Half an hour later I was already downtown on the way to the garage. But suddenly I had an idea. I went into a hardware shop and got a copy of the key to the flat. I went back to the garage and personally gave him the briefcase and the key and the change from the ten pounds. And in my shoe I could feel the duplicate key against the sole of my foot.
But of course he didn’t suspect anything, smiling at me like his daughter.
“Thank you. That’s fine. And very quick.”
And he let me keep the change.
That was all.
ADAM
The end of December already. More than two months have passed since the end of the war. Every day I still hope for some sign of him, but there’s no sign. Did he just get tired of us? But where is he? Asya hardly ever mentions him but it seems to me that she thinks I should be out looking for him. I spend a lot of time driving around the streets, searching for the little Morris at least. How can a car disappear without a trace? Once I caught sight of a blue Morris and followed it through the streets until finally it stopped outside the Technion and a tall old man, smartly dressed, got out of it, looking at me angrily. Naturally hardly a day passes without my going down to the old house in the lower city to see if a shutter or a window has been opened there. But the apartment on the second floor is just as he left it on the first day of the war. Sometimes I’m not content with looking from the outside but I go inside and up the stairs to knock on the door itself. On the first floor there’s a clothing store. It’s always closed. And on the second floor, aside from the grandmother’s flat, there’s another apartment and an old widow living alone. She’s watched my investigations with great suspicion. I had only to walk up the stairs and the door of her flat would open a crack and she’d peer out at me, watching in silence as I knocked on the door, waited for a while and then went down again. At first I used to ignore her, after a while I decided to try getting some information out of her.
She was very suspicious of me –
Had she seen Gabriel Arditi? No. Did she know of any change in the old lady’s condition? She didn’t. Which hospital was she in, by the way? Why did I want to know? I explained that I was a friend of Gabriel and since the war I’d had no news of him.
She thought for a moment, then gave me the name of the institution to which the old lady had been taken. A geriatric hospital not far from Hadera.
She was a heavily built woman, with bright eyes, a little moustache sprouting from her lip. Still she looked at me dubiously.
“Do you happen to have a key to the flat?”
No, she had no key, she gave hers to Gabriel.
“I suppose I shall have to break down the door,” I whispered to myself, thinking aloud.
“In that case I think I’d better call the police at once,” she said without a moment’s hesitation.
“Who?” I smiled.
“The police.”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you mean coming here and breaking the door down? It’s not even your friend’s house.”
She stood in her doorway immovable as a rock. There was no doubt she would call the police.
I went away.
A few days later I arrived there late at night. Slowly I climbed the stairs and in the dark I began quietly trying to open the door with a bundle of keys I’d brought from the garage. But after only a few minutes the other door opened and the old neighbour appeared in a nightdress and with a kerchief on her head. She looked at me angrily.
“You again.”
I decided not to answer, to ignore her, continuing my vain attempt to open the door with my keys.
“I shall call the police.”
I didn’t reply. She watched my unsuccessful efforts.
“Why don’t you go and see the old lady herself, perhaps she’ll let you have the key.”
I said nothing, didn’t respond. But the idea seemed to me a good one. Why not, after all? I went on trying the keys. In the end I went away slowly in the dark.
Two days later I was at the geriatric hospital. An old building but painted green, between the orchards, on the edge of one of the older settlements. I went into the office and told them I was a relative of Mrs. Ermozo and I’d come to visit her. They sent for the matron, an energetic, vivacious woman about my age. She greeted me with enthusiasm.
“At last somebody has come. We were afraid she’d been completely forgotten. Are you her grandson too?”
Strange, thinking I was her grandson.
“No … I’m a more distant relation … has Gabriel Arditi been visiting here?”
“Yes, but for a few months now there’s been no sign of him. Come and see her.”
“How is she? Still unconscious?”
“Still unconscious but in my opinion there’s been some improvement. Come with me, watch them feeding her.”
And she took my arm and led me into one of the wards. She pointed to the bed where the old woman lay.
So this grandmother really does exist. Wrapped in a white smock, like a big ball. Sitting up in bed apd looking around her wildly. Her long hair, still dark, scattered over her shoulders, a big napkin tied around her neck and a dark-skinned little nurse, probably a Mexican from the immigrants’ settlement, feeding her with endless patience, with a wooden spoon, giving her a grey porridge that looked like soft mud. It wasn’t easy to feed her because she seemed quite unaware of the fact that she was being fed, and every now and then she’d suddenly turn her head to one side, looking for something on the ceiling or at the window. Sometimes she spat out the food and the grey liquid trickled down her face. The nurse took a sponge and wiped her carefully. There was something very sad in the empty eyes moving backwards and forwards about the room, sometimes pausing on some random object.
There were several old women in the ward, they got up from their beds and approached us with great curiosity, standing around us in a little circle.
“Every meal takes nearly an hour,” the matron said with a smile. I was staring at her as if hypnotized.
“How old is she?” I asked suddenly, forgetting that I’d introduced myself as a relative.
“I’m sure you don’t know … even though you are one of the family … guess …”
I mumbled something.
“Well then, you won’t believe it … but we’ve seen her Ottoman birth certificate. She was born in 1881. ’81. You can do the arithmetic yourself. She’s ninety-three years old. Isn’t it wonderful? 1881 … Do you know any history? That was when the first Bilu settlers arrived in the country … Hibbat Zion … the beginnings of Zionism … to say nothing of world history. Isn’t it amazing? She was alive then … a lady of history … a real treasure … perhaps she concealed her age from you? And her hair is still black … her skin is smooth … only a few wrinkles … it’s a wonder … and that’s the truth, although we’re used to old people here, that’s what the place is for, after all. We’ve never had such an old lady before.”