Amos Oz - A Perfect Peace

"Azariah! That's quite enough of your buffoonery. Stop it at once."

"Comrade Yolek! Comrade Srulik, Hava, Mr. Prime Minister, I'll have to ask you please to stop trying to silence me, because with all due respect I'm afraid I'm the only person in this country who's willing to tell the whole truth. I've already promised not to take more than a minute or two of your time, and I won't. What do you all take me for? A chiseler? A cheat? You know they don't come any more idealistic than me. And what are two minutes? No more time than it takes to skin a cat. To get to the point, Mr. Prime Minister, I have to warn you that you've been sold a bill of goods, so to speak. If you'd like, I'll be happy to say a few words about the Syrians, and Nasser, and the Arabs in general, and the Russians too. You can either hear me out or not, sir, and afterwards, of course, you're free to decide what the country should do about it."

"The boy is a tragic case," apologized Hava. "He's a Holocaust survivor whom we've tried to take in here. Naturally, it hasn't been easy, but we haven't given up on him either."

"Hava," interrupted Yolek. "Please be so kind as to stay out of it. There's no need to explain. Eshkol can manage without your help."

The Prime Minister made a weary gesture but did not alter his engagingly warm smile.

"Never mind. Those shmendriks out there can wait in the car a little longer. They don't own me yet. And the Upper Galilee is not about to run away. Let's let the young troubadour finish his ballad, but he'll have to stop calling me Your Excellency and to talk a language a man can understand. Don't be afraid of me, young fellow. Feel free to speak your mind, but try beating about the bush a little less."

"But the Galilee will run away, sir!" Azariah cried out. "The Galilee, and the Negev, and all the rest. There's going to be a war. We'll be taken by surprise, fallen upon as in a pogrom. They're already sharpening their knives. That's why Yonatan walked out of here with a gun in his hand. It can break out at any time."

"Zaro," said Rimona. "Don't get worked up."

"You keep out of this, Rimona. Can't you see that it's me against the whole world? Does the woman I love have to take their side too? I've warned Comrade Eshkol that there's a war on the way and that even if we win, it will be the beginning of the end. I've said what I have to say. Now I'll keep my mouth shut."

"You know," said Eshkol, "the boy may be right. Down in my gut the whole thing scares me, and I don't want to win any war. Ah well! A fat lot of good we've done each other today. What did you say your name was, young man?"

"Gitlin. Gitlin, Azariah. And I pity us all."

"You do? Perhaps you would be so good as to tell us why we're all so deserving of your pity?" A mischievous glint flashed behind Eshkol's thick lenses.

"Quite simply, sir, you'll need all the pity you can get," continued Azariah, "because this country is surrounded on all sides by such bottomless pits of hatred. And has such bottomless pits of loneliness, because no one can stand anyone else. And this, if you ask me — I mean all the loneliness, the backbiting, and the hatred — is not only the very opposite of Zionism, it's a sure prescription for disaster. No one loves anyone. No one even loves you, sir. They make fun of you behind your back. They say you're a patsy, a half-and-half, a sell-out, a nebbish, a sissy, a finagler. They talk about you like Nazis. Even using anti-Semitic language. A shylock. A hymie. A cheap Jew politician. That's how they talk about me too. Don't you interrupt me, Comrade Yolek! You should be glad I haven't told Eshkol the things you say about him. And I pity you too because everyone hates you as well. There are people on this kibbutz for whom you couldn't die too soon. Most of Kibbutz Granot, and even one or two people here in this room, call you Yolek the Monster. They even say it was you that Yoni was running away from. So you better let me talk, because I'm the only one on this whole kibbutz, if not in this whole country, who still knows the meaning of compassion. It's the heart of darkness, I tell you, all this hatred and backbiting. And all along you've been lied to and kowtowed to. No one loves anyone, sir, not even on a kibbutz, any more. It's no wonder Yoni cleared out. The only one who loves all of you is myself, and Rimona loves me and she loves Yoni. When you were tastelessly joking a few minutes ago about knocking each other's teeth out, you were simply telling the truth. Because you hate each other's guts. Yolek is green with envy of you, Mr. Eshkol, just as you are green with envy of Mr. Ben-Gurion. If we Jews hate each other so much, why be surprised that the Gentiles hate us? Or the Arabs? Srulik is dying to be Yolek. Yolek would do anything to be Eshkol. Eshkol would give his right arm to be Ben-Gurion. Hava would gladly murder you all if only she could get up the courage to poison your tea. And then there's Udi and Etan and your son Amos, who do nothing all day but talk about killing the Arabs. This is a snake pit, not a country. A jungle, not a commune. Death, not Zionism. When Hava calls you all murderers, she knows what she's talking about because she knows the truth about every one of you. Not that that makes her less of a murderess herself. She'd kill me right here and now if she could, like a bug. And that's all I am. But not a murderer. No, sir. Maybe you've forgotten that Rimona and Yoni had a baby girl, Efrat. She died because death has been rampant here. But I'll give them a new child. Rimona and I still haven't forgotten what love is. And it's only because I love you all so much that I'm telling you there'll be a war soon and that the writing is already on the wall."

"Amen," said Eshkol, his smile frozen on his sallow face. "Faithful are the wounds of a friend. I'm afraid that for the moment, however, I'll have to waive the right of reply. Should you ever find yourself in Jerusalem, young man, drop by and we'll pick each other's brains. And now, be well, all of you. If the prodigal son turns up, please be so good as to inform me at once, even if it's the middle of the night. As for writings on the wall and all that, I never did put much stock in them. I say build our strength, keep a stiff upper lip, and go on hoping. God bless you all. Goodbye."

On his way out, the Prime Minister absentmindedly patted Azariah, who had finally stepped aside from the door to let him pass, twice on the back. He was flanked by two good-looking, smoothly shaven young bodyguards, who, with their blond, American-style crewcuts and wide, conservative ties appeared to be cut from the same cloth. The wires of their earplugs vanished discreetly into the collars of their blue suits. They opened and shut the doors of the car, which departed immediately.

"Come with me, Azariah," said Srulik. "I want to have a talk with you right now."

Amused but excited, Yolek objected. "What's wrong? Frankly I'm delighted Eshkol was subjected to that fusillade. It couldn't have done him a bit of harm when you think of that crowd of apple-polishers and diplomaed scoundrels he's surrounded with. Azariah gave him some piss and vinegar to drink, and it did my old heart good. Leave the boy alone, will you? Come over here, Azariah, you've earned yourself a shot of brandy. Bottoms up! To the health of the Devil! Quiet, Hava. Nobody asked you. The murderers are having a little nip. Did you get a good look at Eshkol? Why, it frightened me just to watch his face. He looks like death warmed over. Don't listen to her, Rimon'ka! Leave that bottle where I can reach it. And a cigarette might be a good idea now too."

"You're lunatics," said Hava. "All of you."

"Zaro has a fever," said Rimona. "So does Srulik. Yolek's heart is bad. And Hava hasn't slept a wink for two days. We've been talking for a whole hour, and now we should all rest."