Amos Oz - Elsewhere, Perhaps

What shall I say to her? She's not mine any more. I'll say I've come to see her. I'll say we don't have to talk. Let's sit and say nothing. You don't mind? You can say no. Then I'll leave. I've simply come to be. Here. Not to talk. May I?

Noga said yes. Sit down, I'll stay here on the bed, because I'm tired. No, I wasn't going to sleep. Sit down, do. I'm… I'm glad you've come.

"Are you?"

"Yes, I am."

Silence.

Distant laughter. Sounds of singing. In the wood. A strange melody. The air is hot. The electric light is very yellow. A bird shrieks close at hand. A moth hurls itself at the mosquito net in the window frame, making drunkenly for the light. Again and again it dashes itself against the netting, thudding lightly, in stubborn desperation. Beams of moonlight, too, try to penetrate into the room. The net does not halt them. They filter through it with ease. They have no body, not even a tiny one. They are here, inside, with us. It's only because of the electric light that they can't be seen. Here they are. Familiar smell. Painful. Father's smell. Her eyes are veiled. Perhaps a lump in her throat. Darling. Child. You're like Gai, Daddy. You're a big child. You could be my little brother. Don't be sad, Daddy, don't be sad. Won't do it again. Ever. Promise. Don't be sad. Everything will be all right. Don't worry, Daddy. Don't be sad. It'll be all right. I can't bear to see you sad. Don't. I promise. I've promised.

"Daddy."

"Yes."

"Were you asleep?"

"No."

"Nor was I."

"I know."

"Daddy."

"Yes."

"Let's go away."

"Where to?"

"Let's go away tomorrow. With Gai."

"Where to?"

"Somewhere far away. To the end of the world."

"Where to?"

"On the way we'll stop and collect her. Not without her. The four of us."

"Where to?"

"Somewhere else. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe. Just us."

"You're hurting me, Stella."

Silence.

Dafna Isarov cautiously opened the door, saw Reuven, muttered something, and shut the door again.

"Daddy."

"Yes."

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing in particular."

"What about?"

"Wiesbaden."

"What?"

"Wiesbaden. It's a place. A town. In Germany."

"What is there there?"

"Hot springs. When I was a child I saw… Never mind."

"What did you see?"

"Never mind. I didn't come to talk."

"No, go on. Talk. I want you to."

"Hot springs. Steam gushing out of the ground."

"What made you think of it?"

"They took me there. I was four. Five, perhaps. My father got a job there. In Wiesbaden."

"Was it a nice place?"

"I can't remember."

"Why were you thinking about… that place?"

"Wiesbaden. Because of the geysers. The hot springs."

"What?"

"I was frightened. Terribly frightened. I can remember. Steam gushing out with an awful hissing sound. I was only a child. Everything shook. Perhaps it was only me shaking. No. The earth shook. Everything."

"Like in an earthquake?"

"You know, Stella, for years and years I used to have terrible dreams about Wiesbaden. And now… now they're coming back."

"When?"

"Now. Last night, perhaps the night before. Several times. It's a nightmare."

"What did you dream? Tell me."

"I dreamed it was gushing. Under my feet. Right where I was standing. Something suddenly moved under my foot, a little crack in the ground, white steam came out, a bigger crack, a fissure. I run, it widens, steam and seething vapor, it chases me, it… it scalds. I scream. It's black. Roasting like burning oil. In the dream it's not always in Wiesbaden. It can be anywhere. Wherever I happen to be. All of a sudden."

"I… Daddy, I'll go there. I'll go and see the place you mentioned. Is it very far from… Never mind. I want to. I'll go there."

"Stella, don't look at me like that. I don't… I knew you'd go. Go."

"And you?"

"No."

"Never?"

"Never."

"But how can you… all alone?"

"I don't think I can."

"Daddy, what sort of a country is it?"

"Where?"

"There. Germany."

"I was born there."

"Yes."

"Pretty. It's a pretty country. Mountains, forests, wind, lakes, rivers, old towns, inns, peasants, thick beer, castles. And Wiesbaden."

"And the people?"

"I don't know. All the people I knew, all of them, either killed or got killed. But a strong wind blows. Filling the sails. You can hire boats on the lakes and sail, as your mother does. The sun isn't too bright, either. Or perhaps my memory is confusing it. Like twilight all the time. Less tiring for the eyes. Less light."

"You'll hate me."

"No, I won't."

"Yes, you will hate me."

"No. I… I've always hated hatred. I only hate… I don't know how to say it. Only Wiesbaden."

"You'll live."

"Yes."

"How?"

"I'll teach. Read books. Bring up Gai. If Gai decides to stay."

"Sad."

"Perhaps not. Perhaps not so sad. Perhaps like… like Herbert, for example. Living along one long groove. Dead straight. Calmly. Clenched teeth. Living drily."

"What else do you remember? Tell me more about it. Everything."

"I can't remember everything. I try to forget. But I can't forget Wiesbaden. I'm frightened. I can remember a little. I can remember bells, for instance."

"Bells? Did you say bells?"

"Yes, bells. Every Sunday. In the evening. At twilight. Endless fields, dark plains, black mountains in the distance. Great valleys. Forests. Little towns among the forests. Sounds everywhere, everywhere the sound of bells. Not a man in sight, not a breath of wind, not a bird in the sky. Bells. As if everything were dead, and only the bells were alive and singing, singing and alive, ding-dong sleep, ding-dong die, done ding-dong, die down dong. I'm frightened, Noga, I'm frightened at night, I'm frightened now."

Ezra Berger gave up his extra trip.

One evening he went to see Podolski, who was in charge of the work rota, and said:

"Podolski, I'm only going out' once tomorrow. And the same from tomorrow on."

"Has something happened?"

"Nothing's happened. I'm just tired. 'Is my strength the strength of stones?'" he added jokingly. But he forgot to accompany his joke with a smile. His decision may have been due to exhaustion, or perhaps rather to the blessed influence of Zechariah-Siegfried. Zechariah had long conversations with his brother. His purpose was apparently to reforge the link between Ezra and Bronka. Obviously, the attempt was made indirectly. It is doubtful whether Ezra himself was aware of his brother's secret aim.

Bronka treated Ezra with discreet consideration. She treated him as one treats a man who has newly arrived from distant parts. Once, at dawn, they both happened to wake up together, and without a word they resumed the relations that had been severed for a long time.

Now that affairs between husband and wife and daughter and father were resolved, it was evident that Ezra did not bear a grudge or seek revenge.

Somehow, like a tree insensibly growing a rough scab over a wound, old routines were re-established in the Berger household — the glass of tea together at bedtime or Bronka's patient massaging of Ezra's stiff right knee.

After the afternoon tea, for instance, Siegfried took the baby for a walk in its pram, and Tomer and Einav went to the swimming pool or the basketball field, leaving Bronka and Ezra on their own like a young couple.

Ezra came home from his journey around two o'clock every day, had a shower and lay down on his bed for a siesta, just as in days gone by. Once, Bronka said that she wanted them both to go away for a holiday after the New Year but that if Ezra objected she wouldn't press him. Ezra sleepily consented.