A. Yehoshua - The Extra

“They had just passed the helmet law—”

“Of course, the law. And later on, during the intense courtship, you quickly learned not only my class schedule but also the times of the private piano and recorder lessons I gave around town, the addresses and the names of the children. Little by little you collected the names of my friends, male and female, and my relatives, and you tried to become friendly with them. Not to mention my parents, and especially my brother, who truly fell in love with you. After all, you’re talented, with a quick mind, and when you make the effort, you’re not devoid of humor. From the beginning I felt you were destined for greatness. Don’t be offended, but when you told me you were now head of a department, I felt a twinge of disappointment that you were not head of the whole thing. If it were up to me, I’d have appointed you long ago.”

“With total objectivity.”

“Total. From the minute we began our courtship you proved yourself, to me at least, to be a smart and efficient manager of transportation and errands and shopping, including active participation in clothes shopping, and dispensing advice at every opportunity on what to wear and what not to wear. And so your love was enthralling, but it began to tie me down. Not your occasional jealousy, which was only natural — mine too — because without it, love life isn’t genuine. But you, with warmth and tenderness, began to swallow me.”

“Swallow?”

“Siphon me inside of you.”

“Sounds even worse.”

He moves the levers and the bed slowly rises, tilts him to the side and sets him on his feet. With a troubled look he leaves the room and wanders through the apartment as if seeking refuge. Finally he brings a chair from the kitchen, sits down facing her and mutters, “This book… the third one… the thin one… is indeed turning into poetry, less and less understandable.”

“Be patient,” she says softly, “and it will become accessible, especially to a man as intelligent as you. Even before we got married, when we lived in Jerusalem, in the apartment near the museum, and you were on your pre-discharge leave from the army, you said I came to you spoiled or lazy, from a home that was too loving, and for this dubious reason you cheerfully took upon yourself most of the chores — cooking, paying bills, cleaning, shopping — so I would be free for music, studies, private lessons and of course performances. I sometimes think that the seed of failure was planted during that period, when you had plenty of time to learn about your lover mentally and physically, not only so you’d know how to live with her day to day, but to gently appropriate her into yourself.”

“Appropriate — another annoying word.”

“Is there a word that won’t annoy you? Assimilate? Internalize. There, a moderate word that won’t annoy you. You tried to internalize me, and that way I wouldn’t be a burden on you. I would enrich you.”

“Not internalize or assimilate.” He gets up and begins pacing around the room. “Precisely the opposite. I was only trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?”

“Look, Noga, just as I sometimes surface between the notes when you’re listening to other musicians play, in long and boring meetings you sometimes poke through the tedious talk of other people, and despite the fact that I have my beloved wife and children, to whom I am devoted with all my heart, I, like you, reconstruct you sometimes in my mind. And even when I reaffirm for myself, over and over, my decision to leave you, it’s natural that I’m occasionally curious about what’s happening, and if the harp is still alive.”

“The harp?”

“Yes, the harp.”

“The harp is alive and playing.”

“Because once I came to understand that this instrument was not a compromise, not a steppingstone to another instrument, but an expression of your inner essence, possibly meant to fulfill a mission that you believe was given to you—”

“That’s surprising, Uriah, that’s a new one—”

“See, I can also contribute something original to the thin book. The minute you told me, Noga, that your instrument was the harp, it added to your charm, but I was also worried about the harp — I mean about you — I mean me. In other words, the question arose, how to integrate the harp into my life. Because from that very first kiss I knew the die was cast and I wouldn’t let you go until you became not just my lover but my wife, and so the harp would need to be included in that love and commitment.”

“Naturally. And I must admit that regarding the harp, you proved to be a partner and honored your commitment.”

“On the outside, Noga, so as not to hurt or demoralize you. It was out of my love and devotion. Because, to be perfectly honest, I didn’t believe in the harp, nor did the sound do much for me. I also didn’t think — you’ll forgive me — that you had a special talent for it. All this, and also the trouble caused by its shape and weight. I always had to be ready to move it from place to place, even a few centimeters. And add to that the hassle of the big old unpleasant car we needed for it. And how bored I got when I had to go with you to far-off places, to all kinds of ceremonies at out-of-the-way schools or community centers, dozens of kilometers round trip to play for ten minutes for a pitiful fee, just so you wouldn’t lose faith in yourself and would feel like an artist in demand.”

“That’s the new contribution to the thin book?”

“That’s just the beginning.”

“Everything you’ve said up till now seems trivial coming from a man who claimed I was his heart and soul.”

“Trivial and easy for a devoted lover like me, whose love added power to his muscles when he had to carry the harp up and down the thirty-two steps of our apartment in Jerusalem, before we moved to Tel Aviv and found the noisy flat on the ground floor.”

“But on the ground floor it was much easier, because we could move it from there in its harp cart.”

“Only relatively so, compared to our place in Jerusalem. Even when the harp would roll in its cart straight from the apartment, I always thought that if it were a baby, it would be easier and nicer for me.”

“Maybe, but at least my harp didn’t cry at night.”

“Is that a joke?”

“Your new and original idea has now become stupid.”

“Be patient,” he says, softly repeating her words, “and it will become accessible to a person as intelligent as you. And so, after you were rejected by every Israeli orchestra you applied to, I didn’t want you to lose self-confidence, so I didn’t criticize. But I was bitter inside and even angry that you had picked an unconventional instrument, heavy and clumsy and lonesome and unwanted in many works of music. An ancient instrument, religious, ritualistic, even mythological, which you were maybe attracted to because of the Orthodox people who lived around you in your childhood.”

“The Orthodox around me didn’t play any instruments.”

“Precisely. And so you decided to play instead of them, or for them, with a type of instrument that fits their tradition and maybe also their dreams.”

“Oh, Uriah.” She laughs. “That’s not only new, it’s ridiculous. I can’t believe a thought like that ever entered your head.”

“Wait, wait.” He touches her lightly to hold her attention. “You asked me to write in the thin third book, so be prepared, as in poetry, to expose the truth concealed in absurdity. After all these years we’ve been apart, I see you still have that sweet, fragile, delicate, girlish quality that stole my heart from the minute I met you. And though your hands have grown stronger and your fingers are flexible from playing, I still ask myself how you manage on your own, in a foreign country, with your heavy and cumbersome instrument.”