By Amos Oz
Tragic, comedian, and completely sincere, this bestselling and severely acclaimed new paintings via "one of Israel's so much proficient and prolific authors" (Helen Epstein, The ahead) is without delay a relations saga and a paranormal self-portrait of a author who witnessed the delivery of a kingdom and lived via its turbulent history.
It is the tale of a boy transforming into up within the war-torn Jerusalem of the 40's and fifties, in a small condo crowded with books in twelve languages and family members conversing approximately as many. the tale of a young person whose existence has been replaced endlessly by means of his mother's suicide whilst he was once twelve years previous. the tale of a guy who leaves the restrictions of his kinfolk and its neighborhood of dreamers, students, and failed businessmen to hitch a kibbutz, swap his identify, marry, have young ones. the tale of a author who turns into an lively player within the political lifetime of his state.
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Extra resources for A Tale of Love and Darkness
Example text
I realize now that they were not at all sure they would really talk again, this might be the last time, who knew what would happen, there could be riots, a pogrom, a blood bath, the Arabs might rise up and slaughter the lot of us, there might be a war, a terrible disaster, after all Hitler's tanks had almost reached our doorstep from two directions, North Africa and the Caucasus, who knew what else awaited us? This empty conversation was not really empty, it was just awkward. What those telephone conversations reveal to me now is how hard it was for them—for everyone, not just my parents—to express private feelings.
We used to phone them every three or four months, even though we didn't have a phone and neither did they. First we would write to Auntie Hayya and Uncle Tsvi to let them know that on, say, the nineteenth of the month—which was a Wednesday, and on Wednesdays Tsvi left his work at the Health Clinic at three—we would phone from our pharmacy to their pharmacy at five. The letter was sent well in advance, and then we waited for a reply. In their letter, Auntie Hayya and Uncle Tsvi assured us that Wednesday the nineteenth suited them perfectly, and they would be waiting at the pharmacy a little before five, and not to worry if we didn't manage to phone at five on the dot, they wouldn't run away.
Here I am, just five or six years old, and already I have to assume a historic responsibility. —and so every few moments I ran to the kitchen to see what the clock said, and then I would announce, like the countdown to a spaceship launch: twenty-five minutes to go, twenty minutes to go, fifteen to go, ten and a half to go—and at that point we would get up, lock the front door carefully, and set off, the three of us, turn left as far as Mr. Auster's grocery shop, then right into Zechariah Street, left into Malachi Street, right into Zephaniah Street, and straight into the pharmacy to announce: "Good afternoon to you, Mr.