Amos Oz - Where the Jackals Howl

13

BUT I can’t receive him in my dressing gown. I must get dressed. I must tidy the room, if it’s not tidy enough already. I must get out the best china, so that I can serve the tea properly. And open the shutters. Let some fresh air in. Freshen up the biscuits, too. But first of all, get dressed.

She went to the sink and washed her face repeatedly in cold water, as if to mortify her flesh. Then she ran her bony fingers over her face and hair in the mirror and said aloud, There, there, you’re a good girl, you’re lovable, don’t worry, everything’s all right.

She put a little makeup on and brushed her gray hair. For an instant she caught a glimpse in the mirror of the old witch the children called Baba Yaga, but at once she was replaced by a noble, lonely woman unbowed by her suffering. Batya preferred the latter, and said to her: No one else understands you, but I respect you. And the book is dedicated to Batya, a devoted wife, the fruits of my love and anguish.

Just as she pronounced these words she heard the squeal of brakes in the clearing in front of the dining hall. She leapt to the window, still disheveled because she had not had time to put the hairpins in place; she flung the shutters open and thrust her head out. Abramek Bart, director of the publishing house, got out of the car and held the door open for the secretary general of the movement.

Felix appeared from nowhere to greet them both with a warm yet businesslike handshake and a serious expression. They exchanged a few words and walked off together to inspect the damage and the reconstruction work, which had been proceeding ceaselessly since early in the morning.

14

SHE FINISHED getting ready. She put on her burgundy-colored dress, a necklace, and an unobtrusive pair of earrings, dabbed a few drops of perfume behind her ears, and put the water on to boil. Meanwhile the blue daylight poured in through the open windows. Children and birds were shrilling joyfully. The streaming light seemed to dull the water in the aquarium. The old Spanish tune came back to her lips, and a warm, deep voice emerged from her chest. The song was compelling and full of longing. In the old days, in the distant thirties, the Spanish freedom-fighters and their sympathizers all over the world had been forever humming it. Abrasha could not stop singing it the night he left. A decade or so later, during the Israeli War of Independence, it had acquired Hebrew words. It was sung around the campfire among the old shacks by pale-faced soldiers who had recently fled from Europe. Night after night it had drifted among the kibbutz buildings and had even reached Batya Pinski:

The first dish to be served

Is your beloved rifle

Garnished with its magazines…

Suddenly she made up her mind to go outside.

Bursting out among the fallen trees and broken glass, she saw the sky peaceful and clear over the hills, as if nothing had happened. She saw Matityahu Damkov, his bare back glistening with sweat, mending a water pipe with silent rage. And farther away she could see the empty spot where the wooden shacks, the first buildings of the kibbutz, had stood. Workers were rooting among the wreckage. A few goats grazed peacefully.

She reached the clearing in front of the dining hall at the very moment when Felix was escorting his guests back to their car. They were standing by the car, presumably running over the main points of their discussion. Up to that moment Felix had kept his glasses in his shirt pocket; now he put them on again while he jotted down some notes, and at once he lost the look of a general and regained his habitual appearance of a philosopher.

Finally they shook hands once more. The visitors got into the car and Abramek started the engine. As he began to maneuver his way among the beams and scattered planks, Batya Pinski darted out of the bushes and tapped on the window with a wrinkled fist. The secretary general was momentarily alarmed and covered his face with his hands. Then he opened his eyes and stared at the terrifying figure outside. Abramek stopped the car, rolled the window down a fraction, and asked:

“What’s up? Do you need a lift? We’re not going to Tel Aviv, though. We’re heading north.”

“Don’t you dare, Abramek, don’t you dare leave out the dedication, or I’ll scratch your eyes out and I’ll raise such a stink that the whole country will sit up and take notice,” Batya screeched without pausing to draw breath.

“What is this lady talking about?” asked the secretary general mildly.

“I don’t know,” Abramek replied apologetically. “I haven’t got the faintest idea. In fact, I don’t even know her.”

Felix immediately took command of the situation.

“Just a minute, Batya, calm down and let me explain. Yes, this is our Comrade Batya Pinski. That’s right, Abrasha’s Batya. She probably wants to remind us of the moral obligation we all owe her. You remember what it’s about, Abramek.”

“Of course,” said Abramek Bart. And then, as if assailed by sudden doubts, he repeated, “Of course, of course.”

Felix turned to Batya, took her arm gently, and addressed her kindly and sympathetically:

“But not now, Batya. You can see what a state we’re all in. You’ve chosen a rather inconvenient moment.”

The car, meanwhile, was disappearing around the bend in the road. Felix took the time to see Batya back to her room. On the way he said to her:

“You have no cause to worry. We’ll keep our promise. After all, we’re not doing this just for your sake, there’s no question of a personal favor to you; our young people need Abrasha’s writings, they will be the breath of life for them. Please don’t rush us. There’s still plenty of time; you’ve got nothing to worry about. On the other hand, I gather you didn’t get your lunch today, and for that you have reasonable grounds for complaint. I’ll go to the kitchen right away and tell them to send you a hot meal: the boilers are working again now. Don’t be angry with us, it hasn’t been easy today. I’ll be seeing you.”

15

THERE WAS still the aquarium.

Now the fish could get the attention they deserved. First of all the old woman inspected the electrical fittings. Behind the tank there was concealed a veritable forest of plugs and sockets, of multicolored wires, of switches and transformers which kept the vital systems alive.

From a tiny electrical pump hidden underneath the tank, two transparent plastic tubes led into the water. One worked the filter, and the other aerated the water.

The filter consisted in a glass jar containing fibers. The water from the bottom of the tank was pumped up into the filter, to deposit the particles of dirt, uneaten food, and algae, and returned to the tank clear and purified. The aerator was a fine tube that carried air to the bottom of the tank, where it escaped through a perforated stone in a stream of tiny bubbles which enriched the water with oxygen and inhibited the growth of algae. These various appliances kept the water clear and fresh, and enabled the fish to display their array of breathtaking colors, and to dart hither and thither with magical swiftness.

A further electrical fixture without which the aquarium could not function was the heating element, a sealed glass tube containing a finely coiled electric wire. The glowing coil kept the water at a tropical temperature even on rainy days and stormy nights. The light and warmth worked wonders on the gray-green forests of water plants in the depths of which the fish had their home. From there shoal after shoal emerged to pursue a course that was unpredictable because subject to unknown laws. The quivering tails suggested a heart consumed by longing, rather than mere pond life. The fish were almost transparent; their skeletons were clearly visible through their cold skins. They, too, had a system of blood vessels; they, too, were subject to illness and death. But fish are not like us. Their blood is cold. They are cold and alive, and their cold is not death but a liveliness and vitality that makes them soar and plunge, wheel and leap in mid-course. Gravity has no power over them.