Why sad, Liffy?
Because the world's sad
Why a clown then?
Because the world's so sad we have to laugh, otherwise it would be an even more dangerous place than it already is.
Liffy smiled shyly.
But there. Like everybody else, I like to pretend there's some lofty explanation for my private quirks. The truth is I'm probably sad because I spent so much time in empty railway waiting rooms before the war, at night. Have you ever noticed that people who live at night seem to have no bones? Perhaps it's the bad lighting.
And why did you become a clown, Liffy?
Why? Well I don't think I did in the beginning. I started out as a child imitating grown-ups, as every child does, and before long I discovered my imitations could make people laugh, and making people laugh brought me a sweet or two. So I went on doing what I'd grown accustomed to doing, the thing that brought in a sweet or two, and thus a career and a life in the usual manner.
But you're not like most people, Liffy.
No, I'm sure I'm not. I've been drifting around the world too long for that.
Liffy smiled.
How long, you say? Do I really qualify as the Wandering Jew from antiquity? Well sometimes it does seem as if these wanderings of mine have gone on for a full twenty-five hundred years, more or less.
Sometimes it does seem that long when I'm alone at night and afraid.
Liffy sadly lowered his eyes.
And I am often afraid, he whispered. But then too, there's another reason why I may be different. In order to imitate people you have to understand them, and that's my problem, I do. You have to be angry to get ahead in this world, or if you really want to get ahead, you have to hate people. But how can I hate anyone when I know what people are feeling?
Liffy sighed.
Sometimes I wish I'd become a dentist. A spot of black turns up and you grind it away, just like that, and slap some shiny gold in its place. It's easy, it's satisfying, people wait in line to see you and call you Herr Professor Doktor or Panzergroupcommander. But to get ahead like that you have to think of people as teeth, the way the Nazis do.
Liffy gasped and stopped for breath. An asthmatic rattle wheezed up his throat.
Although it's not just hate in general that lets you get ahead. Mostly it has to do with yourself, like all strong feelings, so I guess you'd have to call it self-disgust. Have you ever noticed that people seem to hate us, Jews, according to how much they're secretly disgusted with themselves? Not that there aren't innumerable reasons why people choose Jews to hate, rather than themselves. After all, who wants to hate himself? Who wouldn't rather hate somebody else?
You've seen a lot of hate, Liffy.
Naturally, I'm a Jew. When I'm not the king of merrie olde England, that is. Or a buffoon. Or the Holy Ghost in some timeless tale of life and death and resurrection.
And you speak in a very crowded way, Liffy.
That's only because I've wandered so much, and been so many people in so many places, that I can't pretend, to separate the sounds of the world easily. Or fool myself into thinking they're simple, rather than mysterious and complex. . . . Hate a Jew? What could be simpler than that? It's as simple as hating a tree or the wind or the sunrise.
Liffy raised his eyes and gazed at Joe, a soft expression. All at once he seemed very small and fragile.
But I can also hear simple sounds, Joe. You may think from what I've said that I'm a bitter man who sees only the harsh things in life, and that's not true at all. It's the good things, the kindly side of people, that interests me and concerns me. It's just that sometimes now, with the war and the Nazis. . . .
I understand, Liffy.
Do you? Do you? Can I tell you how I really feel, then?
Liffy smiled shyly.
Do you know what I really feel life is, deep down? A golden bell and a pomegranate.
Liffy smiled even more shyly.
Isn't that a beautiful way to describe it? Long ago I heard that and I've never forgotten it. And when life does seem bitter and cruel to me, I take those words into my heart and whisper them over and over, until I can manage again.
It is beautiful, said Joe. And who might have spoken such words, I wonder?
Liffy's eyes shone.
Who? Who else but the good voice within us. God.
He laughed.
Yes. God speaking to Moses in the desert, describing the robe that the priests of life are to wear.
And beneath upon the hem of it thou shall make pomegranates of blue and of purple and of scarlet, round about the hem thereof, and bells of gold between them round about. A golden bell and a pomegranate, a golden bell and a pomegranate, upon the hem of the robe round about.
Liffy smiled.
And it has a special meaning for me that gives me hope so I can go on no matter how dark the way.
Can you share that special meaning, Liffy? Can you tell me what a golden bell is in this world? And a pomegranate?
Liffy lowered his eyes.
I am, he whispered. I'm both of them at once. And you are, and every human being is. For we are strange and wonderful creations and the sounds within our souls are as clear and haunting as the ring of a golden bell. And yet the taste on our tongues is always of the dusty earth, the sweet dusty taste of the pomegranate rich with seeds in the hot sun.
Liffy looked up. He smiled.
So you see, I haven't really wandered too much, nor have I played too many roles. Life is an awesome blessing and the more we know of it the richer we are. The more we know of its dust, no less than the golden toll of its bell. The two of them always together, inseparable upon our hearts.
***
Suddenly Liffy sat up and laughed, flashing two perfect rows of brilliant white teeth. Then his fingers flickered in front of his mouth and his shoulders sagged and all at once he was a shrunken little man, toothless and decrepit. He held up the two dental plates he had removed from his mouth and gazed at them, moving one and then the other in the manner of a puppeteer.
Up went the upper plate. Laughter.
Down went the lower plate. Tragedy.
He slipped the plates back into his mouth and stared at Joe.
Teeth, he said. They're false. Some time ago I formulated a theorem to cover my situation, which I've always referred to privately as Liffy's First Law. To wit, Good teeth suggest mindlessness. Do a little surreptitious checking around and you'll see I'm right, although it's also true we try very hard to justify ourselves. Naturally, since we can never escape the fact we're somebody's child. Even the wisest old man in the world, in his thoughts at least, is still a little boy to someone. But none of that's my problem.
I'm neither wise nor old and my problem is a bad lower back.
You're practical, Liffy.
No not really, as you'll find out soon enough. I understand practicality but it has never appealed to me. In fact when I examine myself, I come to the conclusion that fantasy has meant more to me than positive knowledge. And all of that's a quote. Do you know who said it?
Some dreamer?
Yes, Einstein. And do you also know Cynthia won't sleep with me these nights? She's upset because I got her into trouble with Bletchley.
I'm sorry to hear that.
Oh she'll get over it. Her only trouble seems to be she thinks the Middle East is romantic, so she always wants me to be someone different when I come to call. One evening I have to be a long thin Bombay Lancer charging the Khyber Pass, a randy brown fellow who never takes off his boots. Then the next night I have to be a short slimy sheik rolling around on the rug, obsessed with my greyhound.