Amos Oz - Elsewhere, Perhaps

"What's the matter with you, maniac."

"I've told you. I've come to a decision."

"Maniac you're a maniac leave me alone maniac, it hurts, you don't know anything you're a maniac."

There is a cruel expression on the boy's face. His eyes are protruding, his features distorted. Noga finds him repulsive. He's ugly. Why have I never noticed before how ugly he is?

Suddenly she stopped moving, relaxed all her muscles and said icily:

"Leave me alone, please. Now go. Go away."

The boy froze instantly, searched her face with a glazed, unrecognizing look, and once more clung to her with his tense body. It was not desire that drove him mad. It was humiliation. A sudden sob burst from Noga's throat. She had to struggle to control her groaning body, which threatened to betray her. Rami was panting. Let us look more closely at his eyes. Believe it or not, they are full of tears.

It was Ezra Berger who intervened at the critical moment to rescue the girl from the unbecoming struggle. While the pair were wrestling, they suddenly heard footsteps coming toward the door and then a loud knocking. Rami retreated, scarlet-faced, to Dafna Isarov's bed. Noga, meanwhile, adjusted her dressing gown, rolled onto her stomach and said, "Come in."

What is Ezra Berger doing in Turquoise's room after dinner on a Friday night? Ezra Berger is bringing Noga a packet of embroidery thread. These last weeks the girl has made frequent calls on the driver's good nature and exploited him to do her shopping for her. At first she used to reimburse him out of her meager savings. More recently he has been paying out of his own pocket. In return, Turquoise has made him a little bag to carry his sandwiches in, with the figure of a bear embroidered on it. In the early afternoon, between Ezra's first and second trip of the day, she goes to the motor shed to chat with him for a quarter of an hour. They have already snatched a number of such conversations. Not, of course, about serious topics, still less, needless to say, about the painful affair that affects them both, but just lighthearted banter. Ezra, in his usual bluff, friendly way, answers his little friend with proverbs and metaphors, while Noga answers him childishly, as she always does when she talks to people who are much older than she is. That is not to say that she is trying to captivate the man. Not at all. That is simply the way she always talks to people who are much older than she is. There is nothing wrong with these meetings, we must insist, except for one detail of which we do not approve, namely the driver's habit of putting his hand on Turquoise's head and stroking her hair in a paternal sort of way, and even tickling her neck a little. Noga is not a child any more. Is it possible that Ezra Berger has chosen to overlook the fact?

"Good Sabbath to you, young lady. See what I have for you." Ezra comes in and holds the packet out clumsily toward her. Noga smiles and holds out both her hands. Ezra catches sight of Rami lying curled up with his sullen face turned to the wall.

"Ha, my little warrior — you here, young Rominov? Have you been sent home from the army? What? Not called up yet? Capital! Meanwhile, you're keeping watch over your sweetheart's bed, eh? Like Solomon's bed, surrounded with sixty warriors."

"Good Sabbath, Ezra," replied Rami, curtly.

"Why aren't you with your mother? It's not nice to leave her all alone on Friday night. You can court young ladies any night. But if you'll take an old man's advice, you won't court them at all. Wait for them to come to you. 'A woman shall compass a man'—that's what the Prophet says. And he wasn't a prophet for nothing. By the way, why do you suppose there were 'threescore valiant men' round King Solomon's bed? Wouldn't two or three have been enough? The answer is in the text: 'threescore valiant men, of the valiant of Israel.' That's why he needed sixty of them. You see, the Bible isn't meant to be declaimed aloud. You have to read it carefully and think about it. Then you can hear a kind of undertone of, what shall we call it, of faint self-mockery. What do you say to that?"

Rami shrugs his shoulders. The old bear has chosen a fine time to pester us with his nonsense. Why doesn't he go away? Nothing ever goes according to plan. To hell with him.

"Well, Rominov, when are you off to make your name as a hero?"

"I'm going to the army in ten days," said Rami, with another shrug.

"And you're leaving behind a broken heart, eh? Have you ever heard the old Jewish story of 'find or found'? No? Then I'll tell you. In the old days they used to ask a bridegroom the morning after the wedding night one simple question: 'Find or found?' If he said 'found,' it was good. If he said 'find,' it was bad. Very bad. Why? Both words refer to Biblical sayings. One is 'He who has found a wife has found a good thing.' The other is 'I find the woman more bitter than death.' Witty, eh? They were wise old men, our ancestors. Every word implied ten more. You mustn't be angry with me, Rominov, because you're a bright lad, and you realize that I'm saying ten words so as not to have to say one. That's the way of jokers, Rominov, and jokers aren't happy people. Sometimes they say unpleasant things. It's not easy for them to control themselves, but they have to control themselves, because if they don't, how can you tell the difference between them and plain bad men? Why do I stay here boring you? As the wise man says, The best thing I have found for a body is silence.' But what the wise man forgot to add is that not everything which is good for the body is good for a man. Good night. Forgive me, Rominov. You've already forgiven me. You're a good lad."

"Good night," Rami answered, sullenly. But Noga cunningly frustrated his plans by saying suddenly, with a flattering smile:

"Don't go yet, Ezra. Stay with us for a bit. You're talking so nicely this evening."

And Ezra Berger?

You can never predict human behavior. We should have expected Ezra to stop talking and go. But Ezra didn't stop talking, and he didn't go. He gave Noga a long, amused look. Then he sat down carefully on the only chair, between the two beds, turned his rough face toward Rami, and rolled his eyes, like a clown.

Rami lit a cigarette and impatiently blew out a thick puff of smoke. By the light of the match we can observe something we have never noticed before: Rami Rimon has a slight mustache. Not much of one, it is true, hardly more than a pale, fuzzy shadow on his upper lip, but nevertheless.

Ezra, too, pulls out a cigarette and lights it with a gilt lighter. He closes one eye and opens the other wide, star ing fixedly at the gold ring on his little finger. Then he raises his eyes and looks the boy over carefully, from head to foot and then back again, from his feet to his head.

"Golden head. What a pity, Rominov, that you're being snatched away from us to take the king's shilling, as they used to say."

Rami says nothing. He shoots the older man a fierce look of unveiled hatred.

For a moment Ezra flinches as though struck across the face. But instantly he readopts an expression of amused sympathy.

"You have no choice, young Rominov. You must dress up in uniform and go leaping on the mountains, skipping on the hills. But sometimes, my boy, sometimes, on Sabbaths…" Ezra closes his eyes and makes a juicy sucking sound with his lips."…on Sabbaths my beloved will have a short leave, and then… then my beloved will come to his garden and eat its choice fruits."

And Turquoise? Turquoise laughs out loud in sweet ripples of sound, her green checkered dressing gown, too large for her, buttoned carelessly over her body, vaguely suggesting the curves of her figure, slipping up above her knees. She does not avert her green-flashing gaze from the boy.

"That's enough, Ezra. Stop it, for Heaven's sake. Let him be. Look, he's gone all red. Why do you tease him? He's smaller than you are."