Amos Oz - Elsewhere, Perhaps

"Just you wait till I catch up with you." He tries to pretend that his anger is good-humored and amused.

"Go to the army, Rami. Then you can frighten our enemies."

She lets him catch her, and adds in a sad way that has nothing to do with the game:

"You'll go into the army, you'll find someone prettier, you won't want me. But I don't need you. I don't need you at all."

Deep in the shadow of the trees they embrace. His lips leave a warm moist trail on her cheek.

"You. Of course I'll want you. I'll want you when I'm in the army. I'll want you even more."

"Why?"

"Because you're pretty."

"Tell me another reason. That's only a little reason."

"Because you excite me."

"Lecher."

"Because… because you're so."

"So what? What am I? Tell me. Can you?"

"So graceful. Like a gazelle. Just like a gazelle."

"Is that all? Can't you think of anything else to say?"

"There is another reason."

"What?"

"You haven't given it to me yet. Give it to me."

"Horse!"

The rustle of the pines draws them deeper into the darkness of the trees. They stretch out on a bed of dead pine needles, thinking, not touching.

"Your father."

"What about my father?"

"He's a strange man. My mother says he's not as great as he tries to appear. He has more weaknesses than he let's on."

"Tell your mother she's a bitch."

"You're angry. That proves I was right."

"Rami, when you're in the army, don't always rush into trouble. We've had enough heroes. If anything happened to you, it would kill your mother. Me, too, a bit."

"You mean what happened to Yoash?"

"Maybe that's what I mean, but you're a horse. You don't have to say everything you mean."

"Yes, you do. You and I must tell each other everything. Everything."

"No, we mustn't."

"Yes, we must."

Silence. Still they don't touch. The boy is stretched to breaking point. He has kissed and fondled and groped; now he curses his humiliating fears and plans to take her by force. Oh, sensitive little boy, who loves animals and plants, he eggs himself on scornfully. Noga suddenly tickles the inside of his ear with a pine needle. Gives a deep, warm laugh. Rami puts his hand on her hip, which responds with a gentle movement, a kind of inner dance. Now he tries to cling. His movements are exaggerated, his grip clumsy and painful. Noga does not resist his embrace. Only her laugh billows up convulsively, and she says strangely:

"Little boy, get off. Leave me alone."

"What's so funny? Don't laugh, I tell you. Don't laugh."

"It's not funny. But you are."

"What?"

"Funny."

"You're not a woman, Noga. You don't even know how to be one."

"But I don't want to. I hate it. I don't want to."

"To what?"

"To be a woman."

The first shot, which we have already heard somewhere else, forces the couple apart even before Rami has managed to get over Noga's laughter. Hell, the buttons are too big for the holes. He leaves her alone and says knowledgeably:

"It's starting."

But nothing starts. The shot dies away and is lost in the sounds of the night. Rami's knowledgeability is in vain. If he were clever, Rami would not try to attack indirectly. But Rami is not clever. This is not meant disparagingly. He is hard-working, honest, unpretentious, and, when circumstances demand it, self-sacrificing, all noble virtues, which spring ultimately from his straightforwardness. It is his disarming straightforwardness that moves him now to consult his friend about a problem which has been weighing heavily on him.

"You know, Noga, I think I've managed to win my mother round slightly."

"About volunteering? Really?"

"Yes, about being a paratrooper. The trouble is, if she won't sign I can't go into the paratroopers. I'm entirely at her mercy. Because of Yoash's death I'm officially considered as an only son, and they won't take only sons without a signed form from the parents."

"And you've managed to get round her?"

"Yes. We had a row. I had it out with her. That I'm not her little baby and that what happened to Yoash wasn't my fault and that what was good enough for Yoash is good enough for me and that not everyone in the paratroopers gets killed and that I'm not prepared to live my whole life in the shadow of what happened to Yoash because my life is my life. Everybody's always making unfair comparisons."

"Well? What did she say?"

"She didn't answer my arguments. She couldn't. She just called me a fool."

"And what did you say?"

"I called her a bitch."

"And what did she say?"

"She didn't say a word. That's why I think I've managed to win her round."

"I hope not. I hope she sticks to her guns, and doesn't sign."

If Rami were not so naive, he would not be so shocked now. What appalling treachery! What a sticky situation. You can't trust any of them. His anger made him say something cruel.

"You can't be relied on. You're just like your mother."

"Filthy old horse!"

At this a furious quarrel broke out in the quiet wood. Rami hurled all his vexations straight at her, and Noga, either from perversity or from the malicious pressure of her subconscious feelings, answered him sharply, with a honeyed voice and a smile of ice.

What a pity that they are deaf to the rich sounds of the night. Amid the gentle music of the night they pace nervously, round the swimming pool and back toward the houses. With a thousand beautiful sounds the night tries to charm them, but they barricade themselves behind their rancor. In the light of the lamp on the fence Rami stands, his large hands on his hips, a fresh cigarette in his mouth, trying to puff smoke in his girl friend's face. His rage exaggerates his horselike expression. Noga's little face is lowered. The hair falling over her cheeks hides the tears welling in the corners of her eyes.

Nearby, behind a privet hedge, Israel Tsitron, the night watchman, cranes his neck in an effort not to miss a word. He discreetly refrains from revealing his presence. On the other hand, if it were not for him, the two of them would be beyond the reach of gossip. And if it were not for the gossip, Fruma would never find out about her little ally, who is anxious about Rami and tries to prevent him volunteering for a dangerous task, and Fruma's sad heart would not experience that flush of warmth. As we said before, there is a praiseworthy side to gossip. It must not be condemned out of hand.

Sadness? Yes. Naturally. Our gaze follows Stella now as she steals, stooping slightly, back to her room in the children's house. The house is shrouded in sleep. She tiptoes into her room, without turning the light on. Slips between the sheets.

How old is Noga Harish? About sixteen. She will be crying now. Whispering the name of her mother far away. A square of cold moonlight on the wall. Outside the window, dark cypresses sighing in the breeze. What was it like, years ago, when I was little? How she used to hold me and terrify me. How she used to hold me cry say things to me in another language frightened I used to cry with her no one could see Mummy stop it I'm frightened of you Stella Maris if only you'd never been born Mummy I'll go wherever you are I'm yours I'm like you if only you could die if only we both could. It's black why is it so black.

Ezra Berger's arms rest on the steering wheel. His eyes gape at the road caught in the headlight beam. The road tricks the headlights with imaginary protrusions. Ezra's thick neck is sunk deep between his hairy shoulders. He doesn't feel tired. Not tired. But a kind of numbness weighs heavily on him and confuses his thoughts. His thoughts wander. Bronka's not alone now. In my room. In my bed. Grandma. Big hips. Thinking about her body. Hair. What a belly. "Belly like a mound of wheat" — huh! Old dumpling. Turquoise is so slim. Little devil. What a nerve, to say, all of a sudden, "You're sweet." If she weren't the poet's daughter, I'd hope that Oren would get her. He could, too. The same way Tomer won Einav. Conquered her. The Bible says "knew her." "And Adam knew Eve his wife and she conceived and bore a son." Knew. Clever word. Don't think the commentators understand it properly. Don't believe knowing a woman just means fucking her. Must be some difference. Maybe knowing is only when they get pregnant. If there's no difference, it's all just a drop of stinking fluid. Just like what Tomer did to Einav: first he courted her then he slept with her then she got pregnant and then he married her out of a sense of responsibility. Whores, the lot of them. Bronka. Eva. Einav. Turquoise?