" 'Course not," I said.
And Mother:
"Mr. Levi, you will stay for dinner, won't you? And in the meantime, how about a cup of tea?"
The visitor kept his doctor's bag on his lap. When Mother spoke, he scrutinized her with his slow, cold eyes; he eyed her bosom, inspected her hips and legs, and then transferred his gaze to Father and Ephraim in turn. His thumb stroked his bristly mustache for an instant, his head nodded up and down a few times as if he were coming to an inevitable conclusion, and he said:
"Everything's perfectly all right."
Father said:
"We do the best we can."
"But what's that child doing here?" the visitor suddenly exclaimed. "Admittedly children are our future, but they tend to be noisy."
So Mother and I went out to the kitchen. Mother started cutting thin slices of white bread, and I set to work making a salad in a wooden bowl. On cat's paws, like a thief, he followed us out. We didn't hear him coming, but suddenly he passed between us across the kitchen and stood at the window. "Perfect," he said as he turned back toward us. A hint of a smile spread on his wolflike jaws. And was suppressed.
"I was just making the tea," Mother said.
"I'm sorry, I've changed my mind. I won't be wanting any tea just yet. You can go now, and take the child with you. I'll stay here."
And he added emphatically:
"Alone."
We left everything in the kitchen and returned to the living room. The poet was expounding in carefully chosen words and a silken voice a new idea that had occurred to him in the course of his meditations.
"Night after night there are lights shining outside the city. Bonfires suspended, as it were, between heaven and earth. I am not speaking from my groaning heart but from what can be seen and observed. He was accounted as nothing and despised, but he is the expectation of the nations. I humbly request a glass of plain tap water, for the heart itself is weakened by yearning. Not fruit juice, not lemonade, but just plain tap water if you please. Provided it is not too much trouble. He will not tarry long, for we are surely wearied and our strength is failing. I shall just drink my water, and then I shall be on my way. Would that every heart were as innocent as a day-old babe's. Farewell to you all. I shall be on my way now; pray, do not despise me. The Capital has a Leader. Behold my stick, and behold the door. Farewell to those who remain from him who goes on his way."
But having spoken these words, the old man did not get to his feet. He simply sighed deeply and remained sitting where he was. At that instant the visitor floated in and sank into the vacant armchair. He still clung to his bag of tools.
"Can I offer you cigarettes, matches, an ashtray?" Father inquired.
"Everything's all right," said Mr. Szczupak's brother.
"Please go ahead if you wish to smoke, Mr. Levi."
"I heard you the first time," the man replied sharply, "and I also asked for silence. How can I concentrate with all this noise?"
We fell silent.
Father sank deep in thought, picked up a black knight from the chessboard, eyed it with a sad smile, and suddenly put it back in its place. He chose instead to advance a pawn. Quick as a flash, Ephraim slid a white bishop almost to the edge of the board and exclaimed furiously:
"There!"
"You're in trouble again," Father whispered.
Mother saw fit to remind them both that Mr. Levi had asked us to keep quiet.
In the ensuing silence, the visitor slipped across the room to the net curtain, with the doctor's bag in his hand and his back to the room, and inspected the yard, or perhaps my battlefield on the window sill. Then he returned to his chair and mouthed silently:
"The child, please."
"Uri," Father said with alarm, "you heard. Say good night. Mommy will bring you your supper. Good night."
"No arguments," said Mother.
Mr. Levi chuckled at her, showing his fine white teeth.
"Children," he exclaimed, "pictures, a piano! Games of chess! And flowers! What a way to live in times like these! A cozy nest, indeed! We must be out of our minds! I wouldn't say no to a small glass of vodka. What, no vodka? What have you got? Only tokay from Rishon Le-Tsiyon, I suppose. I might have guessed. Never mind. Everything's perfectly all right."
"The wind whirleth about continually." Mr. Nehamkin suddenly woke up and started speaking with passion. "And the wind returneth again in a circle. That is one side of the coin. But the other side, Mrs. Kolodny, you know what the other side of the coin is: the thing that hath been shall not be again, and that which shall be — no eye hath seen it. And you have a visitor. Good evening, Mr. Visitor. May you, too, be permitted to behold the deliverance of Jerusalem."
As he spoke, he struck the floor magisterially with his stick, as though he were trying to rouse the carved tiger from its wooden slumber.
"Do I have to put up with this decrepit imbecile as well?" asked Mr. Levi.
Father apologized:
"It's his age. It can't be helped."
And Ephraim added:
"We're doing the best we can, Mr. Levi."
Mother began to clear away the tea things and set the table for supper. Father noticed me and exploded shrilly:
"What are you doing here? Can't you understand what you're told?"
"Right," I said. And in a flash I swept away the pushpins and silver foil, smashed the battle lines, stuffed everything frantically into the toy box, troops, battleships, commanders, headquarters, artillery. Finished. That war was over.
And I fled from the room without saying good night.
I didn't even wash. I lay down on my bed fully dressed in the dark and whispered to myself: Quiet, calm down, relax, nothing's lost, even ordinary soldiers take part in the fighting and the victory, be calm.
But there was no calm and there could be none.
Night in the window. Night inside the room. Summer stars and barking dogs.
In the dark I stowed into my old haversack everything that my groping hand encountered: socks, water bottle, buckles, straps, a scout belt, an old sweater, a package of chewing gum, a pocket knife.
I was prepared.
12
Early in the morning, before five o'clock, I woke in a panic. The windowpanes were shaking. Masses of heavy aircraft were rumbling low over Jerusalem. Half-light flickering outside. Zevulun Grill was trying repeatedly to start up his bus. The engine groaned and struggled with a dull rattle. There were no aircraft. Comrade Grill set off. I left the window and sneaked into the kitchen.
Mommy and Daddy were sitting facing each other silently. They were still wearing yesterday's clothes. Dirty cups on the oilcloth. Dregs of coffee. Remains of biscuits and fruit. An ashtray full of cigarette butts and the air full of smoke. Daddy's eyes were tired and bloodshot:
"Hello, Uri. Do you realize it's only five o'clock?"
"Morning," I said. "Where is everybody?"
"Where's who, Uri?"
"Everybody. Mr. Levi. Ephraim. Mr. Nehamkin. Everybody."
"Go and wash your face, son, and comb your hair. That's no way to look."
"First tell me what happened."
"Nothing's happened. Relax."
"Where is everybody?"
Father hesitated. He hadn't shaved. Bristles on his neck. His brow furrowed:
"There's some bad news, Uri. Mr. Nehamkin got sick during the night. We had to get Mrs. Vishniak out of bed and ring for an ambulance. We took him to the Hadassah Hospital. Now he's resting and getting his strength back. They're going to examine him today."
"And where's Ephraim and Mr. Levi?"
"Ephraim has had to go away again for a few days. He has to travel occasionally. This time it may be a long while before he comes home again. Now go and get washed, and then come back and have a cup of cocoa."