A. Yehoshua - The Liberated Bride

“Life is too turbulent? That trip to Jerusalem did you in.”

“It wasn’t the trip. It was your reaction to it. Your hostility.”

“I hardly said a word. There was nothing to upset you.”

“It just wasn’t like you, a strange notion like hiding Hendel’s death from Ofer.”

“I wish you’d stop poking around in dead ashes.”

“If they’re dead, what do you care?”

“It takes one live spark to start a new fire.”

“What kind of fire?”

“It’s been five years. The divorce is final. Galya is remarried. You knew she was pregnant when you hugged her.”

“I never hugged her. I put my hand on her shoulder. And I never said she was definitely pregnant….”

“It doesn’t matter. If she’s not, she will be. What do you want? For Ofer to be burned all over again?”

“For him to catch on. To understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand. Some things just have to be accepted. Even your Algeria, which you’ve spent years studying and writing about, keeps surprising both itself and you to the point of writer’s block. Why can’t a young woman surprise herself and break up her marriage?”

He said nothing. The bathroom door opened below. Their guest had finished her shower. Hagit listened alertly, seeking to determine whether her sister might need an extra towel or anything else.

“So what about tomorrow?”

“What about it?”

“Do you need me in the morning, or do I have a free day?”

“Of course you do. I’d just be grateful if you dropped Ofra off at Pesi’s boutique in the mall on your way to the university, so that she can try on some clothes. It opens at nine-thirty. I’ll be late for court if I take her myself.”

“I was thinking of leaving earlier.”

“When is your class?”

“At noon.”

“Then you’re in no hurry. She has to find something nice for the wedding. All that traveling has made her neglect herself. Yo’el has forgotten how to dress, too.”

“All right.”

“She’ll try on a few things and then show me what she likes.”

“All right.”

“There’s a little café next to the boutique. You can have something to drink and read the paper there.”

“Are you trying to tell me I’m supposed to bring her back here?”

“Of course. How else would she get back?”

“What do you mean, how else? By bus.”

“Two buses.”

“So two buses.”

“With all those clothes from the boutique.”

“How heavy can they be?”

“Ofra isn’t taking any buses. I can’t ask her to do that.”

“She’s traveled all over the world, she’s crossed whole continents — and she can’t take a bus in her own country?”

“All over the world she has Yo’el. He looks after her. Here I’m responsible.”

“For what?”

“Her pleasure and well-being.”

“But what’s wrong with a bus? Just because I’ve arranged your life for the past thirty years to keep you away from public transportation, do you think having to take a bus is a tragedy?”

“It’s not a tragedy. But no sister of mine who is here on a short visit will be made to get on and off buses with packages. If you can’t wait half an hour, then don’t. I’ll adjourn the trial, take a taxi, and bring her home myself.”

“I surrender. I’ll bring baby home. But only on the condition that she doesn’t have to decide what clothes to buy. You’ll help her make up her mind. Because if she has to do it by herself, I really will miss my class.”

“You’re an optimist. If she had to make up her own mind, you’d miss the rest of your life. But don’t panic. She doesn’t want to. She’ll pick out a few things, and we’ll decide here. You’ll help, too. Why shouldn’t your opinion count?”

“Forget my opinion,” Rivlin said, with a modest grin. “Let her blame you, not me, for making her buy what she doesn’t want or not letting her buy what she does want.”

“She won’t blame you if you don’t pressure her, my dear. She’s not your wife. Just be helpful.”

“By the way, I tried phoning Ofer an hour ago. There was no answer. I left him a message on his voice mail.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing special. Nothing.”

6.

3.4.98

Galya,

Yesterday my father left a message on my voice mail that your father died unexpectedly a few days ago. He said he was at the bereavement and that you asked him whether I knew and how I had reacted. He also said he was telling me against the better judgment of my mother, who thought it pointless to involve me.

Of course, she was right. We haven’t exchanged a word since we broke up, and it’s best that way. Not that your father’s death isn’t a serious matter, but it, too, should have been spared me.

That’s why I debated whether to break the vow of silence that both of us have kept honorably until now. But since I realize how terrible all this must be for your mother, I thought I would (should?) let her know that, despite our divorce and my estrangement from your family, I understand what she’s going through and wish to express my sympathy.

She’s a woman I always liked. (And who liked me, if I’m not mistaken.)

I won’t say anything about your father. He’s gone now. Quite apart from the horrible things he did, it’s frightening to hear about such a sudden death. At least (or so I understand) he didn’t suffer. And so if you, too, Galya, need a word of sympathy (or however you call it) from me, here it is.

Although only on the condition that you don’t write back.

Ofer

7.

EXCUSE ME. Are you new here?

There used to be another salesgirl…

Pesi, of course! Pesi.

This is my wife’s sister. She spoke to Pesi about her.

They agreed she could try on a few things, take home what she liked, and return what she didn’t want this evening. My wife can’t come now because she’s at a trial… I mean, she’s the judge… and so we thought we’d do with my sister-in-law what we do with her: pick out a few things and decide in a relaxed way at home.

No, this is my sister-in-law from abroad. But my wife buys here all the time. Practically all her new clothes come from here. I’m sure you’d recognize her.

You do? That’s odd. I suppose I’m the only man who ever walks in here.

For sure. If you’d like me to leave a check as a deposit, there’s no problem. Pesi knows us.

This way, Ofra. Everything in this section is on sale, isn’t it? You see, I’m an expert on this place.

She’ll tell you what she’s looking for.

Israeli. Of course.

But it has to be suitable for other occasions, too. Not just weddings.

Look at this, Ofra. It’s gorgeous. What do you think? It’s certainly dignified enough.

Do you have a skirt that goes with this?

Two weeks ago you had a tunic, with a three-quarter-length sleeve — light brown velvet, with a strip of green embroidery. My wife tried it on. It was a bit tight on her, but it might fit her sister. She’s much thinner.

I wouldn’t call it summery. More demi saison, as the French say….

Something along these lines. Not this, though. The fabric was richer. With a strip of green embroidery. Maybe it’s been sold. It was lovely. But my wife said it was too tight. Ofra, how about this ensemble?

For goodness’ sake! What are you afraid of? You can’t keep dressing as though you were in the youth movement all your life.

It’s not fancy at all. It’s cute. Try it on. Listen to me. What are you afraid of?

I’m in no hurry. Don’t worry about me. As long as we’re here, let’s take a little longer and pick out some nice things that we can think about afterward.