The Class (41 page)

ANDREW ELIOT'S DIARY

November 23, 1963 -

I don't think I'll ever be the same after yesterday. The newspapers are calling what happened in Dallas a "Greek tragedy," but to me it's an American tragedy. In fact, it's something I feel so closely that I would almost call it

a death in the family.

I think everybody-rich and poor, black and white, but especially those of us who had so identified with him because he was young and a Harvard man-is stunned by Jack Kennedy's assassination.

Here we were just getting set for the upcoming

Harvard-Yale game, half-expecting the President himself to show up at the last minute in an army helicopter, and the next thing we know he's dead.

I'm not alone in looking up to him as some kind of gallant knight. He had a kind of aura that changed the atmosphere of the whole country. He made us feel proud. Dynamic. Full of hope. It looked like the begin-

fling of a new and glorious chapter in our history.

But what really shakes me is that he was killed for no apparent reason. Here was a guy whose ship had been torpedoed in the war and who not only survived but saved one of his crewmen as well. If he had died defending some principle, it might have at least made some sense.

I think from today my whole -generation will change its outlook on life. I doubt if success can mean the same to any of them.

Look-Kennedy won every prize. The sweet fruition of an earthly crown. And yet they'll bury him with fully half a life still left unlived.

D

anny Rossi was in Tanglewood when he learned that Maria had given birth to a girl.

He was, of course, planning to be at her bedside and had merely flown off for twenty-four hours to conduct a single concert. But little Sylvie (they had discussed names in advance) decided to arrive early.

Mr. and Mrs. Pastore were already with Maria when Danny entered the hospital room bearing armfuls of flowers. He exchanged hugs with them, kissed the glowing mother,

whispered a few affectionate words in her ear, and hurried to the neonatal ward to peer through the large glass pane at his new daughter. -

At first he could not find her. By an unconscious reflex his eyes kept glancing at the cots with blue blankets. At

last a helpful nurse picked Sylvie up and brought her to the window. Now he could see traces of Maria-and of himself-in herfeatures. -

"Even better than creating a symphony, eh, Mr. Rossi?" It was their obstetrician, who happened to be passing by on his rounds.

"Oh yes," Danny quickly agreed as he shook the doctor's hand. "Thanks for everything. Maria says you were great."

"My pleasure. And don't worry, you'll get used to it."

"What?"

"Having a daughter. Most men secretly want boys-at least the first time. But I lmow Sylvie, will bring you a great deal of happiness."

Danny thought about the doctor's words and felt relieved. During the flight home he had been unable to suppress the tinges of disappointment that Maria had not produced a son.

He had hoped for an heir to continue the musical tradition

he was establishing. After all, there were so few world-class women pianists. And the only time a female got to lead musicians was when twirling a baton. He had not considered that a girl might become a prima ballerina.

Sylvie was christened three weeks later and the Rossis had

two hundred guests to their home for a champagne brunch. The Philadelphia papers published large photographs of their orchestra's popular associate director with his lovely wife and new child. Danny was exhilarated. Being a father seemed to elevate him to a new status.

Yet, something puzzled him. Maria didn't want a nanny. The most she would agree to was a nurse for the first few weeks. After that, she wanted to raise Sylvie on her own.

"Danny, I've spent the last nine months reading books about child care. I don't want some starched-apron biddy telling me I don't know how to be a mother."

"But you'll be exhausted,"

"Not if you help a little."

"Sure," he smiled, "but I've got a helluva concert schedule."

"You act as if you're a slave to your own fate, I mean,

you don't have to make so many guest appearances all over the place, do you?" -

How could he make her understand?

"Maria, darling, you know that old chestnut about music being an international language? Well, nowadays it's .an international business. I have to do a certain amount of traveling- just to keep up my contacts."

Maria looked at him. Her face grew flushed.

"Danny, I thought marriage would change you. And then when it didn't, I thought at least being a father would. Why the hell can't you grow up?" -

"What are you talking about?"

"Why do you keep buzzing around the world like a bee from flower to flower? Do you still need that much adulation? if I'm not enough, there are plenty of local women to worship you."

Danny did not feel compelled to justify the lifestyle of an artist.

"Maria, I assume this whole outburst is just the product of postpartum depression."

Then, realizing he had wounded her, Danny came over and knelt by her side. -

Hey, that was shitty of me to say. Please forgive me. I

really love you, Maria. Don't you believe that?" She nodded. "I just wish it were only me."

Scarcely five months later, Maria was pregnant again. And the following year gave birth to a second daughter.

- This time, Danny was in New York when she went into

labor and made it to the hospital before the child arrived.

B

y January 1964 Jason had completed his six months of language training in the Ulpan. Having exercised the utmost

discipline, using English only to write weekly letters to his parents, he found himself reasonably fluent in Hebrew.

The elder Gilberts had exerted frequent epistolary pressure on him to come home for Christmas. Jason had

demurred, arguing that his course did not break for anything but the Jewish holidays in September. Now he once again avoided the possibility of returning -to the States, even for a short visit, by saying that he was about to undertake "a very important job."

He discussed it with Eva and Yossi-in Hebrew-on his first visit to the kibbutz since the summer.

"I'm going to join the army," he announced.

"Good," the kibbutz secretary exclaimed. "They can use an experienced man like you." -

Eva said nothing.

Yossi noticed the stern expression on her face and asked,

"What's the matter, aren't you pleased with his decision?"

"I'm glad he's staying," she replied. "But I've a feeling he's doing it for the wrong reason."

"And what may that be?" Jason inquired.

"As a personal vendetta-to revenge Fanny's death."

"I don't care what his reasons are," Yossi retorted defen sively. "Besides, doesn't the Bible allow us an eye for an eye?"

"That's primitive and you know it," Eva countered. "It's a metaphor, not to be taken literally."

"The Arabs take it literally," Yossi interposed.

"Hey, let's cut the polemics. Do I have your blessings to enlist or not?" Jason asked. -

"Not mine," Eva stated adamantly.

"Well, you have mine," Yossi countered, "and that of your whole kibbutz." -

"But I'm not a member of the kibbutz," Jason replied.

"You will be after this week's meeting," the secretary responded. "That is, if you want to."

"Yes. I want very much to belong."

Though it was winter, Jason spent the next weeks in

punishing, self-imposed, pre-basic training: getting up early to run in the freezing rain, lifting weights in the primitive kibbutz exercise room, and then running again before dinner. He spent a lot of time talking to Eva, trying to convince

her that his dedication was sincere. And pleading with her to make him less ignorant about the country's history.

Sometimes, at night, their conversation tentatively approached the personal. -

He asked about her childhood. How it had been during the war with Fanny's family. How she had been able to recover

from the trauma of the Holocaust and the discovery that her parents had been slaughtered.

She told him how shattered she had been by the news of her parents' fate. Still, she now felt she had been luckier than most. During the war, she had been blessed with the loving protection of the van der Post family. And afterward the establishment of Israel meant that her children would never suffer as she had.

Her talk of children led Jason to ask hesitantly why she was not married. At first she told him that like so many

others, she had emerged from the Holocaust with her emotions deadened. But Jason sensed she was hiding something. And one night Eva told him the truth.

When she was in the army she had known a young officer named Mordechai. They had become very close. He was

killed during his last month ofactive duty. And not by enemy fire, but during a training exercise with live ammunition.

"I'm going to come back," Jason assured her, assuaging a fear she had not even dared articulate.

"Oh, I know you will," she said, unconvincingly. "Nobody gets killed working in a clothing depot."

"What makes you think I'm joining the Quartermaster

Corps?" he asked.

"I told you," she replied. "I've been in the army. Most recruits go in at eighteen. A man like you is considered practically senile. You'll be lucky if they don't make you check handbags at the cinemas."

"I was a U.S. Marine," he said, smiling. "I finished training with the fifth highest grade in my battalion. Want to make a bet?" -

"You'd lose," she smiled, "because you're about to encounter the best thing in Israel-its army. And the very worst-its bureaucracy." -

On a raw February day, Jason Gilbert stepped off the bus at the Kelet, the army induction center just outside Tel Aviv. The camp was large and sprawling, consisting of corrugated-roofed huts, occasional eucalyptus trees, and a series of tents.

Up north at the local army office, he had enlisted for the mid-winter induction and passed a series of preliminary mental and medical tests. -

Now he stood on line with another member of the kibbutz, eighteen-year-old Tuvia Ben-Ami, who was manifestly nervous. Not about the army as much as being away from home for the first time.

"Keep calm, Tuvi," said Jason, pointing at the long line

of adolescents waiting to be processed. "You're going to find a lot of new friends in this kindergarten."

When the recruits were assigned to small groups, the young kibbutznik practically held on to Jason's belt to ensure they would not be separated,

Then they all went to the "butcher's shop" to have their

hair mercilessly sheared. For some of the urban Casanovas, it was the trauma of their lives, Jason had to laugh as he watched them suppress tears as their Elvis-like plumage dropped to the floor.

He in turn simply sat down and let the army lawnmower relandscape his locks.

Then it was time for the dog tags. The dispensing officer suggested that Jason consider changing his name to something more biblical and more patriotic.

"In Hellenistic times, when the Jews all aspired to be sophisticated Greeks, every Jacob changed his name to Jason.

Think about that, soldier."

After donning their khakis, they were led by their super-

- vising corporal to the tents where they would be staying for the next three- days. -

Tuvia whispered to Jason, "You can tell who are

kibbutzniks, and who are soft boys from the cities, just by the way they look at the sleeping bags. I think some of them expected feather beds."

After dinner they strolled through the camp to look at the recruiting huts where they would be interviewed for special units. Over one shack a sign boasted THE BRAVE TO THE PARATROOPS.

"That's where I'll-be at dawn tomorrow," said Jason. "You and a thousand others," replied Tuvia, "including me. Everybody wants to earn his red beret. And stupid as it sounds, I've got a better chance than you."

"Oh yes? What was your grade at the medical exam last month?"

"Ninety-one," Tuvia answered proudly.

"Well, I got ninety-seven," Jason retorted confidently.

"That's the highest they give. And when I asked them about the other three points, they said that Superman isn't Jewish."

"Listen," Tuvia smiled, "even if he were, he couldn't get into the Israeli Paratroops. Because he's too old."

By seven the next morning there 'were already long lines outside the huts of the elite brigades.

Jason passed his time by doing stretching exercises. At

last he was admitted to the tent of the paratroop recruiting officer, a wiry, dark-haired man in his middle thirties.

His first words were hardly encouraging: "Beat it, Yankee. I admire your initiative, but you're over the hill."

"I'm only twenty-seven and I've got two years' military experience."

"Twenty-seven means ten years of you that I've already lost. Send in the next candidate."

Jason folded his arms. "With due respect, I'm not leaving until I get a physical test."

The interviewer stood and leaned his hands on the desk.

"Listen, you'd drop dead if you even looked at our training course. Now do I have to throw you out myself?"