A. Yehoshua - Open Heart

But at the last minute, although I was only a few steps away from him, I gave up the idea, because I was afraid he would smell his wife’s perfume, which I firmly believed was still clinging to me; and also because I knew that he would ask me to go inside with him, in order not to leave her alone there, and I didn’t want to confuse her by suddenly reappearing at his side. If he had something to say to me, he would find an opportunity to say it at my wedding, for now I was sure that they would both be there, a thought which filled me with joy. For the first time, though, I felt a kind of jealousy of him, as I returned to my hiding place behind the old Tel Aviv tree and watched them opening the doors of the car and getting into it as they talked with that deep and marvelous intimacy they shared. Even total strangers like my mother noticed their connection and wondered at it when they appeared, because of Lazar’s restless efficiency, among the first guests at the wedding, and stood close together, somewhat embarrassed, in the hall of the old Jerusalem hotel, which was decorated with fresh flowers that Michaela had chosen in order to cover up the faintly musty smell. They came without Einat, who arrived later by herself with a fancily wrapped present. The next day, when we opened the gifts and it turned out to be a little clay statuette with many outstretched arms, Michaela was overcome with excitement, and she cried out and covered her face with her hands. When she took her hands away I saw that her cheeks were burning and her eyes were damp. It appeared that a holy man in Calcutta had sold them both identical statuettes, which they had greatly admired. Since Einat knew that Michaela had lost hers on the way back to Israel, she had decided to make her a present of her own statuette. In contrast, the gift brought by Einat’s parents — a turquoise bedspread, which made my heart skip a beat — was not at all to Michaela’s liking, and she went back to the store and exchanged it for a big cushion. I kept quiet, not wishing to give her any grounds for suspicion.

In general, Michaela was inclined to exchange most of the presents we received, as if by doing so she could wipe out the memory of the wedding, which went on oppressing her for a long time to come, because in the end it turned out to be a very crowded affair, perhaps precisely because of my parents’ sincere efforts to hold a medium-sized wedding in a medium-sized hall. Many of the guests my father had listed categorically as guests who wouldn’t come, did come, among them, to our amazement, a number of relations from England, who saw my wedding as a good reason to visit Israel. My mother’s sister and my father’s sister had naturally been invited to stay with my parents, together with their husbands, and my parents gave them their bedroom and of course my old room, which made it impossible for Michaela and me to get ready for the wedding there. So that we would not arrive at the ceremony directly from Tel Aviv, sweaty and crumpled, Eyal, who saw himself correctly as the catalyst for this marriage, offered us the use of his mother’s house before and after the wedding. His mother was delighted to have us, and after serving a rich and delicious lunch, she told us to go and lie down in Eyal’s old room, where I adamantly refused to make love to Michaela, who I had already noticed was always particularly turned on in strange places. On no account was I prepared to risk embarrassing Eyal’s mother, who did not go to her room to rest but sat racking her brains for a way to make Michaela’s simple white dress more festive. In the end she succeeded in persuading Michaela to take two heavy antique silver brooches which she produced from the depths of her jewel box, and with the addition of some artificial flowers the dress became, if not more elegant, at least more original. But in spite of all these efforts to improve Michaela’s dress, which she also ironed twice, Eyal’s mother was secretly planning to avoid the wedding reception. When Michaela’s parents arrived, as planned, to take us to the hairdresser’s, and from there to the wedding, she stopped me from going with them on the grounds that it was not right for the bride and groom to arrive at the wedding together, and suggested that I remain with her and go later with Eyal and Hadas. This sounded reasonable to me, especially since I had no desire to get involved in possible tensions between Michaela’s divorced parents, about whose quarrels I had already heard sensational stories. I therefore stayed to wait for Eyal, and in the meantime joined his mother for a drink of bitter-tasting herb tea, which glowed with a dull red color in the Jerusalem summer light, the sweet light of the long vacations of my childhood. She was still wrapped in a light bathrobe, her hair untidy and her face not made up. When I asked her tactfully when she was going to get dressed, she realized that I understood her intentions, and with a strange expression on her face, both sad and imploring, she said, “Let me off, Benjy, I beg you. I haven’t been feeling well for several days now, and I’m afraid I’ll feel suffocated there. I know that hotel — there are a lot of stairs to climb there too. Let me off, Benjy, and don’t be offended. You know how much I love you.” I began to stammer something about my parents being disappointed, but she dismissed that. “They won’t miss me. And if they do”—she smiled slyly to herself—“tell them that you gave me an exemption on medical grounds. It’s wonderful that you and Eyal are both real doctors now. I remember the two of you as if it were yesterday, such sweet little boys, playing doctor and turning the whole house into a hospital, and making us lie down in bed and close our eyes and groan so that you could examine us and cure us with medicines and bandages.” Suddenly she laughed happily, and a wave of warmth engulfed me at the dim but real memory of the two tiny boys bending over the big, beautiful woman, dusting her feet with white powder and wrapping them in bandages. The memory was so deep inside me that I had to close my eyes to bring it up. Then I looked silently at the very heavy woman drawing the edges of her bathrobe together with a slightly mechanical movement. She interpreted my silence as consent, tilted her head to listen, and said happily, “They’re here,” and as she went to open the door, she suddenly said, “Your Michaela is a very independent girl. Do you really love her?”

“I think so.” I smiled, surprised at the question. “Then love, Benjy, and don’t think too much,” and she opened the door before Eyal had time to turn his key. He and Hadas were dressed up, their hair still wet from the shower. After they had embraced me and examined me from all sides, they both insisted that I put on a tie, at least in honor of my English guests. At first I refused, but finally I gave in, and together the four of us went to his mother’s bedroom to choose a tie from the collection left by his father.

Despite the overcrowding in the hall, my wedding was a good-humored affair. The refreshments also, although I didn’t taste them myself, must have been excellent, because long after the wedding my parents reported proudly on the compliments they were still receiving from the guests. The guests on Michaela’s side, while few in number, were pleasant and polite and mixed well with the many guests invited by my family. Our British relations too turned out to be not only polite but also good-humored and cheerful, and their Scottish accents added a little amusement to their presence among us. Dr. Nakash, who arrived early with his wife — who was also very thin and dark, although a little less ugly than her husband — quickly made use of his oriental good manners and fluent English to make friends with our guests from abroad, and soon introduced Lazar and his wife to his new acquaintances. Although I was very pleased to see the Lazars, I had intended to ignore them until after the ceremony, which was delayed because Michaela was late, but in the constant stream of people pressing forward to congratulate me, I suddenly found myself standing in front of them. Since going to bed with his wife I had not been face to face with Lazar, and despite the friends and relations surrounding me and protecting me, I trembled violently when he threw his arms around my neck. Our trip to India, and especially our sleeping together in the train compartment on the way to Varanasi, had evidently entitled him in his own eyes to an intimacy which included the right to bestow sudden embraces without any warning. “Thank you for coming, thank you for coming,” I stammered with my head bowed, not daring to look directly at the woman, whose smile was evidently capable of overcoming any embarrassment or shame. Lazar handed me their gift and immediately told me in his practical way how to exchange it. While I was thanking him and trying to guess what was inside the big soft parcel, my mother’s sister from Glasgow, who had undertaken to collect the presents, hurried up to relieve me of it. In order to overcome my embarrassment, I introduced her to the Lazars, and she, who took an intense interest in every detail of my life, not only identified them instantly, but announced heartily, “Oh, we’ve all been dying to meet you — this wedding is partly your doing, isn’t it?”