queen bee,’ he whispered. ‘Her name is Riva.’
Levin said nothing.
‘Why don’t you come over later for a bite of pollen, the sweet flour of spring,’ said Margulis. ‘You’ll see how much better it makes you feel.’
After the funeral Levin stepped up to Grandfather.
‘Ya’akov,’ he said bravely, ‘I’ll stay with you for the week of mourning.’
And he did, cleaning, cooking, bathing Avraham, and changing Efrayim’s and Esther’s nappies. As he hoed the bindweed that had infested Feyge’s vegetable garden, he felt for the first time since his arrival in Palestine that he was actually doing some good and that the sun wasn’t roasting him alive. The black earth of the Valley stuck to his hands, and the scent of the mignonette and wild dill that he weeded among the tomato plants made him a happy man. Fanya Liberson, who was helping out at Grandfather’s too, was impressed.
‘He’s an unusual man,’ she told her husband. ‘I know that you and your friends could never stand him, but he is a dear fellow.’
When the week was up Levin went back to the stationery shop, but he took no interest in the customers. ‘I sat there making up my mind.’ When he returned to the village a month later to visit his sister’s grave, he asked the Committee for a position. As he was a good bookkeeper with business experience, the farmers were happy to have him.
Levin sold his share in the stationery business, was given a cabin and a plot of land, and began managing the village co-op while continuing to help Grandfather.
‘Whenever he had a free moment, Shlomo came over. He bathed the children, made them supper, and brought them little presents.’
When he tried his hand at farm work, however, he ran up against Zeitser. The two couldn’t abide each other from the start. Though Zeitser did not actively oppose Levin’s presence, he never made any effort to help him. ‘He looked right through me as if I wasn’t there.’
Levin had a delicate constitution, and when he tried to join the threshing crew that summer he breathed chaff into his lungs and went around coughing for years. From then on he just worked in the yard. ‘They gave him all the women’s jobs,’ said my cousin Yosi when we were discussing the family one day. Levin fed the chickens, collected eggs, shook out and folded the empty fodder sacks, and washed the milk cans. He also concocted excellent jamfrom Grandfather’s fruit, and gradually they became friends. His senses, which had become as sharp as a rabbit’s from years of timidity and failure, told him that Grandfather no longer felt the same about his two old friends. It gladdened him to see that Grandfather preferred his own quiet company to postmortem arguments with Mandolin Tsirkin and Eliezer Liberson.
‘Your grandfather, who was guilt-stricken after his wife’s death, developed a liking for his brother-in-law, whose good humour and tactfulness he appreciated. We weren’t living in the old days any more. We had the ground beneath our feet, each man under his vine. We knew what home and family were. We danced less. We sang less. We hated less.’
On winter evenings the dead woman’s husband and brother sat playing draughts. Zeitser stood behind Grandfather, kibitzing into his ear. ‘It didn’t help, though,’ Grandfather told me. ‘I always lost. It helped Levin to feel at home.’
Grandfather taught him grafting cuts, proper pruning, and the right way to probe an infected tree for the most feared pest of all, the tiger moth, which had decimated whole orchards of apples throughout the Valley. The trees, however, shrank from Levin’s touch. When he notched the bark of a Santa Rosa plum tree, it lost all its leaves overnight.
‘We have to find him a wife,’ said the villagers, mentally listing all the widows and unmarried pioneeresses they knew of.
But Levin surprised them all. After a secret correspondence with some matchmakers, he drove off one day to Tiberias in the
Levin said nothing.
‘Why don’t you come over later for a bite of pollen, the sweet flour of spring,’ said Margulis. ‘You’ll see how much better it makes you feel.’
After the funeral Levin stepped up to Grandfather.
‘Ya’akov,’ he said bravely, ‘I’ll stay with you for the week of mourning.’
And he did, cleaning, cooking, bathing Avraham, and changing Efrayim’s and Esther’s nappies. As he hoed the bindweed that had infested Feyge’s vegetable garden, he felt for the first time since his arrival in Palestine that he was actually doing some good and that the sun wasn’t roasting him alive. The black earth of the Valley stuck to his hands, and the scent of the mignonette and wild dill that he weeded among the tomato plants made him a happy man. Fanya Liberson, who was helping out at Grandfather’s too, was impressed.
‘He’s an unusual man,’ she told her husband. ‘I know that you and your friends could never stand him, but he is a dear fellow.’
When the week was up Levin went back to the stationery shop, but he took no interest in the customers. ‘I sat there making up my mind.’ When he returned to the village a month later to visit his sister’s grave, he asked the Committee for a position. As he was a good bookkeeper with business experience, the farmers were happy to have him.
Levin sold his share in the stationery business, was given a cabin and a plot of land, and began managing the village co-op while continuing to help Grandfather.
‘Whenever he had a free moment, Shlomo came over. He bathed the children, made them supper, and brought them little presents.’
When he tried his hand at farm work, however, he ran up against Zeitser. The two couldn’t abide each other from the start. Though Zeitser did not actively oppose Levin’s presence, he never made any effort to help him. ‘He looked right through me as if I wasn’t there.’
Levin had a delicate constitution, and when he tried to join the threshing crew that summer he breathed chaff into his lungs and went around coughing for years. From then on he just worked in the yard. ‘They gave him all the women’s jobs,’ said my cousin Yosi when we were discussing the family one day. Levin fed the chickens, collected eggs, shook out and folded the empty fodder sacks, and washed the milk cans. He also concocted excellent jamfrom Grandfather’s fruit, and gradually they became friends. His senses, which had become as sharp as a rabbit’s from years of timidity and failure, told him that Grandfather no longer felt the same about his two old friends. It gladdened him to see that Grandfather preferred his own quiet company to postmortem arguments with Mandolin Tsirkin and Eliezer Liberson.
‘Your grandfather, who was guilt-stricken after his wife’s death, developed a liking for his brother-in-law, whose good humour and tactfulness he appreciated. We weren’t living in the old days any more. We had the ground beneath our feet, each man under his vine. We knew what home and family were. We danced less. We sang less. We hated less.’
On winter evenings the dead woman’s husband and brother sat playing draughts. Zeitser stood behind Grandfather, kibitzing into his ear. ‘It didn’t help, though,’ Grandfather told me. ‘I always lost. It helped Levin to feel at home.’
Grandfather taught him grafting cuts, proper pruning, and the right way to probe an infected tree for the most feared pest of all, the tiger moth, which had decimated whole orchards of apples throughout the Valley. The trees, however, shrank from Levin’s touch. When he notched the bark of a Santa Rosa plum tree, it lost all its leaves overnight.
‘We have to find him a wife,’ said the villagers, mentally listing all the widows and unmarried pioneeresses they knew of.
But Levin surprised them all. After a secret correspondence with some matchmakers, he drove off one day to Tiberias in the
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