, crisp-roasted meat, vegetables done to perfection, big white potatoes. Asi and Tsvi chatted at their end of the table and Calderon sat in the middle talking with Kedmi, who was eating voraciously while pumping him about the bank. The wine was dry and subtle, lit now and again by tumbling drifts of light. Rakefet rocked back and forth in her high chair, a big piece of matzo in one hand, singing to herself as she ate it. The dogs minced down the gravel paths, along which some elderly boarders in their holiday best slowly led a small lady leaning on a walker while conversing in spirited tones. More tables were set for the oldsters and the waiters ran back and forth among them with little glasses of schnapps. They murmured brief instructions to each other in Arabic and served us pleasantly and politely. Ya’el sat tranquilly next to me, eating hungrily. Gaddi kept looking about him, hardly aware of what went into his mouth. A chill wind blew, stirring the branches. Ya’el talked about Rakefet to Dina, who kept wanting to know more and suddenly pulled out a small notebook and quickly scribbled something in it.

I laid a hand on her and winked. “So the little pad is still with you.”

She returned a friendly smile. “Always.”

The wine was going to my head. Kedmi had made peace with the headwaiter and was joking with him now, trying out his Arabic on him. I would have loved to know what Tsvi and Asi were talking about at the other end of the table. Kedmi praised the food, piling more and more of it on his plate until he was red in the face. Calderon’s worried eyes ran back and forth; from time to time he made some motion to a waiter while Kedmi jotted down on a napkin the names of stocks he was giving him and Asi and Tsvi lit up cigarettes.

“No smoking in the middle of the meal, boys,” I called out to them.

“Who do you think we learned from?” laughed Tsvi.

“But what are you two talking about? Speak louder, I want to hear too.”

“About history,” laughed Tsvi again in his winning way.

“History?” asked Kedmi. “What’s that?”

“Everything,” answered. Tsvi. “At least according to Asi.”

“What do you mean, everything?”

“Even this meal that we’re eating.”

“Even this meal? I like that.” Kedmi lifted a fork with a slice of meat on it and slid it into his mouth. “Yummm… what a delicious piece of history…”

The vulgar, twisted mind of the man.

“But if it’s everything,” asked Calderon wonderingly, “what can you learn from it?”

“Nothing,” Kedmi shot back. “You just keep eating it till you die…”

“No, really,” Calderon persisted, turning to Asa. “Is it possible, Dr. Kaminka, to understand what’s going to happen… perhaps even to draw conclusions about the future and prevent mistakes…?”

Asa nodded seriously.

“Really?”

“Not to prevent them, but to inoculate against them.”

“To inoculate???”

“To isolate the meaning, the secret code of the past, and distill from it a serum that can be injected into human beings to prepare them for the coming catastrophe: that’s the study of history in a nutshell.”

“What catastrophe is that, Asi?” I asked, startled.

“The coming one… the one that can’t be helped…”

Dina broke off her conversation with Ya’el and turned to look at Asa as though seeing him for the first time. An uncomfortable silence set in. It was clear that they weren’t on speaking terms.

Rakefet began to whimper. Calderon rose to pick her up but I reached her first and lifted her in my arms.

“Would someone pass me the meat, please,” said Kedmi, beet-colored by now. “And you, Asa, none of your horror tales, please…”