Amos Oz - A Perfect Peace

The visitor stumbled toward the door, grabbed hold of it, and furiously began pulling on a handle that was meant to open outward. His predicament temporarily dumbfounded him. Murmuring something that Yolek failed to catch, he put his guitar case down, figured out the secret of the door, and, once outside, cast back an anguished look.

"Goodbye," he said twice. "Forgive me."

"Just a minute," called Yolek. "Wait."

Panic-stricken, the young man turned around, bumping his shoulder against the door. There was a flare of fear in his green eyes, as though a trap had closed at the last minute, when escape seemed sure.

"Yes, sir."

"Did you say halftracks? What did you say you did in the army?"

"Nothing special. I was just a technical sergeant. Not exactly a sergeant. An acting sergeant, private first class."

"What exactly is a technical sergeant?"

"I'm not going back into the army!" Azariah Gitlin shot back fiercely, bristling like a cornered cat. "And no one can make me! I was honorably discharged three-and-a-quarter weeks ago."

"Easy there, young man. Easy there. Perhaps you could simply explain what a technical sergeant does? Anything to do with garage work?"

At once the lights were relit in the young man's face, as though, having abandoned every hope, he had been unexpectedly acquitted of all charges. Yolek felt his curiosity stir dimly. There was something about the newcomer that aroused his suspicion and approbation at the very same time.

"Yes, Comrade Yolek, yes, it's definitely garage work, and lots more too, armaments, combat gear, engine testing, everything, mechanics, automotive electronics, maintenance, repairs, even ballistics and some metallurgy, everything." He spoke at breakneck speed, in a single long breath.

"Eh?"

"Combat gear. I said armaments and combat gear."

"All right, all right, that's all very well. But do you know how to fix tractors and farm machinery or don't you? You do? Ah! We're singing in a different opera now. You saw my ad in the evening paper? You didn't? Honestly? No, no, there's no need to swear. I believe you. I believe everyone until I catch him in his first lie. I'll tell you what, though. This is one very strange coincidence. But first of all, come back inside. And please close the door. Good. Now for the plum I have for you. For the last six weeks I've been looking all over for a hired hand to work in our tractor shed. Sit down. Why didn't you tell me all this in the first place instead of lecturing me on Spinoza? Not that I regret one single moment of our conversation. You're not to blame for it in any case. Our two mechanics walked off the job at the same time and left us nothing but scorched earth. Itzik married a girl from Kibbutz Mizra and is fouling up the works in their tractor shed now. The other one, Peiko — really first-rate, that fellow — was hijacked from us by the central office. Move closer to the heater. You're shaking. Not that even a young man like Peiko can undo all the damage that's been done to the Party these past years. Everything's gone to hell there, just as in our tractor shed. But see here, you're getting sick. Your eyes look feverish. Don't worry, though. I've something stashed away that will nip whatever ails you. We're going to drink a little toast — a toastlet, maybe? — to Spinoza and the idea of kibbutzim. That is, if the thought of a wee bit of brandy doesn't frighten you off. What did you say your name was again?"

Azariah Gitlin repeated it, last name first.

"Meanwhile, here's some hot tea," Yolek said. "And don't tell me you don't want it because I've already poured it and don't get me angry. Here's sugar and lemon and here's the rotgut. You can either add some of it to your tea or drink it from a shot glass. You have your identity pass? Your army discharge? No need to jump up. I didn't ask to see them now. I just wanted to make sure you had them. Drink! Your tea is getting cold and the brandy will lose its aroma. I don't run a police station here. Your documents will be checked tomorrow and the necessary paperwork taken care of.

"No, kibbutzim don't distribute official membership cards. Why, here's Hava! Hava, I'd like you to meet Azriel Gitlin. He's a young volunteer, a gift from heaven, who may save our tractor shed in the nick of time and whom I in my infinite wisdom nearly chucked right down the stairs. Hava, would you please hand me a pair of clean socks from the drawer? The boy is all wet and may soon be sick himself. After dinner we'll invite him back here for another cup of tea and to talk about heaven and earth and all that's betwixt and between. This lad is a wonder — a man not only with ideas in his head but also, if he is to be believed, a cracker jack mechanic. One has to search far and wide these days to find anybody his age who isn't a hopeless Tatar."

"Comrade Yolek…" Azariah began, as if about to launch into a fervent declaration, but he broke off and fell silent, for Hava had chosen at the very same moment to ask a question.

"Do you play the guitar?"

"A bit. I mean I play a lot. Would you like me to play something for you now?"

"Perhaps later," said Yolek with one of his shrewd smiles. "Perhaps after supper. Or perhaps not. Perhaps we should postpone both our colloquium and your recital to another time. This evening — after you've eaten, of course — Hava will take you to Yonatan. Let the two of them meet, why not? Let them talk about the tractor shed or whatever they like. In the third drawer, Hava, you'll find the key to the barbershop. Yes, he'll stay in the barber's room, next to the Italian. There's a folding cot there, and blankets, and a kerosene heater. The barber, I'm sorry to say, comes only once every six weeks. There, young man, you can taste the life of the pioneers of old until we find you more permanent quarters. Oh, well. If I don't see you again tonight, I'll see you in the morning at the office. I do hope you won't decide to abscond on foot in the middle of the night, eh? Na, there's no need to answer. I was just making one of my old-fashioned jokes, and already you're on the defensive. Just pretend that nothing was said. Here, take a few cigarettes with you for the road. By the way, what do you have in that case, a violin? No? A guitar? We'll have to find some time to introduce you to Srulik. He's our head music man. And first thing tomorrow morning don't forget to come see me at the office. No, not about music — about the formal arrangements for you to stay. At the moment my elder son is running the tractor shed, and he'll explain all about it. If you can get Yonatan to talk, that is. And now, forward march, both of you. Go have your supper."

"All right," said Hava quietly, if with a kind of concealed hostility. "We will."

Tenderness or wonder made Yolek Lifshitz smile all of a sudden and declare, "Azariah!"

"Yes, Comrade Yolek."

"I hope you enjoy being here with us."

"Thank you very much."

"And welcome."

"Thank you very much, Comrade Yolek. I mean, I won't disappoint you. Never."

Hava turned to go and was followed by Azariah. She was a short, energetic woman with masculine, close-cropped, grayish-white hair and a clenched mouth. Overall her expression was one of a violently uncompromising good nature. Life, it seemed to say, is a vulgar, thankless, insulting business. Although scoundrels and swine are everywhere, I will not desert my post. I will do my duty without fail, devoted to the cause, to society, and to my fellow man, even if no one knows as well as I what a pigsty my fellow man is. As for the cause, the less I hear of it, the better. I've already heard and seen and smelled far more than I care to, but let it be.

"You said your name was Azariah? What kind of a name is that? Are you a new immigrant or something? Do you have parents? No? Then who brought you up? Look out, there's a revolting puddle over there. This way. That's right.