The Same Sea by Amos Oz Read Free Book Online Page A

husbands, after all, who squander half their pay on the lottery and suchlike, or who are crazy about football, and with him it was his operas. You must agree, sir, that it's a refined hobby. And also, he loved to make people laugh, he was a champion joker, he was the king of practical jokes, you may not believe this but just the morning of the day it happened, barely three hours before, he was making omelettes for the girls and he pretended to swallow the hot oil straight from the frying pan. What a fright we had before we started to laugh. What else can I say to you, sir, people are a riddle, even the ones you think you know best. You sleep in the same bed together for thirty-five years, you know every hair on their head, their illnesses, their secrets, their problems, their most personal things, and then suddenly it turns out that It's as if there was two Elimelechs, one for foreign affairs and one for internal affairs. It was nice of you to come. Thank you. We'll do our best. The girls are just wonderful, look how they take after him. They take everything as it comes. When you next see Albert say a big thank you to
him
for taking the trouble to come to the funeral. He's not a youngster any more, and it's a long way from Bat Yam, after all.

Duet
    Behind the first stream another rivulet is hiding.
The first one flows so loudly
that you can hardly hear the murmur
of the second, hidden one. Rico is sitting on a rock. Perhaps
you can only hear it in the dark? He is willing to wait.

The well-fed dog and the hungry dog
    If you are Giggy Ben-Gal, a man who helps himself with both hands because
you only live once, for whom toys and pleasures and fun wink
from every branch as though it's Christmas all year round, earning your living
as a security adviser while maintaining dovish views, attending
the occasional rally and signing every petition, with a flat and car provided
by your parents who aren't short of a penny or two, and on the sweeter
side of life you have Ruthy Levin and Dita and another one, a married
woman, your friends wife is your friend and anyway he has no idea (she's older
than you and full of surprises in bed), but at heart you're not selfish,
quite generous in fact, you enjoy fixing things for others, helping a friend
through a difficult patch, taking the weight off his shoulders, its not
surprising that one fine evening you'll collar this Dombrov for a man-to-man
chat, to sort out what's really going on with this filmscript
that seems to have got stuck: after all, we're talking about relatively small
sums of money, and anyway you know a source you can tap.
    And so you will sit facing one another in Cafe Limor, you cheery and brisk
while he looks bitter, careworn, not completely on the ball, for instance
when you say "grant" and he, instead of taking notes, starts describing Nirit.
Or if you imply that there's this fund you know of he just stares abstractedly
into his beer then leans forward and downs it in one. For a moment you feel
disappointed, even hurt, is he really so ungrateful or has he just got
a screw loose? Suddenly you realize that the problem isn't the script, it's Dita.
The kids jealous. He sits there wriggling on his chair, full of wretchedness
and shame, and at the same time he's drawn toward you, he doesn't dare
but he'd love to touch your hand that touches Dita and probably does things
to her, any way and any time it likes, that he can only dream of. He would
sell you a year of his fucked-up life here and now, just like that, for a hint
of a chance to taste just once a tiny crumb from your nightly feasts with her.
Sweeter even than her body for you now is his embittered envy, that
stimulates your complacency gland, and also makes you feel pity and an urge
to share your bread with the hungry, to grant him an evening with her,
a secret gift or a donation of surplus goods. There's also a surprising
pang of jealousy at the poor sod, with that desperate thirst of his
that someone like you has never