States."
"Didn't you say a moment ago that the comparison with Vietnam was a mistake?"
"Yes. No. In a certain sense yes. That is, perhaps we need to distinguish between a syndrome and a symptom."
"Here," said Ted, "just put them here in the middle drawer."
But Fima had already abandoned the struggle, and left his bundle of cutlery on top of the microwave. Pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket, he wiped his nose again and then absent-mindedly set about wiping the kitchen table too, while Ted was still sorting plates according to type and size and putting each pile away in its proper place in the cupboard over the sink.
"Fima, why don't you give that to the newspapers. You should publish it so that more people can read it. Your language is so rich. And it'll do your soul good too: anyone can sec you're suffering. You take politics so personally. You take the situation too much to heart. Yael will be back with Dimi in another three-quarters of an hour. Now I've got to do some work. How do you say 'deadline' in Hebrew again? Maybe the best thing would be if you took your coffee with you into the living room and I'll put the TV on for you; you can still catch about half the news. Okay?"
Fima immediately assented: he had never intended to intrude for the whole evening. But instead of picking up his coffee and heading for the living room, he forgot the mug on the drainboard in the kitchen and insisted on pursuing Ted all the way down the hallway until Ted excused himself and locked himself in the bathroom. Fima concluded his sentence through the locked door:
"It's all right for you people; you've got U.S. passports, you can always get out of here by jet propulsion. But what'll happen to the rest of us? Okay, I'll go and watch the news. I won't pester you anymore. The only trouble is, I have no idea how to switch your television on."
Instead of going to the living room, he turned in to the boy's bedroom. Instantly he was overcome by great tiredness. Unable to find the light switch, he lay down in the dark on the little bed surrounded by shadows of robots and airplanes and time machines, while overhead a gigantic phosphorescent spaceship hovered, suspended from the ceiling by an invisible thread, its nose pointing straight at him, revolving slowly, menacingly at the slightest draft like an accusing finger. Until Fima closed his eyes and said to himself suddenly:
"What's the point of all this talking? The die is cast, and what is done cannot be undone."
Then sleep overtook him. Just as he was dropping off, he was vaguely aware of Ted covering him with a soft woollen blanket. Indistinctly he mumbled:
"The truth, Teddy? Just between the two of us? The Arabs have evidently realized that they can't throw us in the sea. The sad thing is, it's hard for Jews to live without someone wanting to throw them in the sea."
Ted whispered:
"No. The situation really isn't looking too good." And he went out.
Fima curled up inside the blanket. He meant to ask to be waked up the moment Yael got home. He was so tired that what came out was:
"Don't wake Yael."
He slept for about twenty minutes, and when the phone rang in the next room, he reached out and knocked over one of Dimi's Lego towers. He tried to fold the blanket, but gave up because he was in a hurry to find Ted. He still had to explain what it was that had brought him here this evening. Instead of going to the study, he strayed into the bedroom, which was lit by a warm red night-light. He saw that the wide bed was ready for the night: two identical pillows, two dark-blue blankets encased in silky sheets, two bedside tables, each with an open book lying face down on it, and he buried his face and his whole head in Yael's nightdress. At once he pulled himself together and rushed out to look for his coat. He searched every room in the flat with a sleepwalker's thoroughness, but he found neither Ted nor his coat, even though he doggedly checked every lighted place. Finally he sank
"Didn't you say a moment ago that the comparison with Vietnam was a mistake?"
"Yes. No. In a certain sense yes. That is, perhaps we need to distinguish between a syndrome and a symptom."
"Here," said Ted, "just put them here in the middle drawer."
But Fima had already abandoned the struggle, and left his bundle of cutlery on top of the microwave. Pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket, he wiped his nose again and then absent-mindedly set about wiping the kitchen table too, while Ted was still sorting plates according to type and size and putting each pile away in its proper place in the cupboard over the sink.
"Fima, why don't you give that to the newspapers. You should publish it so that more people can read it. Your language is so rich. And it'll do your soul good too: anyone can sec you're suffering. You take politics so personally. You take the situation too much to heart. Yael will be back with Dimi in another three-quarters of an hour. Now I've got to do some work. How do you say 'deadline' in Hebrew again? Maybe the best thing would be if you took your coffee with you into the living room and I'll put the TV on for you; you can still catch about half the news. Okay?"
Fima immediately assented: he had never intended to intrude for the whole evening. But instead of picking up his coffee and heading for the living room, he forgot the mug on the drainboard in the kitchen and insisted on pursuing Ted all the way down the hallway until Ted excused himself and locked himself in the bathroom. Fima concluded his sentence through the locked door:
"It's all right for you people; you've got U.S. passports, you can always get out of here by jet propulsion. But what'll happen to the rest of us? Okay, I'll go and watch the news. I won't pester you anymore. The only trouble is, I have no idea how to switch your television on."
Instead of going to the living room, he turned in to the boy's bedroom. Instantly he was overcome by great tiredness. Unable to find the light switch, he lay down in the dark on the little bed surrounded by shadows of robots and airplanes and time machines, while overhead a gigantic phosphorescent spaceship hovered, suspended from the ceiling by an invisible thread, its nose pointing straight at him, revolving slowly, menacingly at the slightest draft like an accusing finger. Until Fima closed his eyes and said to himself suddenly:
"What's the point of all this talking? The die is cast, and what is done cannot be undone."
Then sleep overtook him. Just as he was dropping off, he was vaguely aware of Ted covering him with a soft woollen blanket. Indistinctly he mumbled:
"The truth, Teddy? Just between the two of us? The Arabs have evidently realized that they can't throw us in the sea. The sad thing is, it's hard for Jews to live without someone wanting to throw them in the sea."
Ted whispered:
"No. The situation really isn't looking too good." And he went out.
Fima curled up inside the blanket. He meant to ask to be waked up the moment Yael got home. He was so tired that what came out was:
"Don't wake Yael."
He slept for about twenty minutes, and when the phone rang in the next room, he reached out and knocked over one of Dimi's Lego towers. He tried to fold the blanket, but gave up because he was in a hurry to find Ted. He still had to explain what it was that had brought him here this evening. Instead of going to the study, he strayed into the bedroom, which was lit by a warm red night-light. He saw that the wide bed was ready for the night: two identical pillows, two dark-blue blankets encased in silky sheets, two bedside tables, each with an open book lying face down on it, and he buried his face and his whole head in Yael's nightdress. At once he pulled himself together and rushed out to look for his coat. He searched every room in the flat with a sleepwalker's thoroughness, but he found neither Ted nor his coat, even though he doggedly checked every lighted place. Finally he sank
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