Scenes From Village Life - Amos Oz [45]
The wind had dropped, but the mist still billowed and blurred the outlines of the old houses, some of which were indeed more than a century old. The yellow stucco had cracked and crumbled on the walls, leaving dirty bald patches. Gray pines grew in the gardens, and the properties were divided from one another by hedges of cypress. Here and there a rusting lawnmower or a disintegrating washtub could be seen in a jungle of grass, nettles, couch grass and convolvulus.
Benny Avni whistled softly but the dog continued to keep its distance. In front of the synagogue, which had been erected when the village was founded, back at the beginning of the twentieth century, there was a notice board to which were pinned advertisements for the films showing at the local cinema and the products of the winery, as well as some council notices bearing his own signature. Benny paused for a moment to look at these notices, but for some reason they seemed to him redundant or totally erroneous. He thought he caught sight of a stooping figure at the corner of the street, but as he drew closer he saw only bushes in the mist. A metal menorah surmounted the synagogue, and lions and six-pointed Stars of David were carved on the doors. He climbed the five steps and tried the door, which was not locked. It was almost dark inside the synagogue, and the air was chilly and dusty. A curtain hung in front of the ark, and the feeble light of the Eternal Lamp lit the words I have set the Lord always before me. Benny Avni wandered among the pews in the half light, then went upstairs to the women's gallery. Black-bound prayer books lay scattered on the benches. He was hit by a smell of old sweat, along with an odor of old books. He ran his hand over the back of a bench: it seemed as though someone had left a shawl or headscarf behind.
When he left the synagogue, Benny Avni found the dog waiting for him at the bottom of the steps. He stamped his foot and said, "Shoo. Go away." The dog, which wore a collar with an identification tag hanging from it, tipped its head a little to one side, opened its mouth and panted, as if waiting for an explanation. But no explanation was forthcoming. Benny turned to go on his way, his shoulders hunched and his shapeless pullover peeking out from under his three-quarter-length suede coat. He took big strides, his body inclined forward like the prow of a ship cleaving the waves. The dog did not abandon him, but still kept its distance.
Where could she have gone? Maybe she was visiting one of her women friends and had lost track of the time. Maybe she had stayed late at school because of some urgent matter. Maybe she was at the clinic. A few weeks previously, during a quarrel, she had told him that his friendliness was just a mask, behind which there was a frozen wasteland. He had not replied, but merely smiled affectionately, as he always did when she was angry with him. Nava was beside herself with rage. "You don't care about anything, do you?" she said. "Not me and not the girls." He had continued to smile affectionately and had put his hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off violently and left, slamming the door. An hour later, he brought her a hot herbal tea with honey in her studio. He thought she might be developing a cold. She wasn't, but she took the drink and said gently:
"Thank you. You really didn't have to."
5
PERHAPS WHILE HE was wandering the streets in the mist she was back at home. He considered for a moment whether to go home, but the thought of the empty house, and particularly the image of the empty