1This name best expresses the prevailing syntactical relation, for by wāw consecutive an action is always represented as the direct, or at least temporal consequence of a preceding action. Moreover, it is clear from the above examples, that the wāw consecutive can only be thus used in immediate conjunction with the verb. As soon as wāw, owing to an insertion (e.g. a negative), is separated from the verb, the imperfect follows instead of the perfect consecutive, the perfect instead of the imperfect consecutive. The fact that whole Books (Lev., Num., Josh., Jud., Sam., 2 Kings, Ezek., Ruth, Esth., Neh., 2 Chron.) begin with the imperfect consecutive, and others (Exod., 1 Kings, Ezra) with wāw copulative, is taken as a sign of their close connexion with the historical Books now or originally preceding them. Cf., on the other hand, the independent beginning of Job and Daniel. It is a merely superficial description to call the wāw consecutive by the old-fashioned name wāw conversive, on the ground that it always converts the meaning of the respective tenses into its opposite, i.e. according to the old view, the future into the preterite, and vice versa.
Interlude
My mother’s father was a jeweler. He was a handsome, shrewd-looking man; he was an accomplished amateur musician. He spoke excellent English, but he could hear his own accent and he knew there was something comical about it.
Buddy said he did not want to be an accountant and his father told him he had no idea the amount of work it took to be a professional musician. Five years you studied the violin his father said and did you practice five minutes? Five years piano.
Something looked through my grandfather’s eyes and it said Werner and du and mein Kind in tones of tenderness and authority. Buddy could more or less understand what was being said but he could not argue back, he tried to think of something from Schubert lieder or Wagner but it all seemed too melodramatic. Something looked through my grandfather’s eyes. It said Being an accountant, it’s not the end of the world.
Something looked at my Uncle Danny. Something looked at my aunts and it said A secretary, is that so terrible?
Linda had seen four before her do something that was not so terrible and already there was something about them, their whole lives ahead of them and the best thing cut off, as if something that might have been a Heifetz had been walled up inside an accountant and left to die.
Doom. Doom. Doom.
My father got straight to the point. He argued passionately that Linda would never forgive herself if she did not give herself this chance.
Our lives are ruined, said my father, are you going to let the same thing happen to you? He argued passionately and used words like “hell” and “damn”, strong words for the time, and there was something masculine and forceful about it.
What do you think? said Linda, and she looked at Buddy.
Buddy said: I think you should go.
—because of course if she went anywhere she would go to the Juilliard.
My father said: Of course she should go. She can be in New York by noon. Linda said she could pretend to be going downtown to look for a sweater, because she had just been saying she needed a new sweater.
My father said he would drive her to the station.
Buddy said he would come too in case anybody asked any questions.
Linda said: If anybody asks you just say I went to look for a sweater.
Buddy said: That’s right, if anybody asks me I simply explain that you were threatening to kill yourself when you suddenly remembered you needed a sweater. I think I’ll come along for the ride.
Linda said actually maybe he should come with her to New York, she needed him to carry the cello.
Buddy said: Why would you want to take the cello?
Linda said: For my audition.
Buddy said: If they don’t take you on piano they sure as heck aren’t going to take you on the cello.
Linda said: Don’t you tell me what to do
& they got into a heated argument while my father stood idly by. My mother was convinced that the Juilliard would despise her if all she could play was the piano, whereas if she brought a selection of instruments they would see she was a real musician.
The Konigsbergs all despised the piano, there it was all the notes conveniently divided up into a keyboard you went away and when you came back there it was the notes all still attached to the keys just where you left them, how boring, a child of four could play it (they all had). They also hated sight reading, & it is a tiresome feature of piano music that (since 10 or more notes may be played simultaneously) it involves anything up to 10 times the amount of sight reading of any other instrument. It was an instrument no Konigsberg would play if someone smaller could be made to play it instead, & since my mother was the youngest she never got the chance to hand it over to someone else. It may seem odd that the youngest got the part with the most sight reading, but as four brothers & sisters a father and a mother pointed out if she got in trouble she could always play it by ear. It wasn’t, anyway, that she couldn’t play the violin, viola and cello (not to mention flute, guitar, mandolin and ukulele)—it was just that she never got the chance.
Buddy argued that he didn’t think her technique on any of the stringed instruments was up to the Juilliard, & Linda said how would you know when was the last time you heard me.
At first she wanted to take everything to show what she could do, but at last she agreed to take just a violin because she could play some hard pieces, a viola because she got a better tone on it for some reason, a mandolin because it was quite an unusual instrument to be able to play and a flute because it never hurts to let people know you can play the flute.
Buddy: And you will tell them you want to audition on the piano.
Linda: Don’t you tell me what to do.
My father: Do you mean to say you’re not planning to play the piano? You’ve got this fantastic talent and you’re not going to play it? What about that piece you were just playing, you’re not going to play it for them?
Linda: Do you know anything about music?
My father: Not really.
Linda: Then mind your own business.
My father said: Well we’d better go if you’re going to catch that train.
Buddy said again that he would come along for the ride & Linda said he could explain she had gone to look for a sweater why did he always make such a production out of everything & Buddy said yes she had gone to look for a sweater & had taken along a violin a viola a flute & a mandolin just in case he thought he would come along for the ride.
My father said as a matter of fact he needed to talk to him, so they all three drove down to the station.
Linda got on the train. She had the violin case & the viola case in one hand, the mandolin case and her purse in the other, and the flute under one arm.
The train pulled out & my father commented to Buddy: You guys are amazing. I always thought a musician would take some music or something along to an audition.
Buddy said: Oh. My. God.
It was too late to do anything about it, though, and anyway she could always buy some music in New York, so they went to a nearby bar, and my father said: Let’s buy that motel.
Buddy said: What if that guy was wrong?
My father said: If he was wrong we’ll have a worthless piece of real estate. On the other hand, old Mrs. Randolph will be reunited with her widowed daughter and spend her declining years under the sunny skies of Florida, so at least someone will be happy.