AMOS OZ
407
and what to pass over in silence. Nadia's heart
was not in the marriage, because her best friend whispered to her
what love was really like: it must not be stirred until it pleases.
But her parents, patiently, understandingly, brought her to another
point of view. Surely to do her duty was also in her own best interest.
And they set
a date, not too soon; they wanted to give her enough time
to become accustomed gradually to the widower, who never failed
to bring her a present. Sabbath by Sabbath
she learned to like the sound of his voice. Which was pleasant.
After the wedding her husband turned out to be a considerate man
who inclined to a measure of regularity in intimate matters. Every
evening, scrubbed, scented and cheerful, he would come and sit on the
edge
of the bed. He started with a gentle word of affection, turned out the
light
to spare her blushes, drew aside the sheet, caressed her sparingly,
and eventually rested his hand on her breast. She was always
on her back, her nightdress rolled up, he was always on top of her,
while outside the door the pendulum wall-clock with gilt fittings
slowly beat time. He rammed. He groaned. Had she wished, every night
she could have counted about twenty moderate thrusts, the final one
reinforced with a tenor note. Then he wrapped himself up and slept.
In
the thick darkness she lay empty and bewildered
for another hour at least. Sometimes solacing her body herself.
In
a
whisper
she told her closest friend, who would say, When there is love
it feels different, but how can you explain butterflies to a tortoise.
Several times she woke at five, put on a housecoat and went up on the
roof
to fetch in the washing. She could see empty rooftops, a patch of forest,
a deserted plain. Then her father and her husband, setting off together
to early-morning prayers. Day after day she shopped and cleaned
and cooked. On Sabbath eves guests came, imbibed and dined
and nibbled and argued. On her back in bed when it was all over
she sometimes had thoughts about a baby.
