Scenes From Village Life - Amos Oz [4]
Arieh Zelnik nodded a few times and scratched the back of his right hand. It was true that once or twice recently he had found himself thinking about what would happen to his ailing mother, and to him, when she lost her physical or mental independence, and wondering when the time to make a decision would come. There were moments when the possibility of parting from his mother filled him with sorrow and shame, but there were also moments when he almost looked forward to the possibilities that would open up before him when she was finally out of the house. Once he had even had Yossi Sasson, the real estate agent, round to value the property. These suppressed hopes had filled him with feelings of guilt and self-loathing. He found it strange that this repulsive man seemed able to read his shameful thoughts. He therefore asked Mr. Maftsir to go back to the beginning and explain precisely whom he represented. On whose behalf had he been sent here?
Wolff Maftsir chuckled. "Not Mr. Maftsir. Just call me Maftsir. Or Wolff. Between relatives there's no need for Mr."
4
ARIEH ZELNIK STOOD UP. He was a much taller and larger man than Wolff Maftsir and he had broader, stronger shoulders, even if they both had the same long arms that reached almost to their knees. He took two steps toward his visitor and towered over him as he said:
"So what is it you want."
He said these words without a question mark, and as he spoke he undid the top button of his shirt, revealing a glimpse of a gray, hairy chest.
"What's the hurry, sir," Wolff Maftsir said in a conciliatory tone. "Our business needs to be discussed carefully and patiently, from every angle, so as not to leave any chink or opening. We must not get our details wrong."
To Arieh Zelnik the visitor looked limp or sagging. As though his skin were too big for him. His shirt hung loosely from his shoulders, like an overcoat on a scarecrow. And his eyes were watery and rather murky. At the same time there was something scared about him, as though he feared a sudden insult.
"Our business?"
"I mean to say, the problem of the old lady. I mean your dear mother. Our property is still registered in her name, and it will be until her dying day—and who can say what she has taken it into her head to write in her will—or until the two of us manage to get ourselves appointed her guardians."
"The two of us?"
"This house could be knocked down and replaced by a sanatorium. A health farm. We could develop a place here that would be unequaled anywhere in the country: pure air, bucolic calm, rural scenery that's up there with Provence or Tuscany. Herbal treatments, massage, meditation, spiritual guidance. People would pay good money for what our place could offer them."
"Excuse me, how long have we known each other exactly?"
"But we are old friends. More than that, we are relatives. Partners, even."
By standing up Arieh Zelnik may have intended to make his visitor stand up too and take his leave. But the latter remained seated, and he reached out to pour some more water with lemon and mint into the glass that had been Arieh Zelnik's until he had appropriated it. He leaned back in his chair. Now, with the sweat marks in the armpits of his shirt, without his jacket and tie, Wolff Maftsir looked like a leisurely cattle dealer who had come to town to negotiate a deal, patiently and craftily, with the farmers, a deal from which, he was convinced, both sides would benefit. There was a hidden malicious glee in him that was not entirely unfamiliar to his host.
"I have to go indoors now," Arieh Zelnik lied. "I have something to see to. Excuse me."
"I'm in no hurry." Wolff Maftsir smiled. "If you have no objection I'll just sit and wait for you here. Or should I go inside with you and make the lady's acquaintance? After all, I don't have much time to gain her trust."
"The lady," Arieh Zelnik said, "does not receive visitors."
"I am not exactly a visitor," Wolff