First came detailed, punctilious instructions concerning the conduct of the funeral and the memorial service and the tombstone. Then came the substance. Boris Baruch Nomberg bequeathed two hundred and forty thousand United States dollars to be divided in unequal parts among the sixteen foundations, organizations, associations, and committees that were listed in alphabetical order, each name accompanied by the relevant sum of money. At the head of the list came the Association for the Promotion of Religious Pluralism and at the bottom the Zeal for Torah Orthodox School. After this last item and the signatures of the deceased, the notary, and the witnesses, came the following lines:
"With the exception of the property in Reines Street, Tel Aviv, mentioned in the annex, I hereby bequeath and leave all my belongings to my only son, Efraim Nomberg Nisan, who is adept at distinguishing good from evil, with the hope that henceforth he will not be content merely to distinguish but will devote his strength and excellent talents to doing what is good and refraining so far as possible from evil."
Above the signatures came another line in a bold hand: "Signed, sealed, and delivered, the testator being of sound mind, here in Jerusalem capital of Israel, in the month of Marheshvan 5749 corresponding to 1988 of the civil era, the fortieth year of the uncompleted renewal of the sovereignty of Israel."
From the annex it emerged that the property in Reines Street, Tel Aviv, which Fima had never heard of before, was a modest block of flats. The old man left it "to my beloved grandchild, the delight of my soul, Israel Dimitri, son of Theodore and Yael Tobias, to be held in trust for him until he reaches his eighteenth birthday by my dear daughter-in-law Mrs. Yael Nomberg Nisan Tobias née Levin, who shall enjoy the usufruct thereof, the capital to be reserved for my grandson."
It further transpired from the annex that henceforward Fima would be the sole proprietor of a medium-sized but solid and profitable cosmetics factory. He would also own the flat in which he had been born and brought up and in which both his parents had passed away at an interval of more than forty years. It was a large third-floor flat with five spacious rooms and deep-silled windows, in a quiet, prosperous neighborhood, lavishly furnished in a solid, old-fashioned Central European style. He also received various stocks and bonds, a building plot in Talpiyot, declared and concealed bank accounts in several banks in Israel and Belgium, a safe-deposit box containing cash and valuables, including his mother's jewelry of gold and silver set with precious stones. He also inherited a library of several thousand volumes, including a set of the Talmud and other sacred texts bound in morocco, a collection of Midrashic works, some of which were rare, besides hundreds of novels in Russian, Czech, German, and Hebrew, and two shelves of chemistry books in the same languages, and the poems of Uri Zvi Greenberg, including some very rare editions, biblical studies by Dr. Israel Eldad, the works of Graetz, Dubnow, Klausner, Kaufman, and Urbach, and a cabinet of old erotica in German and Czech which Fima could not read. Furthermore he was henceforth the owner of collections of stamps and old coins, nine winter suits and six summer ones, some twenty-five ties of a conservative, rather old-fashioned style, and an attractive walking stick with a silver band.
Fima did not ask himself what he would do with all these things, but he pondered on what someone like himself understood of the manufacture and sale of cosmetics. And since the Hebrew language does not tolerate such constructions, he corrected himself mentally: the manufacture of cosmetics and their sale.
And suddenly he said to himself:
"It doesn't tolerate? So let it not tolerate!"
At ten o'clock, after he had conducted Dimi to a bedroom and told him a short adventure story about the Argonauts and the Golden Fleece, he sent all his friends home. He dismissed all their entreaties and protests. No, thank you very much, there was no need for anyone to stay the night. No, thank you very much, he did not want to be driven to his flat in Kiryat Yovel either. Nor did he have any desire to stay with any of them. He would spend the night here. He wanted to be alone. Yes. Absolutely. Thank you. No. Absolutely. No need. Kind of you to offer anyway. You're all wonderful people.
When he was left alone, he was tempted to open a window to let in some fresh air. On second thought he decided not to, but instead to close his eyes for a while and try to discover the precise composition of the strange smell of this flat. A smell of doom. Although there was no apparent connection between the smell and the sad event that had taken place here earlier in the day. The flat had always been kept spotlessly clean and tidy. At least outwardly. Both before and after his mother's death. Twice a week a home helper came to polish everything, the candlesticks, the brass lamps, the silver goblets that were used for religious rituals. His father had taken a cold shower every morning, summer and winter. And the flat had been redecorated regularly every five years.
So what was the source of the smell?
Since he had stopped living here after his military service, his nostrils had recoiled from it every time he came back to visit the old man. It was a faint whiff of something malodorous, half hidden always behind other scents. Was it a trash can that needed emptying? Dirty laundry lingering too long in the basket in the bathroom? Some defect in the plumbing? Mothballs in the wardrobes? Faint cooking odors of thick, oversweet Eastern European food? Fruit that had sat too long in the fruit bowl? Water in vases that had not been changed although the flowers were changed regularly twice a week? Behind the elegance and tidiness there was always a sourness hovering, minimal and latent admittedly, but persistent, like mold. Was it an uneradicable relic of the opaque, glassy politeness that had spread and frozen here between his father and his mother, and not ceased even with her death? Was there any chance that now it would evaporate?
One would think, Fima mused ironically, that in your own flat in Kiryat Yovel the air is perfumed with myrrh and frankincense, you with your Trotskyite kitchen and your bottle of worms on the balcony and your decrepit lavatory.
He stood up and opened a window. After a moment he closed it again. Not because of the cold but because he felt sorry to lose this doom-laden smell, which he would probably never be able to recall once he allowed it to disperse. Let it stay a few more days. The future was just beginning. Yet it would have been nice to sit in the kitchen now, over a glass of steaming Russian tea, and argue with the old man late into the night. Without mockery or levity. Like a pair of intimate adversaries. Far from Hasidic tales and all the casuistry, the witticisms, the anecdotes, the clever wordplay. Not provoking the old man, not annoying him with impieties. No, with real affection. Like a pair of surveyors representing two countries in a dispute but themselves working together with amicable professionalism on the precise demarcation of the border. As one man to another. Sorting out at last what has been from what is from what is over and done with, and what might still be possible here if we only devote ourselves to it with all our strength.
But what is it that he must sort out with his father? What is the border that needs demarcation? What does he need to prove to the old man? Or to Yael? Or to Dimi? What docs he need to say that is not a quotation, or a paradox, or a refutation, or a clever wisecrack?
The inheritance neither weighed him down nor lifted him up. True, he knew nothing about cosmetics, but the fact was he had no real understanding of anything. There might even be a certain advantage in that, although Fima could not be bothered at this moment to try to think what it as. Moreover, he had no needs. Apart from the most simple, basic needs: food, warmth, and shelter. He had no desires, either, except perhaps a vague desire to appease everybody, to heal disputes, to sow some peace here and there. How could he do that? How docs one bring about a change of heart? Soon he would have to meet the employees of the business, find out about their working conditions, sec what could be improved.