During the next few days in Tel Aviv I attended emigration procedures. In the evenings, I skimmed through many of my old books. It soon became clear that my literary tastes had remained largely intact. Both Kafka and Joyce remained high on my priorities list. The main change was my migration from Hebrew to English. The latter had become my natural, even if acquired, medium of communications.
Mother and I arrived in the airport well before the estimated boarding time. To my surprise, we ran into Ruth Schwartz. Having seen off a VIP, she was getting ready to take a bus back to Tel Aviv. Ruth, who knew that mother’s Hebrew was poor, greeted us in German.
“Again, Eli, I’m sorry for my outburst. And you know, the result is satisfactory.”
“Were you aware of Fischer’s deteriorating eyesight?”
“Well, I was. For quite a while I pressed him to take stock. We knew that eventually everybody would talk about Fischer’s condition ‘in strict secret’ to one and all.”
“It is our type of society, Ruth. That’s the way it is,” interjected mother.
“I know. Still, Zvi had to go through a lot. I am genuinely worried about him.”
“Don’t you worry, Ruth. Men like Fischer always fall on their feet. But it is good to know he has a shoulder to lean on,” I expressed my sentiments.
“Not for long, Eli. My boss called me up and told me off. Our Human Resources Department decided to transfer me to Beer-sheva.”
“Quite a change,” interjected mother.
“It’s going to be a challenge. But, you know, all in all, I am looking forward to it. Here in Tel Aviv I got myself into a rut. Hopefully, I’ll find new horizons. Look me up if you come over for another visit, Eli.”
Boarding started shortly after Ruth had left. Mother smiled at me sadly. She was familiar with my plans.
“See you in Vienna when you take your next leave, my son.”
“It won’t be long, Mamma. I promise.”