Fima - Amos Oz [105]
When Fima saw that he didn't have enough money to pay the fare, he offered to hand over his identity card or to borrow a few shekels from a neighbor, if the driver didn't mind waking a few minutes. But the other said:
"Forget it. It's not the end of the world. Tomorrow or the day after come and leave eight shekels at Eliyahu Taxis. Just say it's for Tsiyon. You're not from the Bible League, by any chance, are you? Or something like that?"
"No," said Fima. "Why?"
"I had a feeling I've seen you on TV. Must be someone who looks like you. Spoke nice, too. Just a minute, sir: you left your hat behind. Where did you win that thing? What is it, a leftover from the Holocaust?"
Fima walked past his mailbox without stopping, even though he could see there was something in it. He made a detour around the rolled-up mattress. When he reached the light of the staircase and pulled out his key, a ten-shekel note folded into a small square fell out too. He ran back, hoping to catch the taxi driver before he finished turning around at the end of the road. The driver grinned in the dark.
"So what's the hurry? Afraid I'm leaving the country? That I'll be gone tomorrow morning? Let the scum leave; I'm staying to the end of the show. I want to see how it finishes. Good night, sir. Don't eat your heart out."
Fima decided to have that man in his cabinet. He would relieve Tsvi of the Information portfolio and give it to the driver. And because the driver had said "the end of the show," he suddenly remembered that Annette was probably waiting for him to call her at home. Unless she was waiting outside the cinema. Or unless it was Nina waiting. But hadn't he promised Nina he'd pick her up at the office? Or was that with Tamar? Fima was disgusted at the thought that he was going to have to get bogged down in lies and excuses yet again. He ought to call and explain. Tactfully untie the knot. Apologize to Nina and hurry out to meet Annette. Or vice versa.
But what if it turned out he had only made a date with one of them after all, and when he started to lie his way out of it on the phone, he got deeper and deeper in the mud, and only succeeded in making a fool of himself? And what if at this very moment they were both standing in the foyer of the cinema waiting for him, not recognizing each other, little dreaming that it was the same idiot who had let them both down?
To hell with lies. From now on he would start a new chapter. From now on he would live his life in the open, rationally and honestly. How had the taxi driver put it: no "weeping conscience." There was no reason whatever to hide his lovers from one another. If they're both fond of me, why shouldn't they be fond of each other? They'll almost certainly make friends at once, they can cheer each other up. They have so many things in common, after all. They are both compassionate, goodhearted, generous human beings. They both seem to relish my helplessness. By coincidence, if it really is a coincidence, both their husbands arc living it up in Italy at this moment. Who knows? Perhaps the husbands have met. Perhaps at this very minute Yeri Tadmor and Uri Gefen are sitting in a lively group of Israelis and foreigners in the same café in Rome, swapping juicy stories about love and despair. Or discussing the future of the Middle East, with Uri using arguments he's borrowed from me. Whereas my role in this situational farce that comes straight out of Stefan Zweig or Somerset Maugham is to bring together the two abandoned wives, who are about to come together this evening in friendship, solidarity, even a measure of intimacy, because they both wish me well.
In his mind's eye he saw himself sitting in the darkness of the cinema, with Jean Gabin becoming embroiled with a gang of ruthless killers while he himself had his left arm around Annette and slid the fingers of his right hand down over Nina's breasts. Giving a plausible imitation of a discount Uri Gefen. After the film he would invite them both to the little restaurant behind Zion Square. Sparkling