Amos Oz - Where the Jackals Howl

“I don’t know,” said Yair.

“I wasn’t asking you. It was a rhetorical question.”

Yair began scratching the lobe of his ear uneasily. What’s the matter with her? What’s she up to? There’s something about her that I don’t like at all. She isn’t being sincere. It’s very hard to tell.

“Now you’re searching for something to say and not finding it. It doesn’t matter. Your manners are perfect, and for heaven’s sake, you’re not in front of a board of examiners.”

“I wasn’t thinking of you as a board of examiners, Lily. Not at all. I mean, I…”

“You’re a very spontaneous boy. And quick and witty replies don’t matter to me. What interests me is, rather, your… how shall I put it, your esprit. ” And she smiled in the dark.

Chance led them to the upper part of the suburb. They reached the center of Rehavia and turned north. A passerby, thin and bespectacled, definitely a student of extreme views and crossed in love, passed in front of them with a transistor radio in his hand. Yair paused for a moment and turned his head, straining to catch a fragment of the fascinating program that Lily had interrupted. Not on the hill or in the vale, where stands an old acacia tree. Thanks to her he had gone out of the house without a coat, and now he was cold. He did not feel comfortable, either. And he had missed the climax of the program. Time to get to the point, and get it over with.

“Right,” said Yair. “OK, Lily. Are you going to tell me what the problem is?”

“Problem?” She seemed surprised. “There’s no problem. You and I are going for a stroll on a pleasant evening because Dinah has gone away and your father isn’t at home. We are talking, exchanging views, getting to know each other. There are so many things to talk about. So many things that I don’t know about you, and there may even be things that you would like to know about me.”

“You said before”—Yair scratched his ear—“you said there was something that you—”

“Yes. It’s just a formality and really quite unimportant. But I would like you to sort it out as soon as possible. Let’s say tomorrow or the day after, at the latest by the beginning of next week.”

She put out her cigarette and refused the offer of another.

Many years ago a famous architect sketched the plan of Rehavia. He wanted to give it the character of a quiet garden suburb. Narrow shady lanes like Alharizi Street, a well-tended boulevard called Ben-Maimon Avenue, squares like Magnes Square, full of the pensive murmur of cypresses even at the height of summer. An enclave of security, a sort of rest home for fugitives who have suffered in their lives. The names of great medieval Jewish scholars were given to the streets, to enrich them with a sense of antiquity and an air of wisdom and learning.

But over the years, New Jerusalem has spread and encircled Rehavia with a noose of ugly developments. The narrow streets have become choked with motor traffic. And when the western highway was opened and the heights of Sheikh-Badar and Naveh Shaanan became the heart of the city and the state, Rehavia ceased to be a garden suburb. Demented buildings sprouted on every rock. Small villas were demolished and tenements built in their place. The original intentions were swept away by the exuberance of the new age and the advance of technology.

The nights give back to Rehavia something of its plundered dreams. The trees that have survived draw a new dignity from the night and sometimes even act like a forest. Weary, slow-moving residents leave their homes to stroll at dusk. From the Valley of the Cross a different air arises, and with it a scent of bitter cypresses and night birds. It is as if the olive groves rise up and come into the lanes and the courtyards of houses. By electric light, book-laden shelves appear through the windows. And there are women who play the piano. Perhaps their hearts are heavy with longing or desire.

“That man on the other side of the street, the one feeling the sidewalk with his stick,” said Lily, “that’s Professor Shatski. He’s getting old now. I don’t suppose you knew Professor Shatski was still alive. I dare say you thought he was something out of the last century. Perhaps you’d have been right. He was an elegant and venomous man who believed in mercy, and in his writings he demanded mercilessly that all men show mercy to all men. Even the victim should show mercy to his killer. Now he’s blind.”

“I’ve never heard of him,” said Yair. “He isn’t exactly in my field, as they say.”

“And now, if I may just ask for one more cigarette, let’s talk about your field, as they say.”

“By all means. Take one. I’m curious to know about the formality that you started talking about before.”

She narrowed her eyes. Tried hard to concentrate. Remembered moments of pain that she had lived through long before this clumsy cavalier was born. She felt a momentary nausea and almost changed her mind. But after a while she said:

“It has to do with an examination. I want you to have a medical examination as soon as possible, certainly before we announce the wedding officially.”

“I don’t understand,” said Yair, and his hand stopped halfway to his ear. “I don’t understand. I’m a hundred percent fit. Why do I need an examination?”

“Just a screening examination. Your mother died of a hereditary disease. Incidentally, if she had been examined in time, she might have lived a few years longer.”

“I had a physical two years ago, when I started at the university. They said I was as healthy as an ox. I know very little about my mother. I was young then.”

“Now, Yair, don’t go making a big fuss over a little examination, OK? There’s a good boy. Just for my peace of mind, as they say. If you knew any German, I’d make you a present of all the economics books that Erich Dannenberg left me. He’s someone else that I’m sure you don’t remember. A new leaf, as they say. I shall have to think of some other present for you.”

Yair said nothing.

As they walked up Ibn Ezra Street, they were confronted by an elegantly dressed old woman.

“There is a personal link that joins all creation. God is angry and man does not see it. One meaning to all deeds, fine deeds and ugly deeds. They that walk in the darkness shall see a great light. Not tomorrow — yesterday. The throat is warm and the knife is sharp. To all of creation there is one meaning.”

Yair moved away from the madwoman and quickened his pace. Lily paused for a moment without speaking, then caught up with him. A poisonous, twisted sort of expression spread over her face like a disease. And then passed. In Jerusalem they called the elegant woman “One Meaning.” She had a startlingly deep voice and a German accent. From a distance the madwoman of Rehavia blessed the two who were walking by:

“The blessing of the sky above, and the blessing of the water beneath, from Düsseldorf to Jerusalem, one meaning to all deeds, to those that build and those that destroy. Peace and success and full redemption to you and to all refugees and sufferers. Peace, peace, to near and far.”

“Peace,” replied Lily in a whisper. From there until they reached the Rothschild School, not a word was said. Yair was humming or murmuring to himself, “Not by day and not by night…” and then he stopped.

Lily said, “Let’s not quarrel over this examination, even though it may sound to you like a whim. Your mother died only because of negligence, and as a result your father was left alone again and you became an orphan.”

Yair said, “All right, all right, why make an issue of it?” Then, with a slow realization, he began to see the significance of something she had said. He put his tongue to the edge of his mustache, caught a fragment of tobacco, and said: