1. Bushi’s Analysis
“Well, Bushi” said Pilkin when the glasses were empty, “it’s good to know that entre nous we’re still Bushi and Pilkin: never mind about that Professor Dr. Berger and the Rabbi Zohar stuff. So we have weathered the years! But now we have to turn to the awkward part of our reunion: the post mortem. You remember: we agreed to have it!”
“So we did,” I nodded, “why don’t you start?”
“No, Bushi: your work involves analysis – analysis of facts and cases. So it’s really your domain. I’ll step in if I’ve anything to add.”
“Very well,” I agreed reluctantly. “To start with, Pilkin, both of us have done well but neither has set the Thames – or the Yarkon, if you please – on fire!”
“Few have,” interposed Pilkin.
“Quite! Apart from that, each of us has a positive balance on his score sheet. You have done well in your chosen vocation and, in addition, have become a real pater familias: and a happy one at that. I’ve done well professionally. In circles of banking lawyers my name is known. But I have failed miserably in my personal life. The less said about my marriage and home life the better. So – all in all – you have come out on top.”
“How about the fact that my attainments are in-house – within the community – but you went from strength to strength in an alien society?”
“But mine, too, is a narrow circle. And as regards your rise, Pilkin, remember: nobody is readily declared a prophet in his own town. So, in a sense, yours is the greater achievement. Also, Pilkin, my success – if we call it that – is transient. Within five years from my retirement all my writings will be obsolete. If I’m lucky, my name will survive in footnotes in the works of future banking lawyers.”
“I shall be forgotten just as quickly; and without the honour of mentions in footnotes” grinned Pilkin. “But there is another side to our respective tales. You, Bushi, were trained as a lawyer and remained in the fold. I am a failed actor turned Rabbi!”
“But is it as simple as that, Pilkin? I’ve been wondering about this all the evening.”
“What d’you mean?”
“Is your spiritual role really detached from your original vocation?”
“D’you think I’m just acting a role?”
“Not necessarily. But are you now a Boibrick [ultraorthodox]? Do you really believe, verbatim, in every point you preach: in every detail you expound during catechism?”
“You know I don’t,” he conceded readily. “And I don’t accept the literal historicity of events related in the Bible. I haven’t forgotten what I picked up in TA.1 and at the University. But I do believe in the essential validity – and in the religious truth – of the message delivered to us in the scriptures. I always did.”
“All the same, you have to … stretch … points when you prepare your addresses. You can’t, for instance, tell your congregation you doubt certain details – if not the very historicity – of the flood.”
“Quite. But – you know – when I deliver my Drashe [sermon] I do believe in the truth of what I say: just as a good actor believes in the role he plays!”
“Care to explain?”
“A good actor, Bushi, identifies with his role. If the role does not appeal to him, he ought to avoid it. For instance, if you can’t accept Hamlet’s madness, you better give the role a miss. That, incidentally, is why so many actors play stereotypes: they can’t cope with other roles. Only the few great ones can make a success of almost any role. Lesser mortals have to find suitable ones. I, Bushi, was a good Tavyeh because I believed in him. I identified in him and actually became him. But I could not identify with Peer Gynt or Uncle Vania.”
“I understand,” I nodded thoughtfully. “And, of course, a good court room advocate, too, acts a role. We discussed this before!”
“How about a university professor?”
“Same thing. I don’t really believe in all the crap – rules and exceptions – I often have to cover in a lectures. I know the law is fragile and transient. But I, too, have to play my part.”
“So, in a sense, you play the role of the legal sage. I play the role of the religious oracle. The similarity lies in that both of us thrive on what we do. And we have the respective aptitudes and, of course, the necessary ‘faith’ in our respective calling and subject!”
“That sums it up neatly,” I agreed readily. “You, Pilkin, could have been a great lawyer!”
“I’d rather stick to what I know,” he retorted. But he smiled happily, cherishing the compliment.
2. Momentums
“Well, Bushi,” said Pilkin after a short pause in which both of reflected on what had transpired. “I’m afraid I’ll have to call it a day soon. I’ve got to leave early tomorrow morning.”
“Sure. I’ll stay around for a short while. I need to let my head clear. But before you go – here’s a small token of appreciation. I hope you’ll like it!”
“Thanks, Bushi,” said Pilkin, smiling broadly as he viewed the small package I brought with me. “Only I hope it’s alright if I don’t unwrap it now: it’s packed so neatly. But, please, tell me what’s in it.”
“It’s a collection of short stories, published privately. There are only fifty copies. I hope you’ll enjoy reading them.”
“What are they about?”
“My life at the Bar in Tel Aviv and some stories from my days in Singapore, Wellington and Melbourne. The illustrations are by a good friend of mine: he rose to the occasion.”
“Will you write a story about our reunion?”
“You know I shall!”
“Let me have a copy of the manuscript!”
“Sure will,” I promised.
“And here, Bushi, is a small gift for you,” said Pilkin and placed a small parcel, wrapped in gift paper, on the table. “It is hand-made, by a Bezalel craftsman whom I saw through when his wife ran away. Initially, when she left him, he was a broken reed. It took some time to nurse him back into sanity and equilibrium. When he was back on deck, he gave me a box containing three almost identical pieces and said he made them for me when he started to feel he was recovering. I’ve kept one, gave the second to Shosh when she had her crisis, and here’s the third, for you!”
“But what is it?” I asked.
“Please have a look at it tomorrow, after I’m gone. You’ll love it. And it will convey a message.”
“Thanks,” I said, “I still love every Bezalel piece I have. Their silver work is exquisite!”
“And this is special even for Bezalel. My friend is one of their top artists. And he put his heart and soul into the pieces he creates!”
Inserting the small parcel into my breast pocket, I shook my friend’s hand. “Take care of yourself, Pilkin!”
“You too, Bushi!”
“Till we meet again, then!”
“Indeed,” he agreed.
“Pilkin,” I stammered, suddenly out of control, “shall we perhaps schedule another – reunion? What do you think?”
“At our age, Bushi? Don’t you think this might be pushing fate or – in your terms – taking a chance?”
“True,” I conceded, sadly.
“But don’t look so glum,” smiled Pilkin. “Now that we have met again we’ll be able to schedule meetings whenever we feel like it!”
“Good.”
“And now I must really go!”
Rising to his feet, he proceeded, without looking back, to the door. Despite his huge frame and broad shoulders he was – as he supported himself on his walking stick – just another old man striving to retain his dignity, his independence and his self esteem.