Read The Book of Intimate Grammar Online
Authors: David Grossman
The Book of Intimate Grammar (20 page)
Edna and Papa walked out of the salon together and into Edna’s bedroom.
With an arching of her eyebrow Mama sent Yochi after them.
Aron stayed.
He wanted to go with Papa, but he didn’t dare, out of loyalty to Mama perhaps, or maybe he couldn’t go in there with him just as he couldn’t go into the water at the seashore when Papa was there.
He sat in silence, avoiding Mama’s flashing eyes: Look at you,
sit up straight, stop sniffing, and now Papa was encountering Edna’s bedroom, the picture with the bull and the dressing table and the tiny basin she had installed in the corner for some inscrutable reason, and of course the big bed; sometimes Aron made so bold as to lie down on it, incredibly comfortable, he would say to himself to excuse the languor that came over him there, it was like being carried off to a warm den of sleep, and if you ran your hand over the bed, it too would fall asleep.
Once he had drowsed off there, but luckily the news beeps from the apartment next door woke him up a quarter of an hour before Edna was due home; just think, what if she’d found you fast asleep on her bed.
With an arching of her eyebrow Mama sent Yochi after them.
Aron stayed.
He wanted to go with Papa, but he didn’t dare, out of loyalty to Mama perhaps, or maybe he couldn’t go in there with him just as he couldn’t go into the water at the seashore when Papa was there.
He sat in silence, avoiding Mama’s flashing eyes: Look at you,
sit up straight, stop sniffing, and now Papa was encountering Edna’s bedroom, the picture with the bull and the dressing table and the tiny basin she had installed in the corner for some inscrutable reason, and of course the big bed; sometimes Aron made so bold as to lie down on it, incredibly comfortable, he would say to himself to excuse the languor that came over him there, it was like being carried off to a warm den of sleep, and if you ran your hand over the bed, it too would fall asleep.
Once he had drowsed off there, but luckily the news beeps from the apartment next door woke him up a quarter of an hour before Edna was due home; just think, what if she’d found you fast asleep on her bed.
A screech and a groan, a giggle and a gasp were heard, they must have moved the bed into the center of the room.
And what if Papa accidentally tripped and fell into it.
Aron chuckled to himself.
Big Papa lying spreadeagled forever in that bed.
What if.
Then Aron would have no choice, he would have to tear the wall down by himself.
He stifled a smile, so as not to annoy Mama, but she noticed nothing.
She was sitting stiffly in the white leather armchair, cursing herself for the greed which had landed her in this miserable trap.
Get the green felt board, Aron prompted Papa from afar, where she tacks the snapshots of herself in strange, exotic places; once a year she took a trip, and then for two weeks he had the bathroom all to himself; in one of the snapshots she wore a glamorous straw hat; in another, a tall round turban; she posed in front of a pagoda, or a totem, or she peeked out behind a pair of enormous sunglasses in a piazza flocked with pigeons, or looked down on a grassy meadow from a cable car; and there were train tickets tacked on the felt board too, and picture postcards, museum tickets, theater programs, receipts from hotels, a matchbox with a photograph of her and some dark-skinned man with a droopy mustache.
The snapshots, though taken at various locations, always showed Edna wearing the same expression, which Aron had seen for the first time when she greeted them at the door: she was bursting with joy.
And what if Papa accidentally tripped and fell into it.
Aron chuckled to himself.
Big Papa lying spreadeagled forever in that bed.
What if.
Then Aron would have no choice, he would have to tear the wall down by himself.
He stifled a smile, so as not to annoy Mama, but she noticed nothing.
She was sitting stiffly in the white leather armchair, cursing herself for the greed which had landed her in this miserable trap.
Get the green felt board, Aron prompted Papa from afar, where she tacks the snapshots of herself in strange, exotic places; once a year she took a trip, and then for two weeks he had the bathroom all to himself; in one of the snapshots she wore a glamorous straw hat; in another, a tall round turban; she posed in front of a pagoda, or a totem, or she peeked out behind a pair of enormous sunglasses in a piazza flocked with pigeons, or looked down on a grassy meadow from a cable car; and there were train tickets tacked on the felt board too, and picture postcards, museum tickets, theater programs, receipts from hotels, a matchbox with a photograph of her and some dark-skinned man with a droopy mustache.
The snapshots, though taken at various locations, always showed Edna wearing the same expression, which Aron had seen for the first time when she greeted them at the door: she was bursting with joy.
They returned to the salon, the three of them, and Yochi blushed, avoiding Mama’s eyes.
“Time to get to work,” growled Papa, staring at the floor.
“Time to get to work,” growled Papa, staring at the floor.
“Just a moment, please!”
cried Edna Bloom, and ran to get her camera.
“This is history,” she explained to Mama, who almost choked.
cried Edna Bloom, and ran to get her camera.
“This is history,” she explained to Mama, who almost choked.
Again she tingled with excitement, with minuscule emotions, her
fingers quivering.
She asked Papa to wave his sledgehammer in the air.
He was helpless before her; she peeked through the eye of the camera and saw him, and kept him waiting a little longer.
What could I do, insult her?
You saw how she was.
And what if she told you to yowl like a tomcat, would you do that too?
And then Edna squealed “Berdi berdi!”
and Papa was bathed in magnesium light, and for an instant he looked smaller, more compact than he actually was; frozen and frightened like a hunted animal.
And Edna Bloom whispered, “Now please,” and sank into the white leather armchair, winding around herself as though she had no bones, and then, inexplicably, she began to suck her thumb with a dreamy, faraway look on her face, and those strangers, those silent potato eaters all but vanished from her elegant salon.
fingers quivering.
She asked Papa to wave his sledgehammer in the air.
He was helpless before her; she peeked through the eye of the camera and saw him, and kept him waiting a little longer.
What could I do, insult her?
You saw how she was.
And what if she told you to yowl like a tomcat, would you do that too?
And then Edna squealed “Berdi berdi!”
and Papa was bathed in magnesium light, and for an instant he looked smaller, more compact than he actually was; frozen and frightened like a hunted animal.
And Edna Bloom whispered, “Now please,” and sank into the white leather armchair, winding around herself as though she had no bones, and then, inexplicably, she began to suck her thumb with a dreamy, faraway look on her face, and those strangers, those silent potato eaters all but vanished from her elegant salon.
Three sounds reverberated through the air: hammer blows as the wall gave way, the rumbling of thunder after weeks of drought, and Edna’s piercing shrieks.At the age of forty, after a red-eyed birthday, she had made the rash decision to give herself this frightening gift.
Again Papa struck the wall and again Edna shrieked.
It meant she wouldn’t have enough money for a trip abroad this year; it also meant perhaps that for the very reason she had dared to destroy something, she would have to stay in this apartment forever; and in such an apartment, with a big salon and a single bedroom, there would be no child.
Again Papa struck the wall and again Edna shrieked.
It meant she wouldn’t have enough money for a trip abroad this year; it also meant perhaps that for the very reason she had dared to destroy something, she would have to stay in this apartment forever; and in such an apartment, with a big salon and a single bedroom, there would be no child.
Again and again he stormed the wall, and Edna screamed instinctively, her hands fluttering at her sides; she wanted him to stop, she tried to stall, to breathe, but there was no going back, Papa pounded mercilessly, and the three of them sat watching her with startled eyes.
Mama waved to Papa, signaling him to let up, but he was hard at work now, or at least pretending to be, deaf to her wild-goose cries, and not until the wall was properly smashed did he slowly turn to Aron and the women.
With the back of his hand he wiped the sweat off his brow.
How agile he was: the moment he picked up the hammer he seemed to plug into a source of power and grace; he smiled at her and said, Well, that’s that.
And Edna bowed her head.
Mama waved to Papa, signaling him to let up, but he was hard at work now, or at least pretending to be, deaf to her wild-goose cries, and not until the wall was properly smashed did he slowly turn to Aron and the women.
With the back of his hand he wiped the sweat off his brow.
How agile he was: the moment he picked up the hammer he seemed to plug into a source of power and grace; he smiled at her and said, Well, that’s that.
And Edna bowed her head.
He had worked for an hour, stopping only twice, to take off his blue work shirt, leaving his undershirt on, and a little while later, to take
that off too, with his back to the attentive audience.
The smell of his sweat was overpowering, but it was Mama, not Edna, who finally went to open the window.
Peeking out she saw a number of neighbors gathered on the sidewalk, Peretz and Sophie Atias with their new baby, the Kaminers, Felix and Zlateh Botenero anxiously clutching their little dog, all of them gazing up as though waiting for a mysterious communication.
Pshi!
she almost spat at them.
They looked like fish down there, opening their O-shaped mouths in the hope of catching crumbs.
When Papa noticed the expression on her face he too approached the window.
Smiling down at them, he waved his hammer at the puffy gray sky.
Don’t you worry, he joked, defying the elephantine clouds with his three-kilo hammer, we’ll show ’em what thunder is, and smiling roguishly, he vanished from the window and returned to pound the walls.
that off too, with his back to the attentive audience.
The smell of his sweat was overpowering, but it was Mama, not Edna, who finally went to open the window.
Peeking out she saw a number of neighbors gathered on the sidewalk, Peretz and Sophie Atias with their new baby, the Kaminers, Felix and Zlateh Botenero anxiously clutching their little dog, all of them gazing up as though waiting for a mysterious communication.
Pshi!
she almost spat at them.
They looked like fish down there, opening their O-shaped mouths in the hope of catching crumbs.
When Papa noticed the expression on her face he too approached the window.
Smiling down at them, he waved his hammer at the puffy gray sky.
Don’t you worry, he joked, defying the elephantine clouds with his three-kilo hammer, we’ll show ’em what thunder is, and smiling roguishly, he vanished from the window and returned to pound the walls.
Edna Bloom sat in her armchair, one of her virginal white leather armchairs; she had neglected to try them out at the store, and was mortified to hear the squeaks, the demon of reality mocking her again.
Her eyes were half-closed now, her lips were parted, as though she was burning inside.
Now and then she would listlessly offer Mama or Aron the snack she had prepared, though it was clear to them that this was but a last hollow gesture of gentility.
Her eyes were half-closed now, her lips were parted, as though she was burning inside.
Now and then she would listlessly offer Mama or Aron the snack she had prepared, though it was clear to them that this was but a last hollow gesture of gentility.
Papa swung like a sledgehammer.
Heavy chunks of stone and plaster piled up at his feet, as he vanished behind a thick white cloud of dust and slowly reappeared.
He pounded the wall hundreds of times that day, trading his three-kilo hammer for the five-kilo hammer, sending shivers up the wall with his chisel and screwdriver.
Every blow was solemn and precise, expressing his respect for inert matter, his high regard for the adversary and the rites of war.
And the wall surrendered to Papa, yielding to him more and more, holding in the pain, the extent of which was slowly manifested in the jagged blocks and exposed wires, and the rusty rods protruding from its side.
“This wall is thick,” said Papa, stopping to catch his breath.
“They don’t make them like this anymore.”
He patted the wall the way you might pat a good horse.
Edna trembled.
Heavy chunks of stone and plaster piled up at his feet, as he vanished behind a thick white cloud of dust and slowly reappeared.
He pounded the wall hundreds of times that day, trading his three-kilo hammer for the five-kilo hammer, sending shivers up the wall with his chisel and screwdriver.
Every blow was solemn and precise, expressing his respect for inert matter, his high regard for the adversary and the rites of war.
And the wall surrendered to Papa, yielding to him more and more, holding in the pain, the extent of which was slowly manifested in the jagged blocks and exposed wires, and the rusty rods protruding from its side.
“This wall is thick,” said Papa, stopping to catch his breath.
“They don’t make them like this anymore.”
He patted the wall the way you might pat a good horse.
Edna trembled.
Every blow was a shock to her, goring her inside.
Only when the destruction began did she realize how deeply the house possessed her after thirteen years; for there was a bedroom Edna and a salon Edna and a kitchen Edna too; in each she became a different person, and
passing from one to the other, she still experienced a subtle shift, an alteration of her spirit, different filings rising to meet the magnet; and there were things and people she could contemplate only in one particular room, by the light of one dear lamp and no other, and it was unthinkable that there should be a room without a basin, without, that is, even the hope of running water, which is why just as soon as she moved in, and for a considerable sum of money, Edna had installed little washbasins everywhere: in the hall, on the balcony, even in a niche of her bedroom; and of course there were the paintings, her reproductions, as she liked to call them, savoring the word like melting chocolate, and she even owned an original she had purchased in Montmartre, representing a shipwreck in a stormy sea, the bearded painter had a braid and a shiny gold earring, and his eyes were disquieting, like the painting, though she wasn’t really sure it was art, and then there were her books, many of which she hadn’t read yet, reading was a sacred duty, she would wait for a time of perfect peace, but she liked to feel them like a protective wall around her keeping out the world, and there was her collection of paperweights, shake them and dream, and her dolls of the world on display, and her elegant desk with back issues of
National Geographic
neatly arranged on it and her PROJECT notebooks, as she modestly referred to them, and, of course, the twenty-one afghans and carpets and scatter rugs side to side throughout the apartment, one from each country she had visited, so that as she walked over them in her bare feet she was stepping lightly from Mexico to Portugal, from Kenya to Finland, camel’s hair and sheep’s wool and leopardskin and broadloom, like a stroll through the pages of a colorful stamp album, and there was Edna aged twenty-six and Edna aged thirty, and Edna the bitter-hearted after her love affair with a married man, he deceived her, no, you deceived yourself, and those faceless men who did what they did; she was like a frightened child on a runaway train, and when she finally got off she sank into a torpor, isolation petrifying all around her; how had she passed through all those stages that lead two strangers, two labyrinths, from the sublime to the animal, and once a year, when she traveled abroad, she would wink her inner eye, entwining with another body from a different world, an ephemeral lover picked up for the night, only she wouldn’t allow anyone to kiss her mouth; but once she fell in love, in “Lisboa,” she pronounced, “Bliss-boa,” at a tourist club she had ventured into, what a man you had for a night, you drove
him mad with passion till he swore he would leave his wife and children for you, and you had to persuade him to be reasonable, you brave and noble girl, and there was Edna of the university, with a single seminar paper left unfinished, and Edna after the removal of a growth in her womb, and Edna who spent weeks chewing dough to feed the gosling that fell into her nest and died in her hand, and Edna of the highs and lows, who sat here writing a letter all night long, but didn’t swallow an overdose in the end, and now, after a few blows from a sledgehammer, everything collapsed in a heap, her wall, the rooms of her soul.
Only when the destruction began did she realize how deeply the house possessed her after thirteen years; for there was a bedroom Edna and a salon Edna and a kitchen Edna too; in each she became a different person, and
passing from one to the other, she still experienced a subtle shift, an alteration of her spirit, different filings rising to meet the magnet; and there were things and people she could contemplate only in one particular room, by the light of one dear lamp and no other, and it was unthinkable that there should be a room without a basin, without, that is, even the hope of running water, which is why just as soon as she moved in, and for a considerable sum of money, Edna had installed little washbasins everywhere: in the hall, on the balcony, even in a niche of her bedroom; and of course there were the paintings, her reproductions, as she liked to call them, savoring the word like melting chocolate, and she even owned an original she had purchased in Montmartre, representing a shipwreck in a stormy sea, the bearded painter had a braid and a shiny gold earring, and his eyes were disquieting, like the painting, though she wasn’t really sure it was art, and then there were her books, many of which she hadn’t read yet, reading was a sacred duty, she would wait for a time of perfect peace, but she liked to feel them like a protective wall around her keeping out the world, and there was her collection of paperweights, shake them and dream, and her dolls of the world on display, and her elegant desk with back issues of
National Geographic
neatly arranged on it and her PROJECT notebooks, as she modestly referred to them, and, of course, the twenty-one afghans and carpets and scatter rugs side to side throughout the apartment, one from each country she had visited, so that as she walked over them in her bare feet she was stepping lightly from Mexico to Portugal, from Kenya to Finland, camel’s hair and sheep’s wool and leopardskin and broadloom, like a stroll through the pages of a colorful stamp album, and there was Edna aged twenty-six and Edna aged thirty, and Edna the bitter-hearted after her love affair with a married man, he deceived her, no, you deceived yourself, and those faceless men who did what they did; she was like a frightened child on a runaway train, and when she finally got off she sank into a torpor, isolation petrifying all around her; how had she passed through all those stages that lead two strangers, two labyrinths, from the sublime to the animal, and once a year, when she traveled abroad, she would wink her inner eye, entwining with another body from a different world, an ephemeral lover picked up for the night, only she wouldn’t allow anyone to kiss her mouth; but once she fell in love, in “Lisboa,” she pronounced, “Bliss-boa,” at a tourist club she had ventured into, what a man you had for a night, you drove
him mad with passion till he swore he would leave his wife and children for you, and you had to persuade him to be reasonable, you brave and noble girl, and there was Edna of the university, with a single seminar paper left unfinished, and Edna after the removal of a growth in her womb, and Edna who spent weeks chewing dough to feed the gosling that fell into her nest and died in her hand, and Edna of the highs and lows, who sat here writing a letter all night long, but didn’t swallow an overdose in the end, and now, after a few blows from a sledgehammer, everything collapsed in a heap, her wall, the rooms of her soul.
At six-thirty that evening Mama cried “Enough!”
and her voice was hoarse from the dust and the silent curses, as if she had spent the whole time screaming the same word over and over.
Papa heard.
His red neck, gleaming with drops of sweat, contracted.
He swung a few times more.
For a moment he seemed about to rebel, as though he didn’t want to stop yet.
She moved her lips to speak, but no sound came out.
Papa slowed to a halt.
And dropped the hammer.
He reassumed his erstwhile shape, spreading out and thickening.
As he swept up the rubble and the dust and the chunks of plaster, Edna waved limply and said, Never mind now.
Go.
Tomorrow at the same time.
Papa glanced back at her.
He was bewildered.
He had not turned his head in the past hour, or seen the transformation taking place.
His own face was also transformed now, though Aron couldn’t say how.
and her voice was hoarse from the dust and the silent curses, as if she had spent the whole time screaming the same word over and over.
Papa heard.
His red neck, gleaming with drops of sweat, contracted.
He swung a few times more.
For a moment he seemed about to rebel, as though he didn’t want to stop yet.
She moved her lips to speak, but no sound came out.
Papa slowed to a halt.
And dropped the hammer.
He reassumed his erstwhile shape, spreading out and thickening.
As he swept up the rubble and the dust and the chunks of plaster, Edna waved limply and said, Never mind now.
Go.
Tomorrow at the same time.
Papa glanced back at her.
He was bewildered.
He had not turned his head in the past hour, or seen the transformation taking place.
His own face was also transformed now, though Aron couldn’t say how.
That’s just the way Moshe looked, fixing up the house for me when we were newlyweds.
“The ladder I’ll leave here,” he said.
“Yes, do,” whispered Edna.
“Tomorrow I’ll come again,” he said.
“I’ll look after it for you,” she murmured.
“How about that rain?”
he asked too loudly, hurrying to the window, massaging his right arm.
he asked too loudly, hurrying to the window, massaging his right arm.
But the heavy clouds were moping over their interrupted journey.
Far away, beyond the rocky hills, winter was closing in, galloping its chariots; a grim commander hurrying to a remote province where cries of mutiny had been heard.
And the startled procession emerged through the door of Edna Bloom’s into the cold of the evening, with Mama in the lead, followed by Yochi, and then Aron, and Papa bringing up the rear, head bowed, like a bull led back to his pen for the night.
Far away, beyond the rocky hills, winter was closing in, galloping its chariots; a grim commander hurrying to a remote province where cries of mutiny had been heard.
And the startled procession emerged through the door of Edna Bloom’s into the cold of the evening, with Mama in the lead, followed by Yochi, and then Aron, and Papa bringing up the rear, head bowed, like a bull led back to his pen for the night.
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