A. Yehoshua - A Woman in Jerusalem

Wait, the dreamer shouts as he runs forward, spurred by the secretary’s sympathy. Give me time. A lonely but ambitious student, he embraces his teacher with a sob as though she were a fellow classmate, even though she is ten years older than he …

Is he still talking in his dream, or is this a thought that has spiralled out of it? For as he covers her with his kisses, he murmurs or thinks:

“Why give in? Why give up? Is there anywhere in the world a cross worth my dying on?”

5

The emissary’s dream sent such pleasurable shock waves through him that he sat up the moment he opened his eyes, as though to secure the vision in his consciousness and prevent further dreams from uprooting it. Having taught himself in the army to form a mental picture of his unit the instant he awoke, making certain all his men were at their posts, he was aware of the barracks at once. A professional glance informed him that the three soldiers sleeping by the stove were gone, their place taken by three others wrapped in the same blankets.

The travellers were scattered in their corners, fast asleep. The stove, to which coal must have been added, burned brightly. Although it was still dark out, he deemed it best to have a look at the coffin. Taking care not to waken the boy, who had thrown off his blanket, he rose from the mattress. For a second he debated whether he was entitled, or perhaps even obliged, to cover the sleeping youth. Yet it seemed best not to touch him even in passing.

He dressed carefully, wrapping his scarf around his neck and slipping into his heavy winter coat before tiptoeing out with his army boots in his hands. Exchanging a quick glance with the consul, who opened bloodshot eyes, he stepped into the corridor. There the old sergeant was sleeping by a makeshift barrier erected to keep the unexpected visitors from touring the site without payment.

The resource manager had experience with sleeping sentries and had disarmed and court-martialled more than one of them. Since this was not the approach he wished to take with the wrinkled old sergeant, however, he sat down beside him and put on his boots while waiting to be noticed. Indeed the sergeant soon opened his eyes and recognized him. The boots, even if issued by another army, aroused his comradely instincts. Lifting a thin blanket, which at first glance seemed designed to warm a cat or lap dog, he revealed the satellite phone standing upright in its charger, from which improvised wires ran to a large battery that had once belonged to a half-track or tank.

Deprived of words, the resource manager could only bow an appreciative head.

The sergeant carefully detached the wires, cleaned the phone with a corner of his coat, and handed it to its owner, who immediately put it to the test by dialling his office. Within seconds he heard his own voice asking, deep in the Jerusalem night, to leave a message. Graciously complying with his own request, he reported positively on the latest developments while smiling at the sergeant’s efforts to follow his conversation with himself. Yet when he took some money from his wallet and held it out, it was firmly rejected. How could an old soldier accept payment for a military duty?

Once he had assured himself that the phone was working again, the manager signalled that he wished to go outside. To allay suspicion, he mimed his intention to do no more than check the coffin. This was not easily accomplished, since the sergeant had forgotten the coffin’s existence. When a rectangular box sketched in the air failed to remind him of it, the manager tilted his body backward, shut his eyes, crossed his arms on his chest, and made believe he was about to be buried.

The sergeant, his memory refreshed, was happy to grant the visitor his wish. Opening the door, he accompanied him outside. It was the manager’s impression that he could have commanded the soldiers at the rusty iron gate, even the old sergeant himself, to carry out any order he gave them if only he had been able to speak their language. At the very outset of his military career, when given his first squad command, he was aware of exerting a sober authority that raised his troops’ morale. But although he was a natural leader, he also managed to convey to his superiors that there was nothing in the world he thought worth being killed for in battle. Little wonder he’d never got far in the army.

The scaly rime was gone from the coffin, and its metal surface was visible again. He touched it to see how cold it was. Not knowing at which ends the corpse’s head and feet were, he positioned himself between them, reached for his phone, and scanned the sky for stars. The clouds had blurred their pinpoints. Pulling out the phone’s antenna, he dialled the number of the owner from memory.

It was the middle of the night in Jerusalem. However, a man who stayed cozily at home while his personnel manager atoned for his inhumanity had to accept being wakened at odd hours.

“It’s me …”

“Well, well! At last.”

“I know this may be an intrusion, not only on your sleep, but on your dreams. Still, I thought it best to talk to you in private, with no one else around.”

“You needn’t apologize, young man. At my age, sleep is a waste of time. I’m happy to hear from you at any hour.”

“I didn’t want that weasel of a journalist you put on my tail to overhear our conversation.”

“You’re right. It’s best to keep your distance from him. I wouldn’t spend too much time worrying about him, though. He’s seeking atonement for himself. The editor promised he’ll be more sympathetic this time.”

“It’s almost morning here, sir.”

“I’m aware of the difference in time. I’ve been trying to follow your strange escapade on the map …”

“I see you already know everything.”

“No one knows everything. It’s enough to know the main points. When I saw yesterday that you were keeping radio silence, I phoned our consul. She told me you had decided to turn your mission into an expedition.”

“What was your reaction?”

“I’ve known of your fondness for adventure since your days as a travelling salesman, but I had no idea that your guilt towards that woman was so great.”

“You’re wrong, sir. It’s compassion I feel, not guilt. Not just for her, but for her son. He insisted at the airport that his grandmother attend the funeral … and since we couldn’t bring her to us, I thought, as long as we’re here anyway, why not give this woman what our overburdened government can’t afford and bring her home to her native village at our expense? That’s the proper ending for this story.”

The old man sighed. “Who knows what is or isn’t proper? Or whether your ending will really be the end? But what’s done is done. The consul has described the fair-haired boy who put you up to it.”

“He didn’t put me up to anything. I felt sorry for him. He’s a lonely youngster whose father treats him like a stranger. And he has the legal right to decide where his mother will be buried.”

“Yes, I know all that. The consul isn’t sparing of words. Or of details and commentaries. I know about your armoured vehicle, too, and about the battery you couldn’t charge. Not to mention her magnificent husband whom she can’t stop praising …”

“He’s an excellent fellow.”

“Well, she misses him. I believe she’s jealous that he’s minding you instead of her. By the way, what does she look like, this consul?”

“A giraffe.”

“That’s just what I thought. She talked on and on. I can’t remember all she said.”

“Let’s stick to the point, then. We’re in the middle of a long trip and can’t back out. There’s no way of knowing how much it will cost.”

“I’ve already told you the expenses don’t concern me.”