AMOS OZ
415
too, but still in the closet? Such a sensitive man. So sweet. [ wonder
when he ever sleeps.
A
postcard from Thimphu
Dear Dad and Dita. We were cut off yesterday while we were talking.
I didn't
manage to tell you how pleased I am the two of you are together at home.
It's good that you're not alone either of you. It's a good solution for you
both.
You look after her and you look after him, etc. Cooking and eating
and washing up and taking turns emptying the rubbish.
I
like this
father-daughter couple thing, this two-track relationship, as if you've
gained
a daughter Dad and Mother and
I
have gained a double. Dad,
I
expect
you're the one who puts both your laundry in the machine, not sorting it
into his and hers but only into cotton and synthetics. And Dita,
I
imagine
you're the one who does the shopping for both of you and Dad you make
one of your salads, no mortal hand can chop vegetables finer than you.
So
you've ended up with no money and no flat Dita, well Dad, you'll sort
that out for her. And as Mother used to say, every cloud has a silver
lining,
and in this case the lining is also fun. Dita I can almost see you sleeping
In
my bed, where Dad you come in every night as usual to cover her up, but
Dita you push and kick the covers off again. An anarchist in your sleep.
The opposite of Mother, who even on summer nights wrapped herself up
like a mummy. She wore a blue nightie trimmed with lace. You ought to
ask him if you can wear it one night. You won't refuse her, will you?
It's on the top shelf of the wardrobe, on the left. The little that Mother
needs
now she can find with me: she, who could never stand long journeys, who
could never sleep in a strange bed, comes all the way here sometimes,
and naturally I don't tell her to go away.
