Fima - Amos Oz [32]
As usual, his father insisted on adding an explanation of the point of the story. Fima laughed: unlike the story, the explanation was amusing. His father, delighted by Fima's reaction, was encouraged to offer him a further anecdote concerning a train journey, this time about a honeymoon couple who found themselves compelled to seek the assistance of the guard. "And you do see, don't you, Efraim, that the real point is not the bride's behavior, but the bridegroom's witlessness. He was a real shlemazel."
Fima recited to himself the words he had heard Dr. Eitan say the day before: "I'd hang the pair of them."
"Do you know the difference between a shlemiel and a shlemazel, Efraim? The shlemiel spills his tea and it always lands on the shlemazel. That's what they say. But in reality, behind this joke there is something mysterious and quite profound. The shlemiel and the shlemazel are both immortal. Hand in hand they wander from country to country, from century to century, from story to story. Like Cain and Abel. Like Jacob and Esau. Like Raskolnikov and Svidrigailov. Or like Rabin and Peres. Or perhaps even, who knows, like God and Nietzsche. And while we're on the subject of trains, I'll tell you a true story. Once upon a time the director of our state railways went to take part in an international meeting of railway chiefs. A kind of Konferenz. Now the Lord opened the mouth of the ass, and our buffoon talked and talked; he simply wouldn't stop. He wouldn't get down from the podium. Until the American train chief had had enough. He raised his hand and asked our man, 'With all due respect, excuse me, Mr. Cohen, but just how many miles of track do you have in your country that you talk so much?' Nu, so our delegate doesn't lose his presence of mind; with the assistance of the Almighty, Who grants discernment even to the simple rooster, he says: The length I don't rightly remember, Mr. Smith, but the width is exactly the same as yours.' By the way, I heard this story once told by a foolish fellow who got it wrong and said Russia instead of America. He spoiled the whole point of the story, because the Russian railways have a different gauge from ours; in fact, it's different from the whole of the rest of the world. No reason; just to be different. Or else so that if Napoleon Bonaparte comes back and tries to invade them again, he won't be able to take his wagons to Moscow. Where were we? Yes, the honeymoon couple. In fact, there's no reason why you shouldn't bestir yourself and wed some lovely lady. If you wish, I'll be delighted to help by finding the lady ct cetera. But do get moving, my dear: after all, you're not a stripling anymore, and as for me, nu, any day now the fateful tocsin will sound and I shall be no more. Baruch Nomberg is dead, signed God. The amusing thing in the story of the honeymoon couple is not the bridegroom having to ask the guard for instructions on how to handle a bride. No, sir. It's the association with punching tickets. Although, on second thought, tell me yourself;