To Know a Woman (Harvest in Translation) by Amos Oz

Author:Amos Oz [Oz, Amos]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Published: 1992-04-27T04:00:00+00:00

26

The simple, open, habitual things—the morning chill, the scent of burned thistles wafted from the nearby citrus grove, the chirping of the swallows before sunrise on the branches of the apple tree now rusting from autumn's touch, the shudder from the chill on his bare shoulders, the scent of watered soil, the savor of the light at dawn, which soothed his aching eyes; the recollection of their overwhelming desire in the night in the orchard on the edge of Metullah and of the shame in the attic, the guitar of the dead Eviatar or Itamar that in the darkness seemingly continued to produce the sound of a cello; the thought that, seemingly, they died together in an accident with their arms around each other, if it really was an accident; the thought of the moment he drew his gun in the crowded bus terminal in Athens; forests of dimly lighted conifers in Annemarie and Ralph's home; miserable Bangkok swathed in thick steaming tropical mist; Krantz's wooing, the eagerness to be friends and to make himself helpful and indispensable—whatever he pondered or remembered seemed at times enigmatic. In everything, as Teacher put it, there could at times be discerned signs of things being beyond repair. "Retarded chick that she was," Shealtiel Lublin used to say about Eve; "where were her brains? She ought to have eaten an apple from the other tree. But the joke is, before she could have the brains to eat from the second tree she had to eat from the first one. And that's how we all got screwed up." Yoel pictured the image conjured up by the word "indubitably." And he also tried to envisage the meaning of the phrase "thunderbolt out of a clear sky." It seemed to him that by these efforts he was somehow fulfilling his allotted task. Yet he knew he lacked the power to find an answer to a question that in fact he had not managed to formulate. Or even to understand. And that was why so far he had not deciphered anything, and apparently never would. On the other hand, he found pleasure in preparing the garden for the approaching winter. At Bardugo's Nurseries at Ramat Lotan junction he bought saplings and seeds and pesticides and some sacks of fertilizer. He was leaving the pruning of the roses till January-February, but he already had a plan. Meanwhile he was turning over the flower beds with a fork he found near the cat and her kittens in the garden shed, and digging in the concentrated fertilizer, deriving a physical thrill from inhaling its sharp, provocative smell. He planted a ring of assorted chrysanthemums. And also carnations, gladiolus, and snapdragons. He pruned the fruit trees. He sprayed the edges of the lawn with weed killer to make them as straight as a ruler. He returned the sprayer to Arik Krantz, who was delighted to come over to collect it and have coffee with Yoel. He trimmed the hedge both on his

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