A Late Divorce (22 page)

“He's here? He's alive?” He laughed, still in a daze. “Didn't you write me that he'd died long ago?” he asked mother.

“Who did?”

“I had already mourned for him ... I was sure he was long dead...” He gripped the hairy head that nuzzled in his lap.

“He was sure that you were dead too.”

They kept their distance, she solidly planted where she stood, a wrinkled old nurse in a blue uniform behind her. Her answer, though clear, did not bode well, I thought.

Ya'el kissed her and led Gaddi to her. She bent and hugged him feelingly.

“Gaddi ... darling Gaddi ... do you know who I am? Do you remember? And where is your little sister”—she fumbled in her pocket, took out a slip of paper and read from it—“Rakefet?”

Still whining, the dog broke away from father and ran wagging to join the embraces. Gaddi clung to Ya'el, too frightened of Horatio to move, his face stained red from mother's kisses.

“Don't let him frighten you ... he's ours ... when you were a baby and your mother left you with us, the two of you even played together...”

Gaddi looked unbelievingly at the huge animal, amazed at himself.

Then it was my turn to embrace her, bussing the air about her rouged cheeks, my head tilted skyward, eyes shut.

“Asa ... at last a visit from you ... in honor of your father...”

She hugged me powerfully.

“Where is your wife?”

“She couldn't come. But she'll be here on the holiday.”

“On Passover?”

“Yes.”

Now father finally stepped up to her, the dog tagging after him, his arms spread wide with Russian pathos.

“Mother ... at last...”

Did he know what he was doing? Had he planned it this way or had the shock of events unnerved him? I cringed while he hugged her, pressing her to him, gathering in the strong erect woman, planting kisses on her face. “You look so well ... there's been a great change ...” he murmured as though come for a reconciliation rather than a divorce. He even whispered something in her ear and laughed with tears in his eyes. Could he really be that shallow or did he have some ulterior motive? Mother froze in his arms, staring into space with dilated eyes, a hint of amusement on her lips.

Horatio gave a loud bark. At last he had gotten it out. Then father stepped back and mother introduced him to the wrinkled old nurse, who stood there without ceasing to smile. “I want you to meet Miriam ... she's my good angel ... Miriam, this is my husband ... the man from America ...”

“Yes, I know. We've all been waiting for you.” The lines in her face reddened sharply as father turned to her and quickly embraced her too with the same somnambulistic zeal.

And indeed, to our horror, they were waiting for us. Much of the hospital already knew of our arrival. A crowd streamed toward mother's cottage, men and women in bathrobes and pajamas swarmed around her, a young doctor stepped up to greet us. As we passed the row of beds inside someone even broke out into applause. Father went first, nodding to everyone, shaking the hands that were extended to him, that conducted him to mother's bed, which was piled high with big white pillows. There he stood, declaring how moved he was until I thought I would go mad myself. The patients reached out to touch Gaddi and pat his head—one could see how he attracted them, they had probably not seen a child in ages. Then the doctor explained about the ward and its routine while father listened devoutly and the nurses pushed back the curious patients—one of whom, a little old fellow, kept elbowing forward again and interrupting the conversation with eager hand gestures. At last we all trooped outside, the crowd of patients still behind us, and were led to a small building that served as the hospital library. Some tables with chairs stood inside, on the largest of which, in the middle of the cracked concrete floor, was a white cloth set with an electric kettle and several white cups and saucers stamped
Property of the Bureau of Public Health.
Beside them was a big, yellowish, lopsided cake, very high on one side and totally caved in on the other, so that it formed a steep inclined plane at the base of which glittered a knife. A few of the patients tried following us in, but the nurses kept them clear of the doors. And again that skinny, rotten-toothed old fellow made the most fuss; he seemed very agitated and kept trying to catch father's attention while pulling behind him a moronic-looking giant who carried a rake on one shoulder.

In the end they were all persuaded to leave. The door closed on us. We took off our coats and Horatio ran happily wagging his tail around the room. My eyes scanned the books that lined the walls but it was impossible to read their titles because they were all covered with the same brown wrapping paper. What a dump. We stood around the cake, eyeing it nervously as though it concealed some harsh message. “Mother baked it for you all by herself,” said the old nurse, as though apprising us of a major psychiatric feat. A silent, younger nurse poured tea into the cups while Horatio thrashed restlessly about among our legs. I tried grabbing him by the collar and dragging him outside, but he growled aggressively and shook free, trying to bite me.

“Let go of him!” mother cried.

The old nurse handed her the knife. She made a movement to wield it, then suddenly shrank back, stealing a quick glance at father and releasing it.

“No, you cut it,” she said.

Quickly the cake was sliced into thick heavy pieces and we sat down to eat. Horatio climbed on a chair too, climbed down again, still rattling his broken chain, and jumped once more on father, as if the years that had elapsed since their parting were now running amuck in him and giving him no peace. Father smiled, lifting a full, shaky cup to his mouth. Mother rose, went over to Horatio, gave him a quick hard slap with the chain, and pushed him beneath father's chair. She threw him a slice of cake there, which he sniffed at suspiciously and licked a little without eating.

No one spoke, not even to utter the simplest, most ordinary words. The cake had struck us dumb. I tensed like a bowstring each time I heard a noise outside the door. The giant's face appeared at the window, staring in at us. We drank the lukewarm tea and ate the half-raw cake, which was a mishmash of colors and tastes. The two nurses ate too, the younger one chewing away at her end of the table as though compelled by a strong inner code, yet not quite certain what she was ingesting. Like in some relentless ceremony that we were all called upon to perform. The cake turned to a sickening goo in my mouth. Mother fed Gaddi, who sat beside her, but did not eat herself.

“You don't have to feed him, mother,” said Ya'el softly. But she didn't hear. She went on tearing off pieces of cake with her fingers and cramming them into Gaddi's mouth while the rays of the setting sun slanted sharply off her painted cheeks.

“What a wind there was today,” sighed father all of a sudden. “All the way from Jerusalem.”

He resumed chewing his cake. Mother regarded him thoughtfully before turning back to look at Gaddi's mouth, which hung slightly open.

Where are you, Asa? In a little cottage, a library for the insane, an abstract thought deflected from its path, shanghaied from its desk, on which an old lamp casts its light on papers and books, a sole beacon shining in the dark. The irretrievably lost hours. If only they would die already! If only the two of them would die. Why can't they understand? Their nightly quarrels, like two old children, all their cursing and shouting each time I came home from friends or the Scouts. Ya'el was married already. Tsvi was in the army. I would slip off to bed but they would follow me there, sit down on the blanket, pull it off me, anything to have a referee.

“Aren't you eating your cake?”

“No, mother, I'm not hungry.”

Ya'el rolled her eyes at me.

“You don't have to be hungry to eat a piece of cake. Or don't you like it...?”

“I do. I'm just full. I mean...” I was only making things worse.

Silence. Horatio had calmed down. He stretched himself beneath father's chair and started to nuzzle his penis, licking it vigorously. A dull yellowish light filled the room. Perhaps they were dead already and I was visiting them in the underworld. Dutifully, slowly, father and Ya'el chewed their cake. Gaddi was already having seconds.

“You're not eating yourself,” said father gently. “Your cake is delicious.”

Mother didn't answer.

The young nurse rose to collect the dishes, adroitly removing my plate with what was left on it.

“Would you like some more?” mother asked father.

He nodded, hoisted by his own petard. A new slice of cake appeared on his plate and he set to work chewing that too.

The young nurse placed the dishes on a tray. Someone opened the door for her. She stepped outside, where waiting hands snatched the tray, and returned at once. She pulled the cord from the socket in the wall, wound it around the electric kettle, and took that to the door too. And again she came right back. Meanwhile the old nurse was murmuring something to mother while wrapping the remains of the cake in an old towel. The young nurse opened the door again. Heads peered in, whispered laughter. They were waiting for the leftovers. The two nurses left and shut the door.

“Who are all those people outside, friends of yours?”

Mother smiled ironically. “Friends...”

Horatio crouched next to her, his head turned, his eyes shut, bald patches like burn scars in his mangy red fur. Father gazed at him and reached out to pet him.

“Has 'Ratio been here all along?”

“Since when is he 'Ratio?” we scolded. “His name is
H
oratio. You never could get it right.”

Father smiled. “'Ratio ... Horatio ...”

“Maybe you should take him back with you to America,” said mother abruptly.

Father laughed.

“I hear you've had a particularly hard winter this year. I'm glad I brought a coat with me. At first I didn't plan to, since it would already be spring here, and spring here is as good as summer. But in the end I brought it, and it's a good thing I did...”

(Bring himself, he meant.)

Ya'el rose without a sound and handed him the plastic bag that had been lying by his chair.

“Oh yes, I forgot. I brought you a present.” He took the bag and went over to her. “It's something that I bought you ...” But he couldn't remember what it was. He opened the bag to take a peek. “I believe it's a robe and a sweater.” He looked at Ya'el for confirmation. “Yes, a sweater.”

He pulled out the big wool shawl and spread it on his knees.

“A sweater?” Mother seemed very touched.

Ya'el took the shawl and draped it around her shoulders.

“The colors are perfect for you.”

Mother stood up. The two of them helped wrap her in the shawl.

I sat immobile in my chair, thinking what a dangerous thing this tenderness between them was. I glanced at Gaddi, who had not taken his eyes off the dog.

“It's just the thing for you,” said father.

“Thank you. You needn't have bothered ... did I ask for a present? It's really very warm...” She wiped away a tear. “Once I had a shawl like this years ago ... exactly like this one ... how did you find it again?” She removed it, searching for the missing label. “You shouldn't have wasted so much money, Yehuda. Really, you shouldn't have. Perhaps you should give it to someone else ... to Asa...”

She made as though to give me the shawl.

But father wouldn't hear of it.

“How can you say such a thing? You don't know how happy it makes me to see you so calm. It's a great change for the better. I would have brought you more, but I left in such a hurry...”

“A hurry?''

“As soon as I received your letter ... and then Kedmi told me...''

“Oh”

They were beating around the bush. The afternoon light was fading in the room.

Mother sat down again. “So what's new in America?”

“America?” Father lit a cigarette while he considered. “America is a big place. But nothing is new there. We had a long hard winter too.”

“Another one?”

“Another one.” He stood dangling his arms, not knowing what to do with them. Was he having an attack of idiocy or of cold feet?

“Are you still in that same place...?”

“Minneapolis.”

“But just where is it?”

“Up north.”

“Someday I'd like to see where it is on the map. Maybe Asa has a map in his briefcase...”

“No. I don't.”

“Maybe there's a map in one of those books.”

Ya'el was already on her feet,
Homo dutifuliensis.

“I'll show you where it is sometime, mother. On Passover I'll bring an atlas.”

“It's near the Canadian border,” explained father anxiously. “Not far from Canada. In the interior. Can you picture it?”

But she could not. Bracing herself, Ya'el threw a despairing glance at the shelves of books. The giant's face peered in once more at the window. Someone, perhaps the old fellow, tried pulling him away. They could be heard quarreling. Father smiled, still groping for Horatio beneath his chair.

“I understand that the doctor says you can leave here soon. Ya'el told me that he's very optimistic ...”

There was no answer. Arms on her chest, mother watched Ya'el go through the books. She pointed to a corner of the room.

“There must be a map there. Asi's sure to find it.”

To suddenly be in her damned clutches again. Hopelessly I rummaged through the books in the corner. Cheap novels. Instant biographies. Lifeless volumes bearing the imprint of the Cultural Division of the National Medical Insurance Plan. Ghost-written memoirs of ex-politicians distributed free of cost by their parties. No one spoke. With a smile of consternation father rose to look too. Nothing could proceed without a map. Finally I found a small one in a children's encyclopedia. I showed it to her, reading out loud the place names near Minneapolis. She bent to get a closer look. Father stood by us, confirming what I read.