Amos Oz - Where the Jackals Howl

“Again? Did you say that my father was left alone again?”

Now Lily’s voice had a cold and authoritative sound to it, like that of a clerk at an information counter:

“Yes. Your father’s second wife died of cancer when you were six. Your father’s first wife did not die of cancer; she left him. She was divorced. Soon you will be a married man yourself, and it’s time your father stopped hiding elementary facts from you as if you were still a child.”

“I don’t understand,” said Yair, hurt. “I don’t understand — you say my father was married before?”

In his puzzlement he raised his voice beyond what was appropriate to the time and place. Lily was anxious to restore things to their proper level.

“Your father was married for four months,” she said, “to the woman who later married Erich Dannenberg.”

“That’s impossible,” said Yair.

He stopped. He took out a cigarette and put it between his lips but forgot to light it. Then for a moment he forgot his companion and forgot to offer her a cigarette. He stared into the darkness, deep in thought. At last he managed to say:

“So what? What has that got to do with us?”

“Be a dear,” Lily said, smiling, “and give me another cigarette. I left mine at home. You’re right. I myself find it hard to believe that there ever was, or could have been, such a marriage. I myself can hardly believe what I’ve just told you. But you should know, and you must learn what there is to be learned from that episode. Now, please light the cigarettes, mine and yours. Or give me the matches and I’ll light them. Don’t let it upset you. It happened in the past. A long time ago. And it lasted less than four absurd months. It was just an episode. Come on, let’s walk a little farther. Jerusalem is wonderful at this time of night. Come on.”

Yair began to follow her northward, lost in thought. And she was filled with a savage joy. A car honked and she ignored it. A night bird spoke to her and she did not answer. She watched her shoes and his on the sidewalk. And she took the lighter from his distracted fingers and lit both the cigarettes.

“And I was never told anything about it,” said Yair.

“Well, you’ve been told now. That’s enough. Relax. Don’t get yourself all worked up,” said Lily warmly, as if to console him.

“But it’s… it’s so strange. And not very nice, somehow.”

She touched the back of his neck. Caressed the roots of his hair. Her hand felt warm and comforting to the boy. They walked on, out of Rehavia and into the neighboring quarter. The winding streets became sharp-angled alleyways. And there in front of them was the olive tree, embracing and crushing the iron gatepost.

6

ELHANAN KLEINBERGER and Yosef Yarden were engrossed in their game of chess. A lamp styled in the shape of an old Bavarian street lamp shed a dim light on the table. On the bindings of the scholarly books danced gold letters which gave back a light still dimmer than the one they took from the lamp. All around stood Dr. Kleinberger’s bookshelves, set out along the length and height of the walls of the room, from floor to ceiling. One special shelf was devoted to the Egyptologist’s stamp albums. Another was reserved for Hebrew literature, Elhanan Kleinberger’s secret love. In the few spaces among the rows of books there were African miniatures, vases, primitive statuettes of a crudely erotic style. But these statuettes also served as vases, holding colored paper flowers that never wilted.

“No, Yosef, you can’t do that,” said Dr. Kleinberger. “In any case, you have no choice now but to exchange your knight for my rook.”

“Just a moment, Elhanan, give me a chance to think. I still have a small advantage in this game.”

“A temporary advantage, my friend, a temporary advantage,” replied Dr. Kleinberger playfully. “But think, by all means. The more you think, the better you will appreciate just how temporary your advantage is. Temporary and irrelevant.” He leaned back comfortably in his armchair.

Yosef Yarden thought hard: Now I must concentrate. What he says about the weakness of my position is just tactics in a war of nerves. I must concentrate. The next move will decide the game.

“The next move will decide the game,” said Dr. Kleinberger. “Should we call a ten-minute break and have a cup of tea?”

“A Machiavellian suggestion, Elhanan, and I don’t hesitate to call the child by his name. A diabolical suggestion designed to upset my concentration, and you have succeeded in doing that already. Anyway, the answer is: no, thank you.”

“Did we not say before that every child has more than one name, Yosef? We were talking about that only two or three hours ago. It seems that you have already forgotten our conversation. Pity.”

“I have already forgotten what I was intending to do to you. To your rook, I mean. You’ve succeeded in distracting me, Elhanan. Please, let me concentrate. Look, so. Yes. I am here and you are there. What do you say to that, my dear doctor?”

“For the time being I don’t say anything. All that I will say is: let’s break off for a moment and listen to the news. But after the news I shall say ‘check,’ Yosef, and then I shall say ‘checkmate.’”

It was nearly midnight when the two men parted. Yosef bore his defeat with dignity. He consoled himself with the glass of brandy that his host offered him, and said:

“At the end of the week we shall meet at my house. On my territory you will be the loser. You have my word on it.”

“And this,” said Dr. Kleinberger, laughing, “this is the man who wrote that eloquent article ‘Against the Politics of Revenge’ in The Social Democrat. Sleep well, Yosef.”

Outside were the night and the wind. An ill-mannered owl urged Yosef to hurry up. I forgot to phone her to ask what happened. Better wait until tomorrow. She will phone and apologize and I won’t accept her excuses. At least, not right away.

7

THE ACACIA solves mysteries/And tells what lies ahead,/I shall ask the acacia tree/Oh, who is my bride to be?

The insistent tune takes no account of circumstances and will not leave Yair alone. Already he has whistled it, hummed it, and sung it, and still the song gives him no peace.

Lily has questioned Yair about his professors, about his studies, about the girl students who were sure to be mad with grief at the thought of his forthcoming marriage.

Yair was thinking: That’s enough. Let’s go home. What she’s told me isn’t necessarily true. And even if it is true, so what? What does she want? What’s the matter with her? Time to put a stop to all this and go home. Besides, I’m cold.

“Perhaps,” he said cautiously, “perhaps we should start heading back home. It’s late, and there’s a dampness in the air. It’s cold as well. I don’t want it to be my fault if you catch a chill.”

He gripped her arm, just above the elbow, and began gently drawing her toward a street corner lit by a lamp.

“Do you know, my dear child,” she said, “the amount of patience that is required of a man and a woman to prevent their marriage from turning into a tragedy after a few months?”

“But I think… Let’s talk about that on the way home. Or some other time altogether.”

“For the first few months there is sex and sex is all that matters. Sex in the morning, at midday, and at night, before and after meals, instead of meals. But after a few months you suddenly begin to have a lot of time to sit and think — and you think all kinds of thoughts. Infuriating habits come to the surface, on both sides. And this is when subtlety is required.”

“It’ll be all right. Don’t worry. Dinah and I…”