A. Yehoshua - The Liberated Bride

Without thinking twice, or even saving the text on his computer, Rivlin left the duplex and hurried excitedly to the building across the street, in which he had never been before.

He didn’t know the ghost’s name. But he did know her floor, and he knocked on her door without looking at what was written there. The old woman, wearing a large apron and a hairnet, opened it. The smell of some cheese dish came from the kitchen. A radio on the terrace was playing the rock music his son liked. The ghost’s face was soft and smiling, unlike the time he had met her in the pharmacy. Perhaps this was because she was in her own territory, protected from all harm by two sturdy young workmen newly discharged from the army.

“Good morning, ma’am,” Rivlin introduced himself. “I’m the boss of the two painters working for you. I came to see how they’re doing and to ask if you’re satisfied.”

The ghost’s weather-beaten face gaped at him. She looked back into the apartment, as if racking her brain for something to complain about.

Meanwhile Tsakhi, hearing his father’s voice, appeared in the hallway, a lively mixture of amusement and astonishment in his big, brown eyes.

Rivlin warned his son with a look not to give him away. “I want you to be entirely satisfied with my staff and their work, ma’am,” he continued. “You should feel you’re getting the best possible service. That’s why I need to know if you have any complaints. Think carefully. Perhaps they’ve been noisy, or impolite, or not neat enough. Just tell me. I’ll give them a piece of my mind and change them immediately. Why, if you’d like I’ll take their place myself. Just say the word and I’ll put on my work clothes….”

This was already too much for the ghost. The smile of pleasure fracturing her face was positively alarming. So much consideration could be fatal for a hard-bitten woman like her.

“There’s no need,” she murmured, thrilled and grateful to be getting such attention. “Everything is fine. Don’t put yourself out. Your workers can stay. Just tell them to hurry up and finish…”

“You’re sure? Perhaps you’d like to think about it.”

“Oh, no.” She was suddenly worried she might lose them. “They’re just fine. They’re nice boys…”

Brimming with pride that his younger son had vanquished so fearful an apparition, he strode quickly out to the open terrace, which was bright with morning sunlight. Curiously, he glanced at the window of his study across the street. Through it he could spot his computer. He went over to the red card table. Despite all the flying plaster, a deck had been dealt for a game of solitaire. He carefully picked up a card. The old woman, though concerned that the strange contractor might ruin her game, said nothing. It was too beautiful a morning to be angry at the world. She stared at the middle-aged man with the gray curls, who did not seem to fit his own job description.

“Tell me,” she said, “don’t I…” Her clear khaki eyes squinted at him. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“No,” he said, giving her a firm, friendly smile of encouragement. “You don’t know me from anywhere. But now, ma’am, if you don’t mind my saying so, you do know me a little bit….”

Haifa, 1998–2001

A. B. YEHOSHUA is one of Israel’s preeminent writers. His novels include Journey to the End of the Millenium, The Liberated Bride, and A Woman in Jerusalem, which was awarded the Los Angeles Times Book Prize in 2007. He lives in Haifa.

* It can’t be, my friend.

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† Why not? It can definitely be.

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‡ Don’t distress me like that. We’re all very fond of you.

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§ What can I do? It’s God’s will.

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∥ What God? What does it have to do with God? Don’t mock me.

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* Just her. Secretly.

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† Trust me.

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* But what’s the matter with her now? What’s troubling her?

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† What’s wrong with her now?

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‡ What is she ill with?

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* Perhaps, Professor Rivlin, you could give her a postponement.

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† The best thing would be to waive it entirely.

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‡ The poor child worked so hard for so many years.

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§ What is this here, a marketplace?

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* He’s afraid she’ll do something foolish.

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† Like what?

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‡ I don’t know. He’s afraid of foolishness.

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* God save you.

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† Welcome, Teacher.

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‡ The man’s a saint.

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§§ Had I known it was Ramadan, I would never have agreed to come here today.

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* Believe me.

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† In good health or illness.

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‡ You’ve done a great deed.

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§ God bless you.

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* No, thank you.

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† Have you forgotten it’s Ramadan?

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‡ What Ramadan? What do you have to do with Ramadan?

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§ The rice is cooked, and the lamb is already on the grill.

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* Our Train.

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* The pill Samaher gave you is friendly to people.

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* If you’re hungry, my dear, there’s food. For a Jew, you’ve fasted enough for all your own and your family’s sins. But if you don’t want to stop now, you should know that the SLA cannon shot [ending the fast] will be in less than an hour.

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† The SLA cannon shot? What’s that?

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* But why leave? We won’t let you.

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* You spoil me more than my wife does.

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† How can that poor woman spoil you if she never has any time?

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* The poor things.

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* Who had fasted, for no good reason, like a believer.

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* Is there a third one, then?

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* I’m an old man tied every night to his own bed.

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* What the hell!

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† Where are you, you little black bastard?

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‡ Who is it?

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§ But whom have you brought us?

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∥ Be careful! Don’t move or touch anything.

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* The little bastard’s broken my heart.

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* That’s enough, Ra’uda. We didn’t come here for your tears. I’ve brought you a very important guest. If you don’t stop crying, he’ll run away. I’ve come to eat with you. And I’m good and hungry. If you don’t get a move on, the Abuna will feed our guest himself. Why cry, my sister? It’s a holiday. Even this Jew fasted today in its honor.

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† Enough, enough! Don’t start all over from the beginning.

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* And so, gentlemen, the Muslims eat by night, the Jews eat by day, and you Christians eat by both.

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† But my job is to know, not to help.

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* But why?

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† Perhaps if we learn these signs here, in Palestine, we can warn the president [Arafat].

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‡ Whom? Are you out of your mind? It’s best to say nothing. No warnings and no Algeria! Let’s not go giving the Devil ideas, God forbid.

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* The church is filling up, my sister. They’ve come from Kabatiyeh and Tubas, and there are even Circassians from Dir el-Balad. They’ve all given up their sleep for you and are expecting a night of delights.

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* God willing.

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* You see, Madam, even a Jew wants to know what you’ll sing tonight in Paradise.

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† Paradise… Paradise… Everyone in Palestine gets carried away, they’re all a bit crazy. Who told you anyone sings in Paradise at all?