For such an expedition I would prepare a flask of lemon tea, cookies, my knitting, a gray rug, and some toys. We would spend an hour or so in the woods. The wood was small, set on a steep hill and carpeted with dead pine needles. Ever since I was a child I have called this wood "the forest."
I spread out the rug, and put Yair down to play with his blocks. I sit on a cold rock with three or four other housewives. These women are kindly; they are happy to talk to me about themselves and their families without so much as hinting that I should reveal my own secrets in return. So as not to appear superior or condescending, I discuss with them the advantages of various kinds of knitting needles. I tell them about pretty blouses in lightweight materials on sale at Maayan Stub or at Schwartz's Store. One of the women taught me how to cure a baby's cold by means of inhalations. Sometimes I try to amuse them by telling them a political joke brought home by Michael, about Dov Yosef, the "Minister of Rationing," or about a new immigrant who said such and such to Ben Gurion. But when I turn my head I catch sight of the Arab village of Shaafat dozing beyond the border, bathed in blue light. Red are its rooftiles in the distance and in the nearby treetops birds in the morning sing songs in a language I cannot understand.
***
I soon grow tired. I return home, feed my child, put him to sleep in his cradle and sink panting onto my bed. Ants have appeared in the kitchen. Perhaps they had suddenly discovered how very weak I am.
In the middle of May I gave Michael my permission to smoke his pipe in the house, except in the room where the baby and I slept. What would happen to us if Michael fell ill, even slightly? He had never had a day's illness since he was fourteen. Couldn't he take a few days' holiday? In another year and a half or so, when he had got his second degree, he would be able to adopt a less rigorous routine, and then we could all have a pleasant holiday together. Was there anything he would like? Could I buy him something to wear? As a matter of fact, he was still saving to buy the parts of the big
Encyclopaedia Hebraica
as they appeared; to this end he walked home from the university four times a week instead of taking the bus, and in this way he had already saved about twenty-five pounds.
At the beginning of June the baby showed the first signs of recognizing his father. Michael approached him from the direction of the door and the child gurgled with delight. Then Michael tried approaching him from the other side, and again Yair cried out with joy. I did not like the way the child looked when he was so bursting with joy. I told Michael that I was afraid our son would not turn out to be particularly bright. Michael's jaw dropped in amazement. He started to say something, hesitated, then changed his mind and fell silent. Later he wrote a postcard to his father and his aunts informing them that his son recognized him. My husband was convinced that he and his son were destined to become bosom friends.
"You must have been pampered as a child," I said.
18
I N J ULY the academic year came to an end. Michael was awarded a modest scholarship, as a token of approval and encouragement. In a private conversation his professor spoke to him of his prospects: A sound, hard-working young man would not be overlooked; he would certainly end up as an assistant lecturer. One evening Michael invited a few of his fellow students around to drink to his success. He planned a small surprise party.
We received visitors very infrequently. Every three months one or other of the aunts called and spent half a day with us. Old Sarah Zeldin from the kindergarten would pop in for ten minutes towards evening to give us the benefit of her expert advice about the baby. Michael's friend Liora's husband came from Kibbutz Tirat Yaar with a crate of apples. Once my brother Emanuel burst in at midnight. "Here, take this filthy chicken. Quick. Are you still
I spread out the rug, and put Yair down to play with his blocks. I sit on a cold rock with three or four other housewives. These women are kindly; they are happy to talk to me about themselves and their families without so much as hinting that I should reveal my own secrets in return. So as not to appear superior or condescending, I discuss with them the advantages of various kinds of knitting needles. I tell them about pretty blouses in lightweight materials on sale at Maayan Stub or at Schwartz's Store. One of the women taught me how to cure a baby's cold by means of inhalations. Sometimes I try to amuse them by telling them a political joke brought home by Michael, about Dov Yosef, the "Minister of Rationing," or about a new immigrant who said such and such to Ben Gurion. But when I turn my head I catch sight of the Arab village of Shaafat dozing beyond the border, bathed in blue light. Red are its rooftiles in the distance and in the nearby treetops birds in the morning sing songs in a language I cannot understand.
***
I soon grow tired. I return home, feed my child, put him to sleep in his cradle and sink panting onto my bed. Ants have appeared in the kitchen. Perhaps they had suddenly discovered how very weak I am.
In the middle of May I gave Michael my permission to smoke his pipe in the house, except in the room where the baby and I slept. What would happen to us if Michael fell ill, even slightly? He had never had a day's illness since he was fourteen. Couldn't he take a few days' holiday? In another year and a half or so, when he had got his second degree, he would be able to adopt a less rigorous routine, and then we could all have a pleasant holiday together. Was there anything he would like? Could I buy him something to wear? As a matter of fact, he was still saving to buy the parts of the big
Encyclopaedia Hebraica
as they appeared; to this end he walked home from the university four times a week instead of taking the bus, and in this way he had already saved about twenty-five pounds.
At the beginning of June the baby showed the first signs of recognizing his father. Michael approached him from the direction of the door and the child gurgled with delight. Then Michael tried approaching him from the other side, and again Yair cried out with joy. I did not like the way the child looked when he was so bursting with joy. I told Michael that I was afraid our son would not turn out to be particularly bright. Michael's jaw dropped in amazement. He started to say something, hesitated, then changed his mind and fell silent. Later he wrote a postcard to his father and his aunts informing them that his son recognized him. My husband was convinced that he and his son were destined to become bosom friends.
"You must have been pampered as a child," I said.
18
I N J ULY the academic year came to an end. Michael was awarded a modest scholarship, as a token of approval and encouragement. In a private conversation his professor spoke to him of his prospects: A sound, hard-working young man would not be overlooked; he would certainly end up as an assistant lecturer. One evening Michael invited a few of his fellow students around to drink to his success. He planned a small surprise party.
We received visitors very infrequently. Every three months one or other of the aunts called and spent half a day with us. Old Sarah Zeldin from the kindergarten would pop in for ten minutes towards evening to give us the benefit of her expert advice about the baby. Michael's friend Liora's husband came from Kibbutz Tirat Yaar with a crate of apples. Once my brother Emanuel burst in at midnight. "Here, take this filthy chicken. Quick. Are you still
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