1. A Budding Actor
In most regards, my success at the trial remained a Pyhrric victory. In the minds of the public, a worn cliché – “there is no smoke without fire” – defeated the logical argument. Josephus’ reputation remained as tarnished as ever. All the same, the historical trial of the long deceased historian constituted a milestone in my career. Recalling it vividly during the dinner in Pension Kegel, some 45 years after the event, I concluded that the prelude to the great football match remained my neatest achievement as a lawyer. Single handed, I had won a battle that took place in an unsympathetic, even prejudiced, forum. Relaxing in Pension Kegel’s comfortable sitting room as I sipped a cup of aromatic coffee, I mused on the episode and on the major effect it introduced into my erstwhile lonesome existence: it cemented a bond between Pilkin and myself.
For before long, Pilkin became a regular guest in our flat in Melchett Street. Occasionally, he spent the mid-day break at my place and quite often came over in the evening for a game of chess, of dominoes or for a reading session. After a while, he confided that he had difficulties in memorising the ‘lines’ for his parts, especially when they came from older plays imbued with archaisms. Keen to assist, I started to rehearse with him. In the process, I noticed that Pilkin’s deportment was imperfect. Fortunately, Shosh took the same view. Within a few months, we helped him to smooth his rough edges out. But our tutoring had no bearing on Pilkin’s day to day life! Off-stage, he remained ‘the little elephant’.
During the long vacation following our second year in TA.1, Pilkin became an active amateur actor. He played the mayor in Gogol’s Country Inspector and the Malade Imaginaire and Volpone in Moliere’s plays. To the delight of his two most ardent admirers – Shosh and myself – he also excelled as Sir John Falstaff. But his ace accomplishment was the title role in Tavyeh the Milkman.
The performance of Shalom Aleichem’s classic in the secondary schools of our era had become as mandatory as the staging of Shakespeare in English public schools. Years before the play proved a box-office success in its musical version of Fiddler on the Roof, it had moved many hearts in Israel. Tavyeh’s courage, tenacity and versatility left their impact on Israeli audiences despite the hero’s absurd Yarmolka, his untidy Talith and his undignified attempts to fit into the hostile, uncouth, environment of the crumbling Russian empire.
In the play, Tavyeh’s traditional outlook is put to the test by his three daughters. He is scandalised but accepts his eldest daughter’s refusal to marry the wealthy widowed butcher to whom he had promised her hand. Grudgingly, Tavyeh gives his blessing to her betrothal to the poor Jewish tailor she loves. Tavyeh is dejected – even forlorn – when he accompanies his second daughter to the railway station, where she is to board the train to Siberia in the hope of rejoining her radical, exiled, Jewish fiancé. But Tavyeh’s philosophy fails him when his youngest daughter elopes with a Cossack. All attempts to mollify him fail until the entire Jewish community is expelled from the Stetl [village] in the course of a government organised pogrom. When Tavyeh spots that his third daughter and her husband are also leaving, he gives them his blessing.
I have watched performances of both the play and the musical on stages in Europe, in America and in Asia. Some shows were excellent, others just good and the rest indifferent. Naturally, the settings of dedicated theatres were superior to the props put up by our school. But although many renowned ensembles boasted excellent actors, none came up with a Tavyeh equal to Pilkin. Once he entered the stage, Pilkin ceased to be ‘the little elephant’ and metamorphosed into Shalom Aleichem’s hero.
During our last year in TA.1, Pilkin became a much sought after Tavyeh. He played the role in performances of other secondary schools, in shows put up by youth ensembles of our city theatres and on the invitation of political clubs. His success stood him in goods stead when he embarked on his two and a half years of military service. After the ordinary spell in the barracks, he was transferred to the pampered ‘entertainment corps’. He thrived and, in addition, incurred the envy of our lesser classmates, who had to slog their way through mundane and taxing army units.
2. Becoming a Lawyer
I alone had no cause for resentment. Due to my poor health and weak constitution the medical board turned me down. In consequence, I enrolled in the Faculty of Law in Jerusalem straight after my last year in TA.1. By the time Pilkin asked for a transfer to the Officers Training Corps, which opened the way to a career in the army, I had completed my second year of studies and, with my heart in my mouth, called on Jacob Keren.
To my delight, Keren engaged me straightaway as a ‘probationary cadet’. Thereafter I shuttled regularly between the Law School in Jerusalem and my tiny office at Jacob Keren & Associates in Rothschild Boulevard in Tel Aviv. In the process, I gradually developed from a starry eyed schoolboy into a young, down to earth, lawyer.
Pilkin and I met from time to time during these times of hope. On each occasion, he amused me with indiscreet tales about feats of the army and about his affairs with mysterious and only too willing girls. All in all, I was gratified by his general progress in the military and particularly by the praise lavished on his performances on the stage, such as his appearance as Schweik in the party given to celebrate the graduation of his group of trainee officers.
At the same time, I could not close my eyes to his limitations. Pilkin excelled only in dramatic parts imbued with a touch of irony or ridicule. He was lamentable as Mark Anthony in Julius Caesar, ruined Peer Gynt and failed miserably in his characterisation of Lennie in Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men. Another cause for concern was his inability to come to terms with secondary parts. Pilkin felt the need to be in the centre. Even when out of the limelight he sought to focus attention on himself. Initially, Shosh and I tried to reason with him but, after a while, realised that our protestations fell on deaf ears.
Pilkin’s eccentricity led to many raised eyebrows when he returned to the army’s entertainment corps as a two stripped officer. To my dismay, Shosh confided she had heard talk about his imminent transfer to a less prestigious unit. Events, though, took an unexpected turn.
3. Pilkin’s Heart Attack
One morning, when I was trying to unravel a legal problem in a complex case, I was startled by the ominous bellowing of the telephone. Preparing myself for the onslaught of my impatient employer, I picked the receiver up with trepidation. To my surprise, it was Shosh.
“Eli, haven’t you heard about Chayim?” Shosh aspired to rid our ancestors’ ancient tongue from alien implants. So she disowned nicknames, like ‘Bushi’, that ‘did not sound right’.
“Did anything happen to him? Not a shot gun marriage, I hope?”
“That’s not funny, Eli! And no – nothing like that. Chayim had a heart attack a few days ago!”
“What?”
“So you haven’t heard about it!”
“I wouldn’t be here if I had,” I let my annoyance show.
“Well, yes – I know. But of course one can never be sure. We haven’t seen much of you lately!”
“How did it happen?”
“They had a wild party: plenty to drink and I don’t know what else. And next morning they had to take him to hospital.”
“Where is he?”
“In Jerusalem, in Hadassah – he came up from Ramleh to see some chaps from the theatre!”
“How did you find out?”
“I’m spending a fortnight with Uzi’s family. One of Pilkin’s pals rang me.”
“I’ll call you from the Jerusalem this evening. I’ll be there at about 6.30.”
The ward had a synthetic aroma of hygiene. Everything appeared tidy, neat and well managed. Pilkin, alas, looked haggard. His cheeks were sunk, his eyes lacklustre and his hair was unkempt and untidy. The lower part of his enormous, immobile, bulk rested on a large air ring placed above the mattress. Gone was the ‘little elephant’. Lying in front of me was a felled bull.
As I entered the ward, Pilkin’s gaze was fixed, dejectedly, on some invisible object on the ceiling. When, eventually, his glance shifted to me, he nodded and a ghost of a smile descended on his pale, dispirited, face.
“So you have deigned to come over, Lord Bushi – at long last?”
“I found out only this morning, Pilkin. Shosh rang me.”
“Hope the toll call didn’t bankrupt her!”
“Come off it, Pilkin! You’re behaving like a spoiled brat!”
“And suppose I am?”
“Bitterness hurts the sufferer – how often did you tell me this?”
“Often enough,” he muttered. “But just now I can’t get over it. It’s all so monstrously unfair!”
“It probably is; but – then – who said life’s fair?”
“True,” he agreed sadly. “And, Bushi, I didn’t mind the pain; the helplessness; the nuisance of having to lie still; and the smell of the ward. I can handle these.”
“What then?”
“I can’t go to the ‘loo! They put a pan under me; and then they carry it out; pfui!”
“Don’t be silly; you are in a hospital.”
“I know; but it’s humiliating!”
“It’ll soon be over. You’ll be out, well and kicking before long!”
“They’ll keep me here for another two or three weeks. And then I’ll be housebound for two or three months. David and his friends will have to carry me upstairs when I’m back in Tel Aviv. And it’ll be years before I can run up the stairs again! I’ll have to climb up like a zombie.”
“That’ll be a nuisance; but – at least – you’ll be free to come and go,” I consoled him.
“I suppose that something!” he retorted.
For a while I sat silently beside him, having nothing to say. When the silence became oppressive, I asked with trepidation: “What will you do when you are out of here? But I suppose there’ll be time enough to think of that?”
“I think about it all the time.”
“Well?”
“I’ll have three options: the army will not offer me a permanent job but I think they’ll give me a year or two on probation, to see how it goes. The pay’s quite good but I shan’t accept: the army is for the well and fit! Another opening is TA.1. They’ve asked me to come back as a teacher. Enrolling in the Teacher’s Training Course is a pre-requisite. But the three years scholarship I’ll get on my discharge from the army will see me through. It’s a quite an attractive opening!”
“When did they ask you?”
“Last year. But I’m sure this business makes no difference!”
“So you’ll accept?”
“No, Bushi. My scholarship is OK for three years at the University and I can give some private tuition to see me through the rest of the course. This way I can study art and get ready for a career on the stage. And that’s what I always wanted!”
“So that’s what you’ll do?”
“Precisely!” He replied in a changed tone.
“Wouldn’t it be safer to enrol in Law, Accountancy or perhaps Architecture?”
“But I’m not interested in that stuff!” His animated voice, eager expression and determined air brought a smile to my face. Just for the moment he was – once again – my Pilkin of old!
“I’ll cross my fingers for you,” I assured him.
“Thanks. I’ll need all the support and luck I can get!”
Some three weeks later Pilkin was transferred to his mother’s flat in Tel Aviv. His recovery took time. Initially, staircases were proscribed. For some two months he was housebound. Then, gradually, he started to take one set or stairs down from his mother’s apartment on the 4th floor and climbed back. After some three months he was once again mobile. Still, he had to walk slowly and, I noticed, had to hold on to the rails whenever possible. It was clear that the heart attack had taken its toll.
During the entire period, I visited him regularly. Frequently, I brought some books with me. In addition, I cheered him up by telling him news about my office work and by relating gossip about former classmates.
4. Dreaming Beyond Revovery
It was during one such visit that Pilkin came up with a grand idea. To start with, he pointed out that, all in all, we were untravelled, even parochial. Trips to distant lands, such as India, were unfortunately beyond our means. But he thought that a trip to Europe was feasible. Italy and Greece were his priorities.
“Also, Bushi, I want to see Turkey?”
“Eh?”
“It is the corridor leading from the Middle East to Europe. And, Bushi, Istanbul must be fascinating. Think about the Haga Sophia. Originally built as Byzantine church, later on turned into a mosque and – in modern times – into a museum.”
His words convinced me. I, too, wanted to see the places discussed by our History Master. Pilkin added that, in addition, he wanted to watch overseas theatre performances. In this respect, Paris and London struck him as the most suitable places. I, in turn, told him I wanted to visit my father in Vienna.
Pilkin realised that his proposed trip would be expensive. We should have to save hard for at least two years. All extravaganzas would have to be dropped in the meantime. Once we had put aside enough cash, it would be time to go.
“But how about your health?” I asked with unease.
“I’ll be fine in a few months, as long as I don’t overdo things and take care of myself. And I sure will! I want to see the world, Bushi!”
“It involves a risk, Pilkin.”
“I know. But I won’t let this silly heart attack curb my life forever.”