Be My Knife (46 page)
Authors: David Grossman
You have some of that clock mender in you, don’t you?
With the will and arrogance to set your falling in love, constant and ever-changing, so that you will always be surrounded by music (feminine?) that will ring and swing like a pendulum in you, hum inside you so there won’t be a single moment of unbearable silence, of a quiet in which one might hear time itself, God forbid, passing, escaping.
With the will and arrogance to set your falling in love, constant and ever-changing, so that you will always be surrounded by music (feminine?) that will ring and swing like a pendulum in you, hum inside you so there won’t be a single moment of unbearable silence, of a quiet in which one might hear time itself, God forbid, passing, escaping.
Is that what we were?
I was just a prop in some private ceremony (or is it a ritual?) of yours?
Perhaps you change women every season of the year.
This was your “Summer of Miriam.”
And afterward, another woman’s winter will come.
Perhaps, as part of your secret self-bureaucracies, you count out the time in between us with “moments” of women.
I was just another clock hand, pointing out to you that another “hour,” another season, had passed, another woman …
I was just a prop in some private ceremony (or is it a ritual?) of yours?
Perhaps you change women every season of the year.
This was your “Summer of Miriam.”
And afterward, another woman’s winter will come.
Perhaps, as part of your secret self-bureaucracies, you count out the time in between us with “moments” of women.
I was just another clock hand, pointing out to you that another “hour,” another season, had passed, another woman …
So then, perhaps, your conversation is not truly with us little miserable daughters of Eve, after all, but with His Majesty, Time.
Get out of my life.
Morning.
I haven’t written for two days.
A feeling of relief that I cannot fully understand.
Touching the tips of my toes into the frozen waters of being able to live with this …
I haven’t written for two days.
A feeling of relief that I cannot fully understand.
Touching the tips of my toes into the frozen waters of being able to live with this …
A woman is here, crawling on the ground after being hit by a disaster.
She isn’t even so sure what it was … certain moments of the day, she feels as if everything around her was erased.
After that, it becomes clear that everything exists exactly as it did before, except she doesn’t.
She barely moves her lips during her internal conversations.
Strange how all this hardly hurts her.
It’s better this way.
She isn’t even so sure what it was … certain moments of the day, she feels as if everything around her was erased.
After that, it becomes clear that everything exists exactly as it did before, except she doesn’t.
She barely moves her lips during her internal conversations.
Strange how all this hardly hurts her.
It’s better this way.
She’ll be fine.
She only has to really want, with all her will (oh), to be fine.
She moves through her day precisely and economically, as if a huge cork is plugging up her heart’s mouth.
She uses the illness from earlier this week as a good excuse for this dullness in her thoughts.
Yokhai is home all of a sudden.
So there are things to be busy with.
She only has to really want, with all her will (oh), to be fine.
She moves through her day precisely and economically, as if a huge cork is plugging up her heart’s mouth.
She uses the illness from earlier this week as a good excuse for this dullness in her thoughts.
Yokhai is home all of a sudden.
So there are things to be busy with.
Now she is reading the lines she just wrote.
You can live with it.
You can live with it.
Bank—dry cleaners—two classes—glass mender for the latest broken window—meeting—another meeting—conversation with a physiotherapist—grocery—give my watch to the clock mender to be fixed—comforting a mourner … What is he thinking of today, my green man of Mars?
“Look at this woman.
I guess it hurts her unbearably to touch reality.”
I guess it hurts her unbearably to touch reality.”
At least the writing is still here.
Like putting stones in a turbulent river.
Slowly, slowly, perhaps, with hard work, a bridge can be built over which she can escape from this place.
Yokhai has been home for three days now.
They’ve stationed a construction waste container by his school gate.
There is no one to talk to about it.
I’ve been spending time with him, doing a little organizing, rehabilitating the skin of our home as much as Yokhai allows it.
They’ve stationed a construction waste container by his school gate.
There is no one to talk to about it.
I’ve been spending time with him, doing a little organizing, rehabilitating the skin of our home as much as Yokhai allows it.
It’s hard to concentrate when he’s here.
I arranged all the chairs in the house in a line for him.
He is walking on them with surprising skill.
It probably pleases him greatly, his organ of balance.
This is how it was once scientifically explained to us … perhaps he is writing something in his constant movement.
Perhaps there is some hidden meaning to the paper balls he rolls into the corners of rooms, to the door frames he touches …
He is walking on them with surprising skill.
It probably pleases him greatly, his organ of balance.
This is how it was once scientifically explained to us … perhaps he is writing something in his constant movement.
Perhaps there is some hidden meaning to the paper balls he rolls into the corners of rooms, to the door frames he touches …
Don’t look for meaning.
Going and coming back, so concentrated and serious, mysterious, ever-busy, and always fascinated by his internal life.
He doesn’t even know I’m here …
He doesn’t even know I’m here …
(But just now, when I hugged him, he hugged me back.)
Night.
Of course, small-minded people will tell me that it is a quarter past four in the morning right now; still, I had three hours of sleep.
An unexpected gift!
(And Anna, wherever she is, is laughing: you and your Pollyannaisms.)
Of course, small-minded people will tell me that it is a quarter past four in the morning right now; still, I had three hours of sleep.
An unexpected gift!
(And Anna, wherever she is, is laughing: you and your Pollyannaisms.)
A brief flash of happiness … Ariela called to ask about what’s going on.
During our conversation she told me that today she taught the part when Romeo leaves Verona for the first time and says that he had a good dream that night; one student burst in and said that he was able to sleep, he doesn’t understand how horrible it is …
During our conversation she told me that today she taught the part when Romeo leaves Verona for the first time and says that he had a good dream that night; one student burst in and said that he was able to sleep, he doesn’t understand how horrible it is …
It stabbed me, as if I had betrayed something by sleeping.
I have already spent two hours on the phone to City Hall.
They transfer me from clerk to clerk.
The last one, the manager, was nice at first, but it turned out that the contractor who stationed the waste container didn’t break any law, not one.
Except for the law of one child.
Then, lady, have the child come in the other gate, he shouted at me, and then he hung up on me.
And Amos just called—they are renovating the building next door to the school and it will last for at least two months.
They transfer me from clerk to clerk.
The last one, the manager, was nice at first, but it turned out that the contractor who stationed the waste container didn’t break any law, not one.
Except for the law of one child.
Then, lady, have the child come in the other gate, he shouted at me, and then he hung up on me.
And Amos just called—they are renovating the building next door to the school and it will last for at least two months.
I sit down.
Yokhai certainly looks happy, pacing along his path,
counting to himself.
What will happen?
Bambi, William, and Kedem are looking at him, bored.
Sometimes I think that, in the same way he doesn’t perceive them at all, they too somehow don’t register his existence.
Perhaps this is why I have some difficulty loving them with all my heart.
What will happen now?
Nilly touches him a lot more, rubs her back against him, plays with him—even more than she does with her kittens.
He truly responds the most to her.
Why don’t they make more of an effort with him?
I love dogs so much, and of all of them, the ones I am least successful with are my own.
Yokhai certainly looks happy, pacing along his path,
counting to himself.
What will happen?
Bambi, William, and Kedem are looking at him, bored.
Sometimes I think that, in the same way he doesn’t perceive them at all, they too somehow don’t register his existence.
Perhaps this is why I have some difficulty loving them with all my heart.
What will happen now?
Nilly touches him a lot more, rubs her back against him, plays with him—even more than she does with her kittens.
He truly responds the most to her.
Why don’t they make more of an effort with him?
I love dogs so much, and of all of them, the ones I am least successful with are my own.
The conversation with Amos was horrible.
He asked me what we were going to do, and how we would handle this for two more months, and shouted that he has just started a new group, and it is actually on the right track, and I answered that I, too, as he knows, have a job, and we buzzed back and forth, and I got angry.
We both didn’t raise our voices even half an octave, so as not to scare Yokhai.
Here we are, the dogs have fallen asleep again.
Maybe something in this house makes them fall asleep.
I don’t know.
I don’t know what I feel anymore.
We hosted a couple of kids here a few weeks ago, the Herman boys.
The dogs, all three of them, almost lost their minds with joy.
I saw their bodies suddenly moving in new ways, heard voices I didn’t recognize from them.
Puppies’ voices.
He asked me what we were going to do, and how we would handle this for two more months, and shouted that he has just started a new group, and it is actually on the right track, and I answered that I, too, as he knows, have a job, and we buzzed back and forth, and I got angry.
We both didn’t raise our voices even half an octave, so as not to scare Yokhai.
Here we are, the dogs have fallen asleep again.
Maybe something in this house makes them fall asleep.
I don’t know.
I don’t know what I feel anymore.
We hosted a couple of kids here a few weeks ago, the Herman boys.
The dogs, all three of them, almost lost their minds with joy.
I saw their bodies suddenly moving in new ways, heard voices I didn’t recognize from them.
Puppies’ voices.
Walking back and forth on the chairs, as if from strings in the sky.
A moment before I blow up, I tell myself, How can I burden him with the troubles of those of us who walk the ground?
To the place he is probably in right now?
A moment before I blow up, I tell myself, How can I burden him with the troubles of those of us who walk the ground?
To the place he is probably in right now?
The thin and loose embroidery of things new to me … that is what I mourn above everything.
With him, I finally succeeded in getting over my loathsome impulse to unstitch myself, my own black twin.
I actually surprised myself, finding that I could weave more and more intricately, without immediately unstitching it.
Without spoiling it for myself.
A joy in living, and a love of living (and even a little love for myself!).
With him, I finally succeeded in getting over my loathsome impulse to unstitch myself, my own black twin.
I actually surprised myself, finding that I could weave more and more intricately, without immediately unstitching it.
Without spoiling it for myself.
A joy in living, and a love of living (and even a little love for myself!).
So what is happening to me now?
What is happening is this: Y.
is becoming my knife.
What is happening is this: Y.
is becoming my knife.
It happened today again.
The moment he saw that orange bin he stuck his feet under the front seat and refused to allow anyone to take him out
of the car.
An hour and a half of efforts, of persuasion from his teachers, the principal, his favorite physiotherapist, to no avail.
Temptations and threats and promises and bribes; Amos even ran to a toy shop and bought him a truck that looked a little like the container—and after that, he argued with the construction workers, threatening them and begging them—nothing.
Yokhai simply refuses to recognize that this is the same school he has been studying at for four years now.
I left work at eleven to be with him.
I had to cancel three classes and one test.
The moment he saw that orange bin he stuck his feet under the front seat and refused to allow anyone to take him out
of the car.
An hour and a half of efforts, of persuasion from his teachers, the principal, his favorite physiotherapist, to no avail.
Temptations and threats and promises and bribes; Amos even ran to a toy shop and bought him a truck that looked a little like the container—and after that, he argued with the construction workers, threatening them and begging them—nothing.
Yokhai simply refuses to recognize that this is the same school he has been studying at for four years now.
I left work at eleven to be with him.
I had to cancel three classes and one test.
In spite of everything, I am fortunate.
I mustn’t forget that, not for a moment.
I’m thinking about the person with the lifeless face and fireless body sitting in front of me on the bus.
I mustn’t forget that, not for a moment.
I’m thinking about the person with the lifeless face and fireless body sitting in front of me on the bus.
We continue to study drought in my little circle tonight.
Akiva decided that this would be our modest contribution toward hastening the coming of the rain.
I sat among them wondering if I wasn’t forming some kind of fifth column inside this general wish for a coming downpour.
Some kind of Jonah the Prophet, in his boat—except the other way around … Yu-daleh brought in a teaching from the Zohar: Rabbi Shimon once said that there is one gazelle in the land, and He the Most High does much for her.
When she screams, the Blessed One hears her pain and accepts her voice.
When the world needs mercy and water, she gives her voice, and the Holy Blessed He hears her, and then pities the world, as it is written, “as a deer longs for flowing streams” (Psalm 42).
When she needs to give birth, and is held in, constricted on all sides, and bows her head between her knees and screams and throws her voice, the King of the World pities her and invites one snake to come upon her, which bites her groin, tearing through and opening that one place, and she delivers her calf immediately.
Akiva decided that this would be our modest contribution toward hastening the coming of the rain.
I sat among them wondering if I wasn’t forming some kind of fifth column inside this general wish for a coming downpour.
Some kind of Jonah the Prophet, in his boat—except the other way around … Yu-daleh brought in a teaching from the Zohar: Rabbi Shimon once said that there is one gazelle in the land, and He the Most High does much for her.
When she screams, the Blessed One hears her pain and accepts her voice.
When the world needs mercy and water, she gives her voice, and the Holy Blessed He hears her, and then pities the world, as it is written, “as a deer longs for flowing streams” (Psalm 42).
When she needs to give birth, and is held in, constricted on all sides, and bows her head between her knees and screams and throws her voice, the King of the World pities her and invites one snake to come upon her, which bites her groin, tearing through and opening that one place, and she delivers her calf immediately.
I told them about the scared, trembling gazelle that almost bumped into me this morning in the fog, as I was on my way to the creek.
They became excited: It is she!
It is she!
They became excited: It is she!
It is she!
A telephone call at seven in the morning.
It is the contractor who owns the waste container; he launched into an attack, shouting at me, Why are
you bothering my workers?
Why have you been driving me crazy for a week?
I’m working by the letter of the law, and if you make any more trouble for me, I’ll come to your house with a bulldozer … As he yelled, I started speaking to him quietly, even though I knew there was not a chance he was listening (I wonder, now, why did I speak.
As if I had decided to, let’s say, present my case in front of some kind of mysterious court that probably passes judgment on such matters).
Anyway, by the time I got to the blue gate in our garden, which we have not been able to paint for years so that he won’t get confused and scared, I noticed the man was no longer shouting.
I don’t even know when he stopped shouting and started listening.
I felt exposed and embarrassed … Look at what is happening to you, you gave up Yokhai’s disability check for years so they wouldn’t turn your boy into some “retard.”
And now you’re using your troubles to influence a total stranger.
The contractor was breathing, deep breaths.
A strange silence surrounded him too.
Then he told me that there is something he cannot tell me.
If he spoke of it to anyone, he would have to kill himself, die by his own hands.
But if I wait for him for one hour and then bring Yokhai to school, the container will be gone.
And so it was.
It is the contractor who owns the waste container; he launched into an attack, shouting at me, Why are
you bothering my workers?
Why have you been driving me crazy for a week?
I’m working by the letter of the law, and if you make any more trouble for me, I’ll come to your house with a bulldozer … As he yelled, I started speaking to him quietly, even though I knew there was not a chance he was listening (I wonder, now, why did I speak.
As if I had decided to, let’s say, present my case in front of some kind of mysterious court that probably passes judgment on such matters).
Anyway, by the time I got to the blue gate in our garden, which we have not been able to paint for years so that he won’t get confused and scared, I noticed the man was no longer shouting.
I don’t even know when he stopped shouting and started listening.
I felt exposed and embarrassed … Look at what is happening to you, you gave up Yokhai’s disability check for years so they wouldn’t turn your boy into some “retard.”
And now you’re using your troubles to influence a total stranger.
The contractor was breathing, deep breaths.
A strange silence surrounded him too.
Then he told me that there is something he cannot tell me.
If he spoke of it to anyone, he would have to kill himself, die by his own hands.
But if I wait for him for one hour and then bring Yokhai to school, the container will be gone.
And so it was.
A lunchtime treat:
Uncle Vanya
, produced by our theater program.
Some of the kids weren’t so great, but still, there were moments during which I loved this marvelous play even more than before.
Uncle Vanya
, produced by our theater program.
Some of the kids weren’t so great, but still, there were moments during which I loved this marvelous play even more than before.
Other books
Out Are the Lights by Richard Laymon
Whispers from the Past by Elizabeth Langston
Entrada + Consumición by Carlos G. García
Abracadaver (Esther Diamond Novel) by Laura Resnick
Grendel Unit 1: Bad Day at Khor-wa by Bernard Schaffer
The Fellowship of the Talisman by Clifford D. Simak
By Chance by Sasha Kay Riley
Sueño del Fevre by George R.R. Martin
Some Kind of Wonderful by J. Minter
The Grecian Manifesto by Ernest Dempsey
