A Late Divorce (48 page)

I glanced at Gaddi, who was watching with interest as his old nursery school turned into a house of worship.

“Would you like to stay a bit and see a service? Have you ever been to a synagogue before?”

“No.”

“Your father never took you?”

“No.”

“Then let's stay a while. It will give us a chance to rest. What time is it?”

We sat on the tiny chairs. The four or five young men around us went on setting up the room, arranging the chairs in rows, making an ark for the Torah out of the doll closet, placing a Torah scroll in it that they removed from a carton, improvising a podium for the cantor, joking amusedly about the kindergarten they had invaded while a young, dynamic rabbi with an English accent directed them. Someone banged cymbals. For years I hadn't bothered to attend a synagogue service in Israel. And here was one being held by these young people—and very unreligious-looking young people they were, with their skullcaps that kept slipping off their heads—who seemed so normal and with it.

“Do you live around here?”

“No, but I'm visiting my daughter, who does.”

Still glistening from the last rains the green ravine could be seen through the window in the brightening light. Silvery-green olive trees dotted its slopes, which here and there were darkened by the mouth of a limestone cave. Large, gaily colored toy blocks lay around us, and here too slogans, accompanied by photographs of dogs, papered the walls. Already Gaddi was excitedly checking the names of the children by the coat hangers and helping the rabbi to find things, while I, on my little kindergarten-tumed-synagogue chair, bore inadvertent witness to the contemporary religious revival...

 

Only a few hours left now. One last Israeli day under way. And there behind you before you the thickening darkness waits. Not a fantasy after all. Sitting there in her wide cotton dress beneath her white smock so strong so big so serene that crazy fanatic fighting for our marriage beyond the thin wooden door playing for time. For a burned-out wick. Smiling not at all sorry clinging to her madness as though to the leash of some great crouching beast. I don't believe in her getting better children watch out for her you have no idea how deep it goes. You disappointed me. So calmly so lucidly. I did did I? Disappointed you that I didn't go crazy too. Forgive me but that far I wouldn't go. And did I ever really promise?

Two of the young men, scientists from the Haifa Technion, it seemed, were talking about some laboratory experiment of theirs. Gaddi came and sat beside me, his heavy profile with its double chin suddenly reminding me of Ya'el when she was a girl. His eyes darted curiously about him while his hand unconsciously crept up to his chest again, exploring, squeezing lightly.

“Why do you keep putting your hand there? Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“If it starts to I'll squeeze it.”

“Squeeze what?”

“The pain.”

“Tomorrow your mother is taking you to the doctor. I don't like this one bit. And he'll explain to you how to lose weight and how to keep away from fattening foods. The next time I'm here ...”

“Are you coming back?”

“Of course I am.”

Three young women entered the room with a whoop. The men rose to greet them. “Good to see you here!” They joked about their kindergarten, showed them the little washrooms, and sat them behind the rope they had strung. “Here. You are absolutely forbidden to cross it.” More laughter. It was an adventure for them, this trying on of religion for size. More worshippers arrived, descending the stairs and exclaiming at their surroundings. The young rabbi had the men put on prayer shawls and taught them the blessing to recite. “There are ten men here now,” someone said. “We can start to pray.”

 

There's a bit of ocean too in the splendid view in the window. My first year abroad I missed this landscape terribly afterwards I grew attached to others so breathtaking especially in autumn and in spring. We who saw this country being born thought we could always bend it to our will always correct it if it went off course yet here it was out of control full of strange mutations different people odd permutations new sources of unexpected energy. The clear lines have been hopelessly smudged. If only it could at least be a homeland when will it settle down to be one. Asa go easy with your historical chaos don't force too much of it on us.

The scented women regard you from behind their rope. It was in America that you first discovered your powers of attraction. They didn't miss a lecture not even in midwinter not even during a blizzard. The old Israeli Valentino. The Apostle to the Exile who re-exiled himself and now spends his days in heated underground shopping centers fingering the fabric of dresses checking out the millinery aisles waiting for Connie. Connie I've given away my half of the house. Like a corpse tied to the bedposts and you so patient such a gentleman.

 

And still there were only ten men.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered to the rabbi. “I didn't come to pray. I just happened by.”

“At least stay for the beginning,” he pleaded. “There'll be more of us. Just for the beginning.”

He went to the improvised ark, explained briefly to those gathered the nature of the morning's prayer, and began to sing the old hymn in a mild, clear voice:

 

Great King of All Whose reign began
E'er was there any living thing,
And Who, when All's done by His will,
Forever still will be called King;

 

When All is gone and is no more,
Still will He rule eternally;
Imperially glorious,
He was, He is, and He will be;

 

And He is One, beside Him none...

 

A young couple arrived and stood looking on in the entrance. I felt rooted to my chair. Exhausted. Time was trickling away. But what time was it? The room began filling up. The box of prayer shawls was empty. The sun glared through the window. Hymned clarity. Stubborn flicker of thought. Fear-constricted. Gaddi turned uncomfortably to the rear. A small boy had entered the room, recognized him and pointed him out in a whisper to his father, who was wearing an officer's uniform. He tugged at my sleeve, ill at ease.

“When are we going?”

“Soon.”

I shut my eyes, in thrall to the liturgy, around me the decorous silence of these non-observant Jews unaccustomed to the constant drone that accompanies prayer in an Orthodox synagogue.

“Mom and dad will worry,” Gaddi persisted, rising from his chair.

“All right, let's go. Excuse me,” I said to a young man sitting next to me, “do you happen to know the time?” He showed me his watch, afraid to utter a word.

I took off my prayer shawl and skullcap and handed them without glancing up to a new congregant who had just arrived. The small boy rose too and made his way toward us, but Gaddi hurried up the stairs away from him and we stepped out into the spring day. The street was filled now with both adults and children. Cars streamed down the hill. I walked still staring down at the ground. What guilt they managed to infuse in you. Not that you ever believed but for a long while you didn't disbelieve either. Leave God out of this Naomi said right away.

We continued back up the street. Gaddi strayed into a field and returned with a bent metal pipe. He stopped by a tree to pick leaves for his last silkworm that hadn't yet spun a cocoon. Suddenly I felt that we were being followed by a car driving slowly behind us. I stopped. So did it. The light reflected from its windshield was too blinding for me to make out the driver. We turned into Ya'el's narrow street and climbed the stairs to the apartment. The living room was still dark. Ya'el and Kedmi were in the kitchen, sitting at a table piled high with breakfast, with matzos and pitas side by side, both eating ravenously. Kedmi still wore his pajamas and was in high spirits.

“Last night you made off with our daughter and this morning it's our son, eh, grandpa?”

“Gaddi keeps having these pains in his chest. You have to take him to the doctor tomorrow.”

“It's nothing,” said Ya'el. “He's just imagining it.”

“Still ...”

“All right, we'll take him,” said Kedmi.

“Is that a promise?”

He looked at me, amused.

“It's a promise. Where have you been?”

We told him about the new synagogue in the kindergarten.

“Didn't I tell you they were taking over this country?” he shot back. “Before long we won't even be allowed to drive a car on Saturday. We'll have to get around on roller skates.''

I asked him what happened last night at the police station. He had actually filed a complaint against the sergeant, who would, he claimed, retain that rank for the rest of his life. I asked him again about his murderer. Did he really think that he was guilty?

“Do I think that he's guilty? What difference would it make if I did? My job is to keep the judge from thinking it.”

Ya'el brought me my breakfast.

“What time is it?”

“Did Rakefet break your watch after all?”

“No. I just left it in my room.”

“It's half past eight. Have you begun counting the hours?”

“No. Why?”

The phone rang. Ya'el answered it and returned. It was Asi calling from the bus station in Tel Aviv. They were on their way. I returned to my room on a wave of emotion, knelt by my little valise, took out my passport and ticket, and checked the time of departure again. I reread the power of attorney that I had prepared for Asa and glanced again at the signed certificate of divorce. A shadow flashed across the ceiling. Mine or some object's in the room? I folded my pajamas and packed them away. The sky outside was bright blue. Below on the corner I caught sight again of the white car that had followed us. Its driver loitered beside it, a slender man in a white suit.

I hurried to Tsvi, who was still sleeping in the dim living room, his white arm trailing on the floor. He open his eyes with a luxuriating sigh.

“Father? What time is it?”

“Already past nine.”

He sighed again deeply.

“Tsvi, get up. I think that man is waiting for you downstairs.”

“Who?”

“That man ... of yours. You know who I mean ... Calderon....”

“Oh my God. He's here already? He's really too much.”

“Are you getting up?”

“In a minute. What's the rush? It's only nine, and today's a holiday.”

“Perhaps I should invite him up then.”

“Don't. Let him wait. He's used to it.”

He snuggled back under the blanket and shut his eyes again.

“I still think you should get up.”

“All right. In a minute. There's plenty of time. Do you have the travel jitters?”

“Not especially.”

“Are you glad to be going back?”

“It's not easy to leave you all.”

“Oh...” He turned over on his other side.

Kedmi sat down to read a newspaper. Ya'el cleaned the house. I looked out the window at the slender man, who was still in the same place, smoking a cigarette. I debated for a moment and made up my mind to go to him. He was standing and gazing up at the windows of the apartment when I approached him. Suddenly he noticed me. He made a movement as though to flee, recalled it immediately, smiled and held out his hand.

“Hello, Mr. Kaminka. I didn't realize you had recognized me. How was your seder?”

“Pleasant enough. And yours?”

“The main thing is that it's over. It dragged on and on. That's because of my wife's eldest brother ... every year he makes it longer. But we got through it in the end...''

“Are you waiting for Tsvi? He's still asleep.”

“Of course, of course, I knew he'd be. Let him sleep. I have something to tell him. Something new that may interest him. But never mind. Let him sleep.”

“Something new?”

“Oh, it's just a business matter. Nothing very dramatic ... it can wait ... it's not really that important. But how are you, Mr. Kaminka? I heard that the divorce went smoothly. I drove Tsvi up there yesterday and had the impression that she took it well.”

“Would you like to come upstairs with me?”

“Oh, I couldn't do that! Not at an hour like this. I'll wait here in the car. I have a radio and whatever I need. I simply misread my watch, and so I came early ... but never mind ... and after all, this is your last day here...”

“No, Mr. Calderon, I insist. We'll wake Tsvi up.”

“Absolutely not! It's just that ... just that I...”

He began to shake all over.

“It's just that I ... I actually had meant to go to synagogue ... I never travel on holidays ... I have my prayer shawl and prayer book with me in the car ... that is, I was on my way to synagogue when suddenly the thought crossed my mind ... that it's hopeless ... that he wants to leave me ... tell me it's not so! You were a source of so much strength to me that night, that's what's kept me going until now ...”

I touched his light, warm arm and he sheltered against me, his lined face blotchy as though rouged, his eyes two bits of sunken coals.

“Come up anyway.”

His face lit up.

“He didn't say anything of the sort about me ... Tsvi ... he didn't say...?”

“No. Not as far as I know. But come up and have something to drink. We'll wake him. He's slept enough.”

“It's no good for him, this sleeping late of his. It keeps him from getting ahead. I've told him that he can't wake up an hour before the market opens and think that there's still time to size it up. But today's a holiday, why shouldn't he sleep? Never mind ... he'll only be annoyed if we wake him ... and perhaps I can still find some place around here to pray in ...”