Amos Oz - Fima

Fima was gripped by fear.

The moment he put the receiver down, it occurred to him that he had not asked his father how he was. He had forgotten his intention of taking him to the hospital for tests. He had even forgotten to notice whether the old man still had a whistle in his chest. He fancied he had heard a little squeak, but he was not certain: it might have been nothing but a slight cold. Or his father might just have been humming a high-pitched Hasidic tune. Or perhaps the noise had come from some fault in the telephone line. All systems were running down in this country and no one cared. This too was a byproduct of our obsession with the Territories. The ironic truth was that, as some future historian would discover, it was really Nasser who won the 1967 war. Our victory condemned us to destruction. The messianic genie that Zionism had managed to seal in the bottle popped out the day the ram's horn was sounded at the Wailing Wall. He laughs longest. Moreover, to pursue this line of reasoning resolutely to its bitter end, without flinching from the most unpalatable truth, perhaps the ultimate conclusion was that it was really Hitler, not Nasser, who had the last laugh. When all's said and done, he continues to persecute the Jewish people ruthlessly. Everything that is happening to us now has its origin one way or another with Hitler. Now what was I going to do? Make a phone call. It was something urgent. But who to? What about? What is there left to say? I also am lost in die forest. Just like that old saint.

AND BECAUSE HE HAD FORGOTTEN TO LOCK THE DOOR WHEN HE brought the newspaper up earlier in the morning, and because he was absorbed in a futile attempt to reassemble the radio, he suddenly looked up and saw Annette Tadmor standing in front of him, in a red coat and a navy beret worn at an angle, which made her look like a French village girl. Her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks were glowing from the cold outside. She looked childlike, meek, pure, and painfully attractive. He instantly recalled what he had done to her two days earlier and felt unclean.

The smell of her expensive perfume, tinged perhaps with a faint hint of liquor, aroused in him a mixture of regret and desire.

"I've been trying to call you all morning," she said, "but the phone's always busy. Sorry to burst in like this. Til only stay a minute, really. You don't happen to have a drop of vodka, do you? Never mind. Listen. I must have left an earring here. I was in such a muddle. You must think I'm crazy. The nice thing about you, Fima, is that I actually couldn't care less what you think of me. As if we were brother and sister. I can hardly remember a thing of what I burbled on about. And you're so kind, you didn't laugh at me. You haven't found one, have you? Silver, longish, with a little sparkling stone?"

Fima hesitated, made up his mind, tossed aside the newspaper that was occupying the armchair, and seated Annette in its place. At once he stood her up again and worked her arms loose from the sleeves of her red coat. This morning she looked beautiful and clever. He hurried to the kitchen to put the kettle on and check if there was any of his father's Cointreau left. On his return he said:

"I dreamed about you last night. You were so lovely and glad because your husband had come back to you and you forgave him for everything. Now you're even lovelier than you were in the dream. Navy really suits you. You ought to wear it more often. What do you say we draw a veil over what happened the day before yesterday? I'm so ashamed of myself. Your presence put me in a spin, and I seem to have behaved like the famous Tearful Rapist. I hadn't been with a woman for over two months. Not that that's any justification for behaving like a swine. Will you teach me how to make amends?"

Annette said:

"That's enough. Stop it. You're making me cry again. You've helped me so much, Fima; you're such a good listener, you've got so much understanding and empathy. I don't think any man in the whole world has ever listened to me the way you did. And I was so weird, so selfish, so absorbed in my own problems. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings."

She added that she had always been a great believer in dreams. It was a fact that that very night, when Fima was dreaming of her, Yen had really called from Milan. He sounded a bit low. He said he had no idea what would happen, that time would tell, and she should try not to hate him.

"Time…" Fima began, but Annette laid her hand over his mouth.

"Let's not talk. We talked enough the other night. Let's just sit quietly for a minute or two, and then I'll be on my way. I've got a million and one things to do in town. But I like being near you."

They were silent. Fima sat on the arm of her chair, his own arm barely touching her shoulder, ashamed of the mess, the long-sleeved undershirt thrown over the sofa, the bottom drawer he had not closed last night, the empty coffee cups on the desk, the newspapers everywhere. He mentally cursed the stirrings of desire, and swore to himself that this time his behavior would be above reproach.

Annette said, thoughtfully, to herself rather than to him:

"I have wronged you."

These words almost brought tears to his eyes. Ever since he was a child, he had felt sweetness and joy whenever a grownup said things like that to him. He had difficulty resisting the urge to go down on his knees before her, exactly like her husband in his dream. Although, to be strictly accurate, it had not been in a dream but in his thoughts this morning. But he saw no difference.

"I have some good news for you," he said. "I've got your earring. I found it on the very armchair you're sitting in. I'm such an idiot: when I opened my eyes this morning, in the first glimmer of dawn, I thought it was a glowworm that had forgotten to switch itself off."

Emboldened, he added:

"You know, I'm an extortioner. I won't let you have it back for nothing."

Annette burst out laughing. She went on laughing while he leaned over her. Pulling him toward her by his hair, she kissed the tip of his nose, as though he were a baby.

"Will that do? Can I have my earring back now?"

Fima said:

"That's more than I deserve. You've got some change coming."

And to his own astonishment he suddenly clasped her knees and dragged her body down to the floor, desperately dizzy with lust, not stopping for her clothes but forcing his way blindly, with a sleepwalker's confidence, thrusting into her almost at once, feeling as though it was not his penis but his whole being that was being enfolded and dissolved in her womb. He ejaculated with a roar. When he finally surfaced again, feeling drained and as weightless as a sunbeam, as if he had left his bodily mass inside her, he was horror-struck at the realization of how he had degraded both himself and her yet again. He knew that this time he had shattered it all forever. Then Annette began slowly, tenderly stroking his head and neck, until he shuddered deliciously and his skin quivered.

"The Tearful Rapist," she said.

And she whispered to him:

"Hush, child."

And again she asked if there was any vodka. For some reason Fima was afraid she might be chilly. Clumsily he attempted to rearrange her clothing. And tried to say something. But once again she hastily placed her hand over his mouth, and said:

"Quiet now, little chatterbox."

As she stood combing her beautiful hair in the mirror, she added:

"I'm off now. I've got a million and one things to do in town. Just let me have my earring back: I've earned it honestly. I'll call you this evening. We'll go see a film. There's a brilliant French comedy with Jean Gabin at the Orion."

Fima went to the kitchen and poured what was left of the Cointreau into a glass for her. He rescued the kettle from boiling dry at the very last minute. But try as he might, he could not discover what he had done with the earring. He swore he would turn the flat upside down and return her magic glowworm safe and sound that evening. As he escorted her to the door, he muttered abjectly that he would never forgive himself.