Fima - Amos Oz [140]
"There. To Hadassah. To see him. Perhaps..."
Fima shrugged.
"What is there to see? I suppose he's as dapper as usual. Why bother him?" And he instructed Shula to make some strong black coffee for Uri, because he had been on the go ever since he got off the plane in the morning. "In fact, you ought to give him something to cat too: he must be starving. I figure he must have left his hotel in Rome at about three this morning, so he really has had a long, hard day of it. Come to think of it, you look pretty tired yourself, Shula; in fact, you look worn out. And where are Yael and Dimi? I want Yacl here. And Dimi too."
"They're at home," said Ted apologetically. "The boy took it quite hard. You might say he had a special attachment to your father." He went on to say that Dimi had locked himself in the utility room, and they had had to call a friend of theirs, the child psychologist from South Africa, to ask what to do. He told them just to leave the child alone. And, sure enough, after a while Dimi had come out, and then he'd glued himself to the computer. The South African friend had advised them...
Fima said:
"Balls."
And then, quietly and firmly:
"I want them both here."
As he spoke, he was surprised at this new assertiveness he had acquired since his father's death. As if it had given him an unexpected promotion, entitling him henceforward to issue orders at will and to command instant obedience.
Ted said:
"Sure. We could go and fetch them. But from what the psychologist said, I think it might be better if..."
Fima nipped this appeal in the bud:
"If you wouldn't mind."
Ted hesitated, held a whispered consultation with Tsvi, glanced at his watch, and said: "Okay, Fima, whatever you like. That's fine. I'll pop around and collect Dimi. If Uri wouldn't mind lending me his keys; Yael's got our car."
"Yael too, please."
"Right. Shall I call her? See if she can make it?"
"Of course she can make it. Tell her I insist."
Ted went out, and at that moment Nina arrived. Small and thin, practical, razor-sharp in her movements, her narrow vixen's face projecting common sense and a survivor's shrewdness, brimming with energy, as though she'd spent the day rescuing casualties under fire rather than making arrangements for a funeral. She wore a light gray pantsuit, her glasses were shining, and she was clutching a stiff black attaché case that she did not put down even when she gave Fima a quick angular hug and a kiss on the forehead. But she found no words.
Shula said:
"I'm going to the kitchen to get you all something to drink. Who wants what? Would anyone like an omelette? Or a slice of bread with something?"
Tsvi remarked hesitantly:
"And he was such a robust man too. So full of energy. With that twinkle in his eyes. And such a zest for life, for good food, business, women, politics, the lot. Not long ago he turned up at my office on Mount Scopus and gave me a furious lecture about how Yeshayahu Leibowitz is making demagogic capital out of Maimonides. Neither more nor less. When I tried to disagree, to defend Leibowitz, he launched into some story about a rabbi from Drohovitz who saw Maimonides in a dream. I would say, a deep lust for life. I always thought he'd live to a ripe old age."
Fima, as though delivering the final verdict on a dispute that was not of his making, declared:
"And so he did. He wasn't exactly cut off in his prime, after all."
Nina said:
"It was a sheer miracle that we managed to complete the arrangements. Everything's fixed for Sunday. Believe me, it was a mad race against the clock, to get it all done before the Sabbath. This Jerusalem of ours is getting worse than Teheran. You're not angry we