Amos Oz - Elsewhere, Perhaps

Grisha Isarov and Ezra Berger, their heavy bodies stripped to the waist, are sitting over a chessboard set up on an over-turned box. Mendel Morag stands over the game, offering iocular advice. Ezra is smoking a cigarette, and Grisha is sucking on his unlit pipe, which is elaborately carved.

In Fruma Rominov's house the windows have been taken out of their frames. The furniture has been removed, and through the open door the painter's ladder is visible. One of the younger couples is due to move in soon, chosen on grounds of seniority.

Our own dear Stella Maris appears from the bushes and settles herself on the green bench in the shade of the trees. She has a small leather case in her hand. She rests it on her lap and drums on it with her fingers. Ezra looks up from his game and eyes her as if he recognizes her. Noga notices his glance. She chews her upper lip, and closes her eyes. Grisha Isarov raps the box with the back of his hand. Ezra starts, takes a deep breath, and returns to the game. With three long strides Tomer recovers his ball, which has run away down the sloping lawn. Einav wipes her damp face with the hem of her shirt. Her limp gives her an additional charm. She has a striking figure. Nina Goldring calls to Herzl to come and have his coffee. Coffee's ready; if he doesn't hurry up it'll get cold. Herzl puts down his shears, dusts his hands, and climbs the steps to the veranda. Noga opens her leather case, and takes out a folded sheet of paper and a red pencil. She unfolds the paper but keeps the pencil clasped between her teeth. She closes her eyes again. Grisha must have said something funny: Ezra gives a coarse laugh. Herzl Goldring throws him a reproachful look. From the direction of the recreation hall Bronka appears, wheeling Danny in his stroller, his arms and legs waving. She asks Einav and Tomer if they want to go on playing. They can carry on; she'll be happy to have Danny for a little longer. Danny and she are having a lovely time together; they've just had a nice long walk, and now they're ready to start again.

From the hidden space underneath the Bergers' house a lean man with a thin black mustache emerges. He comes up on Noga from behind and casts his shadow on the sheet of paper spread out before her. Noga's eyes are closed. The man reaches out and strokes the air near her hair, which is done up in a bun now. His shadow responds by moving across the paper.

Without surprise the girl's eyes open, and she slowly turns her head. He bares his lips in a smile. Noga indicates the place to her left and says:

"Sit down. Don't stand behind me, sit down. I don't like people standing behind me."

Zechariah sits down with an exaggerated effort and says:

"Bless you, my dear. You're kind to an old man. The old man is touched and moved by your kindness."

"Wait. Stop. Tell me what countries are on the way."

"Well, you can choose, my sweet, you can choose an exciting route. All borders are open. Everything is possible. What would you like to see: Italy? Switzerland? France? Scandinavia?"

"I haven't said yes yet. I'm still here."

"And that's just what your wonderful mother has written to me. I had a letter from her yesterday. You can't imagine how much happiness your decision has brought her. And yet, despite her longing to see you, she, too, suggests we shouldn't go by the most direct route. No, you must see the world. That's what dear Eva writes. You must show her beautiful places. Take your time. I can hold on for another two or three weeks before I hold my daughter in my arms, even though my heart is aching. I can't sleep at night. We've got a lovely room ready for our own Stella Maris, in the attic, with windows on three sides, with Munich at her feet. A panoramic view, the lake, the forest, the big park. Ulrich, the gardener, has even been told to put up a hammock for our dear one at the bottom of the garden, among the whispering fir trees. Even Isaac is excited. He can hardly wait. We spend whole days making plans. But we can wait. You must take our girl on a long tour, Siegfried. You must show her the world. And in the winter, after the happy event, we shall leave the baby with old Martha, who was cousin Isaac's nanny as well as mine, and we'll all take off for Spain. We have reservations for the spring in Majorca. Tell my child all about Majorca. Kiss her for me on her forehead and on her sweet chin."

"I still haven't said yes. I'm not yours yet," Noga said in a flat tone of voice.

"You know, my dear, there is an expression I am very fond of: The president-elect/ Think about it, my sweetheart. He doesn't hold the reins of power yet, but at a certain definite, publicly known date he will enter into office. Meanwhile, he can roll it round his tongue and savor it. It's his for certain. He knows it. Everyone knows it. Like a sweet that you slowly unwrap. Like a bottle that you don't uncork at once. But it's yours. Even more so than when the drink goes down your throat. Like making love, when you delay the climax. Anticipation is so sweet. Like a big flame that's still locked up inside a matchhead, and you roll the match between your fingers. By the way, are you going to let me?"

"Let you what?"

"Carry out your mother's instructions."

Before Noga could say a word, Siegfried had leaned over and kissed her on the forehead and on the chin, as Eva had written, and gently stroked her hair. Noga mechanically touched the places that his lips had touched, as if the skin had been burned. She spoke in a whisper:

"Leave me alone now. I haven't said yes."

"No, you haven't, my little saint, but your heart has spoken the word, and I have heard it. I've heard it, my little Stella; one heart has heard another."

"Go away now. Don't be here."

"I'll go. Right away. I wanted to talk to you about clothes, but I'll come back another time. Your mind's elsewhere. You're dreaming about him."

"What clothes? About who?"

"New clothes, special clothes for our great trip, summer clothes and winter clothes. But you're not concentrating now. You're dreaming about your young knight with the horse's teeth. Have I guessed right? Yes? Yes, of course I have. Seek and ye shall find. Herbert Segal has handed the little soldier over to you. And you have accepted the responsibility. You're sorry for him. Mark what I say. You're sorry for the soldier, but it's not easy for you to remember every moment of the day that you've got to feel sorry for him. So you have to keep reminding yourself what a poor little colt he is."

"Go away, Siegfried. Go away."

"You've got a generous heart, my girl. A kindly, devoted heart. Even at difficult times you think of others. What a wonderful heart you have, my child; you're a lonely, hated outcast, hounded by the Herberts, and just the same you overcome your suffering and force yourself to think of others. To live for others. To help them. To serve them. To sacrifice yourself and your desires and your happiness for your father, your father who didn't spare you a moment's thought when he went out looking for a mistress. To give up your future for a confused, repulsive orphan, who kicked you yesterday and who will kick you again tomorrow, because he's not crazy enough to marry a girl in your condition. You're a saint, my child, you're choosing to sacrifice yourself for people who don't love you. You're a real saint."

Here, in a strange, exaggerated gesture, Siegfried went down on his knees before his young friend, and two thin streams of tears ran down his cheeks.

The onlookers, Tomer and Einav and the Goldrings, stared at him in horror and amazement. Nina said to Herzl:

"What a clown."

Tomer said to Einav:

"He's mad. Crazy!"

Einav said:

"That's it. That's the word I was looking for. That's exactly the right word for him."

Noga stood up and left the spot with quick, small steps. She did not look back. Zechariah got up, bowed politely to his audience, fingered his mustache and shrugged his shoulders.