Fima - Amos Oz [81]
Fima's passion was spent. In its place came sadness. And he said in the tone one uses to speak to a child who has hurt himself with a screwdriver because he has obstinately refused to take heed of the grownups' warnings:
"You can see for yourself, Tsvika, how easy it is to fall into the trap. Look what a fine line we have to tread."
"Calm down, Fima," Tsvi pleaded, although Fima was already calm. "It's only eight in the morning. Why arc you leaping on me like this? Come around one evening; we'll sit down and talk it over quietly. I've got some Napoleon brandy from France. Shula's sister brought it back with her. But not this week. It's the end of the semester and I'm up to my cars. They're making me chairman of the department. Can you come next week? You don't sound well to me, Fima, and Nina was saying to Shula that you're depressed again."
"So what, for heaven's sake, if it's not eight o'clock yet. Docs our responsibility for the language switch off outside office hours? Docs it only operate from eight to four with a break for lunch, weekdays only? I mean it, seriously. Forget Shula and Nina and your brandy for a moment. A fine time for brandy. The only reason I'm depressed is because the rest of you don't seem to be nearly depressed enough, considering what's going on. Have you seen the paper this morning? I'd like you to take what I've said as a proposal for the agenda. Under the heading of the defense of the language against increasing pollution. I'm suggesting that from now on, at least as regards the atrocities in the Territories, we simply stop using the word 'we.'"
"Fima," said Tsvi, "hang on a minute. Just sort yourself out. Which is the first 'we' and which is the second one? You've got yourself in a twist, pal. Why don't we just drop it for the time being? We'll talk about it next week. Face to face. We can't settle a subject like this on the phone. And I've got to run along."
Fima would not give in or let go:
"You remember that famous line in the poem by Amir Gilboa: 'Suddenly a man gets up one morning and feels he is a nation and starts walking.' That's precisely the absurdity I'm talking about. First of all, Professor, the truth, hand on your heart: Has it ever happened to you that you've got up in the morning and suddenly felt you were a nation? After lunch at the earliest. Who can get up in the morning and feel he's a nation, anyway? And even start walking? Maybe Geula Cohen can. Who gets up in the morning and doesn't just feel lousy?"
Tsvi laughed. Which encouraged Fima to a new outburst:
"But listen. Seriously. The time has come to stop feeling like a nation. To stop starting to walk. Let's cut that crap. 'A voice called to me and I went.' 'Wherever we are sent—we'll go.' These are semifascistic motifs. You're not a nation. I'm not a nation. Nobody is a nation. Not in the morning and not in the evening. And by the way, we're really not a nation anyway. At most we're a sort of tribe."
"There you go again with your 'we.'" Tsvi chuckled. "You're a little too far out, Fima. Just make up your mind: Are we 'we' or aren't we? In a hanged man's house you shouldn't throw the rope after the bucket. Never mind. I'm sorry, but now I really must hang up and run. By the way, I heard that Uri will be back this weekend. Why don't we fix something up for Saturday night? See you."
"Of course we're not a nation," Fima insisted, deaf and aflame with self-righteousness. "We're a primitive tribe. Scum, that's what we arc. But those Germans, and the French and the British too, have no right to talk down to us. Compared to them we're saints. Not to mention the rest of them. Have you seen the paper today? The way Shamir went on yesterday in Netanya? And what they did to that old Arab at Ashdod Beach?"
When Tsvi apologetically hung up, Fima continued to harangue the indifferent, bloated gargle emanating from the phone:
"In any case, we've had it."
He was referring collectively to the