Amos Oz - Elsewhere, Perhaps

"And what about Siegfried?"

"Well, this Siegfried is a business partner of Eva's new husband. So Eva will find out about it all. As for Eva, there's a feeling going around that she'll come back to us. And then we'll see."

"They say her husband's bought her a car and hired her a chauffeur, and she lives like a lady in high society."

"Still, I think she'll come back. I don't believe she's happy there. Do you really think money and comfort are everything? No, money can't buy happiness," said Hasia Ramigolski, and Gerda Zohar was quick to agree with her.

"Meanwhile, Siegfried's on his way here. Bronka said he's coming to Israel to sign on artists for his cabaret. Anyway, Eva will find out about her daughter. If you ask me, it'll give her something to think about."

"Blood's thicker than water. And the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, as they say."

"There's a famous novel about an old man who was always running after young girls."

"You think there isn't enough material here for a novel already?"

"Anyway, now that things have taken this turn…"

"If you think about it, from one point of view you could say that Bronka's really Noga's stepmother. In that case, Ezra's her mother's husband, in other words, her father. But from the other point of view you could say that Reuven is Ezra's father-in-law. And in that case, Bronka is Reuven's… You don't follow? I'll explain again. Slowly. Look:"

"I'm not surprised at the children. Ezra's or Reuven's. You don't have to be a great psychologist to see that…."

"I'm surprised at Reuven not making the girl stop it. A real father would have…"

"Yes, but don't forget that his relations with the girl aren't easy."

"Oh, no. Definitely not. Not at all easy."

As soon as Fruma had left, Einav Geva said sweetly:

"About Fruma, I want to tell you, they say she's wild because Noga Harish dropped her little genius. Fruma won't ever forgive her for it."

At this Hasia Ramigolski rounded on Einav menacingly:

"It sounds to me, Einav, as if you're gloating. I don't approve of gloating over someone else's misfortunes."

"Heaven forbid. I wasn't gloating. I was simply stating a fact. Fruma won't forgive her. She doesn't know how to be friendly. Once we were working together at the baking oven. You can't imagine the kind of things I had to listen to. Don't ask me to repeat them. She was oozing malice from every pore. She told me, for instance, under the pretence of being friendly, that…"

"No, Einav. You're still young. You don't understand human nature. Fruma isn't malicious. Fruma is a woman who's suffered misfortunes. And one can understand her. And if you don't understand a person like that, if you can't understand, it's a sign that…"

"You're right, Hasia, you're quite right." Einav avoided the ambush that threatened to cut off her line of retreat. "I'm not disagreeing with you about that. All I'm saying is that there's no contradiction: a woman can be unfortunate and still be malicious."

Hasia rejected the offer of a cease-fire. She had another blow to deal, and a chance to secure much better terms of capitulation.

"You don't understand at all, my dear. But just wait a bit. You'll be a mother soon. I hope you aren't made to suffer. But if you are, you'll learn a few home truths. You'll realize, for instance, that Fruma is a wonderfully straightforward woman. Of course, you haven't had a chance to appreciate that yet. When you've had to face the disasters that Fruma's had to overcome…"

Einav put up a desperate struggle. Her voice took on a sing-song tone, as if she was trying to teach Hasia a fact of life.

"I'm telling you, Hasia, Fruma Rominov would be malicious even without the disasters. It's in her nature. I've heard what sort of a person she was before all those famous disasters. I've heard. It's in her nature, I tell you. And you can't change human nature. It's a waste of time talking about it. By the way, Hasia, that's a lovely blue shirt your Tsvi…"

No. Hasia was not one to allow her victim to escape from her clutches by an old trick like that. Hasia wasn't interested at the moment in Tsvi's shirts. She was interested in crushing once and for all the shallow arrogance of these young people who consider themselves to be experts in psychology.

"No, my dear. If you want to know what Fruma Rominov was like when she was younger, you ask me. Fruma may be a difficult person. But she's straightforward. And that's a very positive combination. Before you form opinions about people, Einav, my dear, you must understand a bit about psychology. Talking casually like that, excuse me for saying so, is a sign of immaturity. But I understand you. I understand what makes you think as you do. I see exactly why you can't be objective. I won't explain now. In a few years' time, perhaps. If you still remember this conversation, I'll remind you what you were like once, and we'll both smile. You know, when a person judges someone else, he's really judging himself, without realizing it. And you can see what he's really like."

Einav gave a last wriggle. "I didn't mean to say that Fruma was entirely negative. You don't have to be an expert in psychology to know that there's nobody who's entirely negative. There are various facets to everybody, including Fruma. All I wanted to…"

"You've changed your ground now. If you'd only thought before you started speaking, Einav, you wouldn't have said things you'd have to retract later. These trousers are only good for the garbage heap. That Grisha gets through working clothes like a youngster of twenty."

Einav, grateful for her conqueror's magnanimity, ventured cautiously:

"Have you heard what they've been saying lately, Hasia? About Grisha, I mean."

"I've heard something, not about him but about one of his daughters. You'd better watch out, Einav. They say your husband's made friends with one of the little Isarov girls. I heard that last week, after a basketball game, the little Isarov girl dried his back for him. If I were in your place, I'd have a word with my young man before the birds start chirruping. You should always stitch that kind of seam from the back. It's stronger that way, and it looks better too. That's right, unstitch it, don't be slovenly at your age, unstitch it and sew it again from the back."

The buried roots of a burned tree trunk.

Three small concrete bungalows with corrugated-iron roofs. Like those the British army built to house its men. Each one is divided into two dwellings by a plywood partition. In this way we were enabled to house six old people. They are the parents of the founders of our kibbutz, who survived and came here to shelter beneath their sons' and daughters' wings.

The grandparents occupy a special position here in Metsudat Ram. They are not real members, but they enjoy most of the members' rights without any of the obligations. They have voluntarily taken on certain tasks, such as knitting and darning socks.

We must admit that there is something ridiculous, even embarrassing, in the spectacle of an ancient old man bending over a worn-out sock and painfully darning it. But who compelled them to? We didn't. They offered to do it of their own free will.

Throughout the morning you can see them, a dark cluster in the shade of the spreading sycamore that stands opposite their bungalows. They sit in easy chairs, their frail bodies wrapped in dressing gowns; the knitting quivers in their hands, and their heads are bent as though they are muttering spells.

Sometimes brown-skinned children gather at a slight distance, pointing and chanting: "Grandpas, grandmas, dance, dance, dance."

When we said that the old folk are lean, we were not idly generalizing. As it happens, there are three old men and three old women living here, and not one of the six is fat. The leading figure among them, known as Gospodin Podolski (the father of the Podolski who arranges the work rota), is tall and thin, but he has a hunch on his left shoulder. The other two men are short and frail; they are nicknamed respectively "Thick" and "Thin." The former's head, cheeks, chin, and neck are covered with short white bristles. The latter is completely bald. His face is pink and smooth like a young girl's. His gestures are so careful that it seems as if he is moving through a world made entirely of crystal.