Amos Oz - Elsewhere, Perhaps

Einav Geva, who was also baking, said:

"I never take mine out at the right time. It's always either too soon or too late. I haven't got your knack, Fruma, of catching them at the exact moment."

"Never mind," Fruma answered, "experience comes with age. That's life."

How she limps. Tomer Berger, such a greasy Casanova, and he's ended up catching a cripple. Or did she catch him? You'll make such a marriage, Rami, that their eyes will pop out of their heads. Only take care of yourself. Because you're good-looking. You may not be brilliant. Not so good at talking in impressive phrases. But you're straightforward. Like me. Sometimes I'm sad when I think how straightforward people suffer in this life. Clever people don't say everything they think. But you always say everything you think, son. Always. To everyone. It's not wise, Rami, it's not always wise. But you'll develop. You have an open mind. You'll learn from experience. You won't always be the good little lamb that everyone exploits. If they want a volunteer to unload a truckload of manure at six o'clock in the evening? Rami. If they need someone to get a dead cat out of the food store? Rami. Rami, Rami, always Rami. Don't be a fool. Don't be such a simpleton. Now they're laughing at you because your girl-friend's left you and gone off with an old lecher. They don't understand that you're not a fool. You enjoyed her, and then you dumped her because she's not a nice girl for all her good looks. That's what happened. Yes, that's how it was, idiot. You don't always have to tell the whole truth. Don't be a simpleton, or they'll destroy you. They don't deserve to have you living here, because you're decent to your finger-tips, like your mother. Now, now's the right moment to take them out. She limps twice as badly now she's pregnant. What a terrible limp.

Fruma removes the hot tray from the oven with an old cloth and holds it under Einav's nose.

"Sniff this. Smells good, eh?"

Einav smiles shyly and says:

"You're unbeatable, Fruma."

"Try one. Melts in the mouth, eh? Take another one, for your husband. They say he likes sweet things. By the way, when are you having your baby? You must have worked it out."

"Next month, apparently."

"Splendid. I'm delighted to hear it. It doesn't have to be difficult the first time. Don't let your friends frighten you. What are you going to call the child?"

"I, we thought…"

"What about Reuven? Reuven Berger. It would make your mother-in-law very happy. By the way, they say she hasn't been too cheerful lately."

"Do you think…"

"No. I didn't mean anything specific. Just generally. You know I… I'm not a hypocrite. But I wanted to say something to you, something personal. It's about your leg. There's a new doctor in Jerusalem, at the Hadassa Hospital, a recent immigrant from Poland, who works miracles with orthopedic cases. There was an interesting article about it in the paper — perhaps you saw it. As soon as I read it, I thought of you. I'm always like that. I think a lot about other people, but I don't make a big fuss about it. It might be worth your going to Jerusalem to see this doctor. It can't do any harm. You never know in life what will change your luck. Isn't that right? Your leg's got worse recently, hasn't it? You don't mind me talking about it, do you? I've really been thinking about you recently. You're still young, and you ought to try to be pretty. Men are apt to behave badly when they don't find their wives attractive physically. That's life."

Einav tries to change the subject. It's natural.

"I don't care if I'm pretty or not, at the moment. I can't think about such things just now. What does Rami have to say, Fruma?"

As if by magic Fruma's face changes. The wrinkles round her eyes vanish, the firm set of her jaws relaxes somewhat, and the corners of her mouth droop, suggesting a spoiled child about to burst into tears.

"Rami? My Rami? He writes me wonderful letters. He's getting on marvelously in the army. Rami is like me: he's so honest and straightforward and dedicated that he's well thought of everywhere. It's a very rare quality. Incidentally, I think that your father-in-law is only carrying on with Reuven Harish's daughter now because my Rami paved the way for him, so to speak. But my Rami saw straightaway that it was rotten fruit. He took a bite, enjoyed it a bit, then threw it away." (Here Fruma wrinkles her nose in disgust. Her voice is full of venom. Her face is twisted in a cruel, gloating grin.) "Your father-in-law picked up and sucked what my Rami threw away. It's disgusting. All in all, there are interesting goings on in your family now. If I were in your place, I'd keep an eye on my husband. I hope you don't mind me talking about it. I'm saying it for your good, really. After all, I've had a lot of experience, and I only want to give you sound advice. Now that your husband's been wounded, you'd better be all eyes. It gives them a kind of magic charm. Incidentally, they say that little Dafna's got her eyes on Tomer. These things have become fashionable now among our young girls, as everybody seems to realize except our schoolteachers. That's life."

Einav looks down at the pastry on the table in front of her, kneading it and molding it into little cakes. She does not look up at Fruma. She wants to avoid the malice, but she does not understand it clearly. She is not glad of Fruma's company.

Unhurriedly, Fruma transfers her cookies from the baking sheet to a tin, and unhurriedly she lights a cigarette and casts a serious glance at Nina Goldring, who is in charge of the stores, dragging a sack of sugar. Isn't that just typical of the kibbutz? Typical. A woman struggling and nobody offering to help her.

"Nina, do you want a hand?"

"No, thanks," Nina says, "I've finished. That's where it goes. Thanks, anyway, it was kind of you to offer."

"What do you think, Fruma?" Einav asks. "Is the hamsin going to start again? I wouldn't want to have the baby in a heat wave."

"You're quite right, my girl. That's very true. The hamsin drives men wild. You'll go away to have the baby, and he'll find himself some tasty morsel behind your back. Taste one of this kind, too, Einav. I put a bit of wine in the pastry. Delicious, isn't it? Does Bronka ever bake cakes for you? No? Not surprising. They say she's very busy. Teaching. It's interesting, by the way, I've been reading a novel just this week about an actress who had nine husbands, one after the other, and, then, when she was already a grandmother, she got married again to a young artist. You haven't tried these yet, Einav, the spiced ones. They're excellent. Here, take one, don't refuse an old widow. Well, then… What were we talking about? Yes. Imagine if your mother-in-law suddenly got pregnant by Reuven Harish. You think it's impossible? You'd be surprised if you knew some of the things that happen. There's a novel about an old man who has a child as a mistress. I read a lot now I'm all alone. Somebody ought to write a novel some day about our kibbutz. There's plenty of interesting material. And symbolism, too."

Einav asks Fruma when Rami will be coming home on leave. Fruma looks at Einav and doesn't understand for a moment what connection there is between her question and what went before. But she is not perplexed for long. A sour smile of complicity flits across her face and instantly vanishes.

"One day I'll show you my Rami's letters. He writes beautifully. I'm sure he's got a natural talent for writing. If only the teachers here had taken the trouble to help him develop. But no, they didn't do it and they never would. They're not interested in developing talents. On the contrary. They want to produce simple people. Just simple people, who'll work all day in the fields and go to bed at night and make children and grab a weapon when it's necessary and rush out to die heroically in battle. Constructive people. Come and see me some time, Einav; I'll give you the address of that Pole in Jerusalem. Your cake could have turned out quite well, Einav. It's only a little bit burned. Never mind. Experience comes with age."