Read Online A Woman in Jerusalem by A.B. Yehoshua - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: A.B. Yehoshua
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his falling in love, asked in distress:
“So now she has to know everything, too?”
“No,” the resource manager said. “She doesn’t and she won’t. And I’ll see to it that he won’t, either.” As if the old man were floating in the sky, he pointed to the spark-flecked smoke rising from the bakery’s chimneys. “Your story stays with me – with the personnel division, or the human resources division, or whatever you want to call it.”
“Well,” murmured the supervisor, reluctant to part with his confessor, now a partner in his love, “if you need anyone … I mean to identify the corpse … I’m always available … that is, if there’s no one else …”
The resource manager felt a slight wave of revulsion. No, he did not need anyone. The case was closed. So was the option of responding in the local weekly. “The less we dwell on this story, the better. Our biggest mistake would be to make it bigger than it is.”
Arriving at his former home, he was surprised to find it so warm and brightly lit. A fresh smell of wet umbrellas and coats filled the hallway. The living room smelled of pizza. The apartment, which had been a grim place through the past year, now had an air of merry practicality. His twelve-year-old daughter sat on a pillow in a chair at the head of the large dining table, flushed and wide awake. Scattered on the table among slices of pizza, knishes, empty bottles, and coffee cups were textbooks and notebooks, a ruler, and a compass. The office manager had been as good as her word – twice as good, in fact, since her husband, whose long, flattened bald head resembled a rugby ball, was sitting beside her happily solving maths problems.
“Back so soon?” his daughter asked, with a hint of disappointment even though she was happy to see him. “We still have lots of home work to do.”
For the first time since his summons to the owner’s office that afternoon, he let out a laugh. “You can see which of us has the real talent for human resources,” he told the office manager. “I’m sorry I’m late. The night shift supervisor wouldn’t stop talking.”
But the office manager was so thoroughly enjoying her new role that she was prepared to continue it. If the resource manager needed more time, she said, or wished to get to work on his response to the weekly, she and her husband were prepared to stay and help his daughter finish her homework .
“More time again!” he grumbled. “The night is over. Thecase is closed. Everything is clear now. I’m just too tired to explain it all.”
“Of course,” the office manager agreed, slightly miffed. She would wait until the morning, when she would in any case have to type the response. Her husband was now solving the last maths problem, after which she would check the English vocabulary assignment. In the meantime, the resource manager might as well sit down and warm up. He looked cold and must be starving. There was food on the table and she would make him a hot drink. Why not be a guest in his own home?
“My ex-home,” he replied with a bitter smile. Slipping out of his wet coat, he removed his damp shoes and switched on the solar heater’s electrical backup for some extra hot water.
It had been agreed that in his ex-wife’s absence he would spend the nights here with his daughter rather than have her come to his mother’s, where he was staying until his newly rented apartment became available. Naturally, he didn’t use the double bed he had been banished from; he slept on the living room couch. Two shelves in the bathroom were reserved for his toilet articles and pyjamas, with additional space for underwear, a fresh shirt, and a pair of clean trousers.
He passed his wife’s darkened bedroom, which not long ago had also been his. Shutting its half-open door against the ever present temptation to peek, he locked himself in the gleaming bathroom. He had presided over its renovation just a year ago, choosing the tiles and
“So now she has to know everything, too?”
“No,” the resource manager said. “She doesn’t and she won’t. And I’ll see to it that he won’t, either.” As if the old man were floating in the sky, he pointed to the spark-flecked smoke rising from the bakery’s chimneys. “Your story stays with me – with the personnel division, or the human resources division, or whatever you want to call it.”
“Well,” murmured the supervisor, reluctant to part with his confessor, now a partner in his love, “if you need anyone … I mean to identify the corpse … I’m always available … that is, if there’s no one else …”
The resource manager felt a slight wave of revulsion. No, he did not need anyone. The case was closed. So was the option of responding in the local weekly. “The less we dwell on this story, the better. Our biggest mistake would be to make it bigger than it is.”
Arriving at his former home, he was surprised to find it so warm and brightly lit. A fresh smell of wet umbrellas and coats filled the hallway. The living room smelled of pizza. The apartment, which had been a grim place through the past year, now had an air of merry practicality. His twelve-year-old daughter sat on a pillow in a chair at the head of the large dining table, flushed and wide awake. Scattered on the table among slices of pizza, knishes, empty bottles, and coffee cups were textbooks and notebooks, a ruler, and a compass. The office manager had been as good as her word – twice as good, in fact, since her husband, whose long, flattened bald head resembled a rugby ball, was sitting beside her happily solving maths problems.
“Back so soon?” his daughter asked, with a hint of disappointment even though she was happy to see him. “We still have lots of home work to do.”
For the first time since his summons to the owner’s office that afternoon, he let out a laugh. “You can see which of us has the real talent for human resources,” he told the office manager. “I’m sorry I’m late. The night shift supervisor wouldn’t stop talking.”
But the office manager was so thoroughly enjoying her new role that she was prepared to continue it. If the resource manager needed more time, she said, or wished to get to work on his response to the weekly, she and her husband were prepared to stay and help his daughter finish her homework .
“More time again!” he grumbled. “The night is over. Thecase is closed. Everything is clear now. I’m just too tired to explain it all.”
“Of course,” the office manager agreed, slightly miffed. She would wait until the morning, when she would in any case have to type the response. Her husband was now solving the last maths problem, after which she would check the English vocabulary assignment. In the meantime, the resource manager might as well sit down and warm up. He looked cold and must be starving. There was food on the table and she would make him a hot drink. Why not be a guest in his own home?
“My ex-home,” he replied with a bitter smile. Slipping out of his wet coat, he removed his damp shoes and switched on the solar heater’s electrical backup for some extra hot water.
It had been agreed that in his ex-wife’s absence he would spend the nights here with his daughter rather than have her come to his mother’s, where he was staying until his newly rented apartment became available. Naturally, he didn’t use the double bed he had been banished from; he slept on the living room couch. Two shelves in the bathroom were reserved for his toilet articles and pyjamas, with additional space for underwear, a fresh shirt, and a pair of clean trousers.
He passed his wife’s darkened bedroom, which not long ago had also been his. Shutting its half-open door against the ever present temptation to peek, he locked himself in the gleaming bathroom. He had presided over its renovation just a year ago, choosing the tiles and
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