Authors: David Grossman
Be My Knife (2 page)
Yair
April 12
Miriam,
I knew it, don’t say I didn’t know and didn’t warn myself.
Is that truly what you felt?
And to that extent?
And to that extent?
Well, as you can probably imagine, I didn’t much enjoy that slap in the face.
Giving with one hand and then taking with two, Scheherazade entwining herself with the idiot Sultan … This morning I couldn’t bear the suffering and express-mailed your first letter back to myself.
Giving with one hand and then taking with two, Scheherazade entwining herself with the idiot Sultan … This morning I couldn’t bear the suffering and express-mailed your first letter back to myself.
Though you do understand, don’t you?
It was all out of the fear that—after I succeeded at tugging at your sleeve and keeping you for a moment by my side—my faint charm will expire and I will never have a second chance.
And you must, must believe me—my true self will be revealed only in a second look, or a third.
Under no circumstances in the glance you are giving me now.
It was all out of the fear that—after I succeeded at tugging at your sleeve and keeping you for a moment by my side—my faint charm will expire and I will never have a second chance.
And you must, must believe me—my true self will be revealed only in a second look, or a third.
Under no circumstances in the glance you are giving me now.
Anyway, Miriam (you have a warm name, it flows and checks in the same moment), stay with me just a little while longer, just until this unwilling seizure ends—you can scribble a few more desperate little notes about me in your diary in the meantime.
Still, let me stay longer, during your lonely sleepless conversations with yourself, or with Anna (a friend of yours?), or with your cat and dogs.
And then, maybe, not everything will be lost for us.
After all, you did ask, it seemed with genuine concern, what it is that terrifies me so much, and how the same person who could dare make a wish so great from his life could also be so frightened of it.
Still, let me stay longer, during your lonely sleepless conversations with yourself, or with Anna (a friend of yours?), or with your cat and dogs.
And then, maybe, not everything will be lost for us.
After all, you did ask, it seemed with genuine concern, what it is that terrifies me so much, and how the same person who could dare make a wish so great from his life could also be so frightened of it.
You can explain that to me.
Please.
Please.
Should I tell you how many times I have read your two letters?
Do you want to laugh?
At every hour of the day and night, in whispers and aloud.
In the steaming water of the bathtub, over an open gas flame in the kitchen, and in the middle of a work meeting, my brow furrowed with seriousness, surrounded by ten people.
My ridiculous attempts to be with you in every state of matter.
I went to the toilets in the Central Bus Station of Jerusalem, especially for the pornographic scrawls and obscene graffiti, so they would blister and peel with shame when they heard your earnest words, the way you write without games, without pretense; even when you’re disappointed, you write without protecting yourself even one little bit—just like that, you come to me, giving me your trust.
Without even knowing me at all.
Do you want to laugh?
At every hour of the day and night, in whispers and aloud.
In the steaming water of the bathtub, over an open gas flame in the kitchen, and in the middle of a work meeting, my brow furrowed with seriousness, surrounded by ten people.
My ridiculous attempts to be with you in every state of matter.
I went to the toilets in the Central Bus Station of Jerusalem, especially for the pornographic scrawls and obscene graffiti, so they would blister and peel with shame when they heard your earnest words, the way you write without games, without pretense; even when you’re disappointed, you write without protecting yourself even one little bit—just like that, you come to me, giving me your trust.
Without even knowing me at all.
Should I tell you more about myself?
What is there to tell?
What is there to tell?
Something in your writing reminded me—I once thought of teaching my son a private language.
Isolating him from the speaking world on purpose, lying to him from the moment of his birth, so he would believe only the language I gave him.
And it would be a compassionate language.
What I mean is—I wanted to take him by the hand and name everything he saw with words that would save him from the inevitable heartaches.
So that he wouldn’t be able to comprehend the existence of, for instance, war.
Or that people kill.
Or that this red, here, is blood.
It’s a used-up
kind of idea, I know, but I loved to imagine him crossing through life with an innocent, trusting smile—the first truly enlightened child.
Isolating him from the speaking world on purpose, lying to him from the moment of his birth, so he would believe only the language I gave him.
And it would be a compassionate language.
What I mean is—I wanted to take him by the hand and name everything he saw with words that would save him from the inevitable heartaches.
So that he wouldn’t be able to comprehend the existence of, for instance, war.
Or that people kill.
Or that this red, here, is blood.
It’s a used-up
kind of idea, I know, but I loved to imagine him crossing through life with an innocent, trusting smile—the first truly enlightened child.
I don’t have to tell you of my joy when he began to speak; you probably remember the wonder of a child first naming things.
Although every time he learned a new word, one that is also a little “theirs,” everybody’s, even his first word, a beautiful word like “light”—my heart curdled around the edges, because I thought, Who knows what he is losing in this moment, how many infinite kinds of glamour he felt and saw, tasted and smelled, before he pressured them into this little box, “light,” with a
t
at the end like a switch clicking off.
You understand me, don’t you?
Although every time he learned a new word, one that is also a little “theirs,” everybody’s, even his first word, a beautiful word like “light”—my heart curdled around the edges, because I thought, Who knows what he is losing in this moment, how many infinite kinds of glamour he felt and saw, tasted and smelled, before he pressured them into this little box, “light,” with a
t
at the end like a switch clicking off.
You understand me, don’t you?
Oh yes, of course you understand the edges of your heart curdling.
You might even be a modest expert in your way.
I knew it from the first look.
And I have, as well, apparently succeeded at dampening your spirit and curdling your heart in no small way.
You might even be a modest expert in your way.
I knew it from the first look.
And I have, as well, apparently succeeded at dampening your spirit and curdling your heart in no small way.
But was it really that bad?
Really, truly?
As if you had lost a precious thing that you yearned for up until the moment you had it?
Really, truly?
As if you had lost a precious thing that you yearned for up until the moment you had it?
At least tell me what that precious thing was, so I’ll know what was almost in me.
Yair
April 16
You are right, of course, and I absolutely deserve a scolding (but not for a moment have I thought that you were made only of words).
Who could imagine that you also have such a thin, biting, cutting sarcasm to you—I saw a hint of it in your shoulders and your back, something pinched and embittered, as if preparing for the next blow—or am I completely wrong?
Who could imagine that you also have such a thin, biting, cutting sarcasm to you—I saw a hint of it in your shoulders and your back, something pinched and embittered, as if preparing for the next blow—or am I completely wrong?
Or is it all my fault?
Tell me, am I the thing pinching your spine?
I know so well how I do it to myself, I just wish I wasn’t doing the same thing to you …
Tell me, am I the thing pinching your spine?
I know so well how I do it to myself, I just wish I wasn’t doing the same thing to you …
Listen: today, across the street from my workplace—an industrial area, midmorning, at the harsh peak of light—I saw a blind man sitting at the bus stop.
He had a bowed head, a stick squeezed between his knees.
A bus stopped, and another blind man got off it.
When he passed in front of the one on the bench, they both immediately pulled themselves up erect and their heads came together.
I stood still—couldn’t move.
They groped and discovered each other, and for one moment it
seemed as if they were tied together, clinging, frozen.
It lasted no more than a second, in total silence, and after that moment they detached themselves and went their separate ways.
But my skin was covered in goose bumps, the hair on my skin stood up in your name all over my body, and I thought, This is the way!
He had a bowed head, a stick squeezed between his knees.
A bus stopped, and another blind man got off it.
When he passed in front of the one on the bench, they both immediately pulled themselves up erect and their heads came together.
I stood still—couldn’t move.
They groped and discovered each other, and for one moment it
seemed as if they were tied together, clinging, frozen.
It lasted no more than a second, in total silence, and after that moment they detached themselves and went their separate ways.
But my skin was covered in goose bumps, the hair on my skin stood up in your name all over my body, and I thought, This is the way!
So come on, come closer, I want to give you something real and intimate, don’t run away, don’t stiffen up, something very intimate to offset the “anonymity” you slammed at me, sitting on your porch as if you were in a full courtroom (a purple leaf fell, trapped between the page and envelope of your letter, and got squashed a little bit over your “intimacy-anonymity,” blurring both words).
Flex your muscles, Miriam, we said it was all or nothing.
Flex your muscles, Miriam, we said it was all or nothing.
When my wife and I were first dating, we took a trip to Mt.
Carmel one Saturday morning.
And we passed through a little patch of forest.
It was very early, just a little bit after dawn.
We talked, and we laughed.
And I—who usually despise what is called the Beauty of Creation—could suddenly no longer contain within myself the wonder around me, and immediately stripped down and started running between the trees, naked and yelling and dancing.
And Maya (we’ll call her Maya between us, and you are also welcome to choose names for your dear ones as you wish) was astonished and stopped—maybe she was just put off by my nakedness, which she saw out in the open for the first time—and it isn’t that lovely in the dark—and I heard her calling to me, quietly, begging me to stop.
It was too late—I was already drunk with nature, and I leaped at her from all directions in a kind of a wild bridal dance, which looked pretty ridiculous, I guess.
I invited her to join me and felt—for just a moment—that she wanted to—you see, I had never agreed to dance with her before, not at parties, or among people, and suddenly, here I could do it naked—I was possessed, I didn’t do it on purpose.
Just imagine, dancing and naked, corks popping with happiness.
Perhaps it is impossible to be unbeautiful when you’re happy.
And Maya almost gave herself away, I felt it roaring inside her, roaring to me; she almost uprooted herself—but, at the last minute, stopped.
Why did the policeman in your dream demand that you file charges against me for writing threatening letters?
Carmel one Saturday morning.
And we passed through a little patch of forest.
It was very early, just a little bit after dawn.
We talked, and we laughed.
And I—who usually despise what is called the Beauty of Creation—could suddenly no longer contain within myself the wonder around me, and immediately stripped down and started running between the trees, naked and yelling and dancing.
And Maya (we’ll call her Maya between us, and you are also welcome to choose names for your dear ones as you wish) was astonished and stopped—maybe she was just put off by my nakedness, which she saw out in the open for the first time—and it isn’t that lovely in the dark—and I heard her calling to me, quietly, begging me to stop.
It was too late—I was already drunk with nature, and I leaped at her from all directions in a kind of a wild bridal dance, which looked pretty ridiculous, I guess.
I invited her to join me and felt—for just a moment—that she wanted to—you see, I had never agreed to dance with her before, not at parties, or among people, and suddenly, here I could do it naked—I was possessed, I didn’t do it on purpose.
Just imagine, dancing and naked, corks popping with happiness.
Perhaps it is impossible to be unbeautiful when you’re happy.
And Maya almost gave herself away, I felt it roaring inside her, roaring to me; she almost uprooted herself—but, at the last minute, stopped.
Why did the policeman in your dream demand that you file charges against me for writing threatening letters?
(And how it revived me all of a sudden when you told the nosy idiot
that they actually look to you like letters threatening my own life.
And maybe that’s why you’re staying with me.) And I was dancing in the forest.
I wish I could dance like that now, at this point in my life.
I danced, because in some wonderful way that cold wave of doubt failed to emerge in me—
that they actually look to you like letters threatening my own life.
And maybe that’s why you’re staying with me.) And I was dancing in the forest.
I wish I could dance like that now, at this point in my life.
I danced, because in some wonderful way that cold wave of doubt failed to emerge in me—
It did emerge.
Of course it did, my gears work with clocklike precision, injecting venom from my glands into my bloodstream as soon as my heart expands for any reason.
But that time, it just made me dance even harder.
I don’t know why, perhaps I felt as if I was making the right mistake for myself, for once; and even after Maya had already turned back and gone and sat in the car, I couldn’t stop, running between the trees, dancing, the smell of the pines became so pungent my eyes watered.
I was naked, surrounded by voices all around, birds and faraway barks and the buzz of insects; I smelled the earth and the caves and the ashes of summer bonfires, and I felt as if a huge cataract that had been covering me was peeling off my body.
Only after I had simply collapsed from exhaustion did I gather my clothes and go back to the car.
Her face was pale, and she didn’t look at me; she asked me to put my clothes on because people might come by and we’d better go home right away because her parents were waiting for us to have breakfast with them.
And suddenly her voice broke and she burst out crying.
I started sniveling, too, I understood that this was the end of our young love.
And I thought I couldn’t stand breaking up with her, because I had never loved someone this way, with the same joy and simplicity and health as I loved her, and as usual, I had spoiled it from the beginning by exposing myself.
Of course it did, my gears work with clocklike precision, injecting venom from my glands into my bloodstream as soon as my heart expands for any reason.
But that time, it just made me dance even harder.
I don’t know why, perhaps I felt as if I was making the right mistake for myself, for once; and even after Maya had already turned back and gone and sat in the car, I couldn’t stop, running between the trees, dancing, the smell of the pines became so pungent my eyes watered.
I was naked, surrounded by voices all around, birds and faraway barks and the buzz of insects; I smelled the earth and the caves and the ashes of summer bonfires, and I felt as if a huge cataract that had been covering me was peeling off my body.
Only after I had simply collapsed from exhaustion did I gather my clothes and go back to the car.
Her face was pale, and she didn’t look at me; she asked me to put my clothes on because people might come by and we’d better go home right away because her parents were waiting for us to have breakfast with them.
And suddenly her voice broke and she burst out crying.
I started sniveling, too, I understood that this was the end of our young love.
And I thought I couldn’t stand breaking up with her, because I had never loved someone this way, with the same joy and simplicity and health as I loved her, and as usual, I had spoiled it from the beginning by exposing myself.
So we sat in the car, each one to himself, and we actually wept quite bitterly, she’s dressed and I’m naked.
Our crying brought us closer, we nudged each other and laughed, and I started putting my clothes back on.
And she helped me, dressing me, garment after garment, buttoning me, rolling up my sleeves.
And I kissed her and licked her tears throughout, because I understood that she was crying over me but not leaving—mourning me and staying—and my heart swelled with gratitude.
I knew I would never do anything like that to her again in my life, and I decided to protect her from myself from that moment on, because she couldn’t live defenseless in the same world in which I was doing such things.
She laughed through her tears and said almost the same thing, that in order to defend her from me I would simply have to stay with her always.
That was half a joke, but also a profound truth, the fatal logic of two, of a couple,
and you ought to know that this kind of logic sometimes reveals itself to a couple only after a complete life together (I saw the man you stood with or next to).
But we peeked into it somehow from the very first moment.
Our crying brought us closer, we nudged each other and laughed, and I started putting my clothes back on.
And she helped me, dressing me, garment after garment, buttoning me, rolling up my sleeves.
And I kissed her and licked her tears throughout, because I understood that she was crying over me but not leaving—mourning me and staying—and my heart swelled with gratitude.
I knew I would never do anything like that to her again in my life, and I decided to protect her from myself from that moment on, because she couldn’t live defenseless in the same world in which I was doing such things.
She laughed through her tears and said almost the same thing, that in order to defend her from me I would simply have to stay with her always.
That was half a joke, but also a profound truth, the fatal logic of two, of a couple,
and you ought to know that this kind of logic sometimes reveals itself to a couple only after a complete life together (I saw the man you stood with or next to).
But we peeked into it somehow from the very first moment.
I haven’t thought of that moment in years.
I was always a bit appalled to remember myself dancing the way I did.
And the rest got blurred right along with it.
We were just frightened children; but in spite of that, in a flash, we managed to establish a complex life contract with each other.
We warned by law and were warned by law, and I am amazed to understand now how within one second we focused our gazes in such a manner that from that moment on they would turn only at the right angles needed to ensure that our love would always win, at any cost.
And we also agreed on the cost.
And we have never spoken about it, never.
How can you suddenly speak about that in the middle of life, tell me.
I was always a bit appalled to remember myself dancing the way I did.
And the rest got blurred right along with it.
We were just frightened children; but in spite of that, in a flash, we managed to establish a complex life contract with each other.
We warned by law and were warned by law, and I am amazed to understand now how within one second we focused our gazes in such a manner that from that moment on they would turn only at the right angles needed to ensure that our love would always win, at any cost.
And we also agreed on the cost.
And we have never spoken about it, never.
How can you suddenly speak about that in the middle of life, tell me.
Tell me.
I shouldn’t have told you about that, should I?
What have you got to do with the married life of a person you haven’t even seen?
I already feel the coldness of that mistake.
Here I am, again, a clown—this is probably what it looks like to you, some man throwing everything he owns up into the air, and of course everything is scattered around him on the ground.
Never mind, people love clowns—that is what my couple of great educators taught me (but consider, on the borders of your mind, think of me, let’s say, like a man with a huge burn on his face deciding to enter a room full of people).
Perhaps your way of thinking dictates that I should have waited until we knew each other a little better before telling you such a story, yes?
I think along the same lines, but with you I’m not doing things according to my reflection but according to my distortion.
And, at the same time, I don’t want to wait, because our time together is different, spherical, every point on it is at the exact same distance to the center.
And I won’t apologize if I’m embarrassing you; this is not salon chatter.
It is murder to erase one word to you—and everything I said here—I didn’t plan any of it—and I will not erase a word!
What have you got to do with the married life of a person you haven’t even seen?
I already feel the coldness of that mistake.
Here I am, again, a clown—this is probably what it looks like to you, some man throwing everything he owns up into the air, and of course everything is scattered around him on the ground.
Never mind, people love clowns—that is what my couple of great educators taught me (but consider, on the borders of your mind, think of me, let’s say, like a man with a huge burn on his face deciding to enter a room full of people).
Perhaps your way of thinking dictates that I should have waited until we knew each other a little better before telling you such a story, yes?
I think along the same lines, but with you I’m not doing things according to my reflection but according to my distortion.
And, at the same time, I don’t want to wait, because our time together is different, spherical, every point on it is at the exact same distance to the center.
And I won’t apologize if I’m embarrassing you; this is not salon chatter.
It is murder to erase one word to you—and everything I said here—I didn’t plan any of it—and I will not erase a word!
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