1. Meandering About Life
As I relaxed over lunch in a booth table in the mountain establishment on the Riffelalp, I kept reflecting on the forty years that had passed since the days spent by Pilkin and me in Zermatt. Professionally, I had made it. Although I was not destined to develop into a court room virtuoso, it had not taken me long to rise from strength to strength in Jacob Keren & Associates. Initially, I had worked with Hannah Hod, the scion of an old Jewish family from Hamburg, who was a few years my senior. We won many of our cases and, in the process, developed a good, even if unromantic, friendship.
When Hannah took up the job of in-house counsel at an insurance company, I was assigned to work with Rachel Zeitlin, an attractive woman some seven years older than me. She used to live in Jerusalem but came down to Tel Aviv after her second divorce.
Rachel was a brilliant courtroom tactician whilst my strengths lay in working out the finer legal points of our cases and in spotting the dents in our opponents’ armour. In no time we gained the reputation of a formidable team. After one of our spectacular victories, we became lovers. My sporadic dates with Leàh, whom I had contacted a few weeks after the Zermatt trip, came to an end.
After a few months, Rachel brought our affair to an end. Shortly thereafter I left Israel and read for a doctorate in Oxford. Right from the start, my academic career went from strength to strength. An appointment in Singapore was followed by a Professorship in New Zealand, a better paid Chair in Australia and, eventually, by a return with my Chinese wife to Singapore. Late in life, on the invitation of one of my former students, I took the bold step of moving into private practice. My swelling bank account witnessed my success. So did my substantial collection of works of art.
I had less to boast of in my personal life. My marriage in Singapore to a Chinese educated girl was unhappy. After years of a strained relationship, no love or affection remained on either side. As both of us were insecure, we simply stuck together. In due course, work became both my escape and relaxation! It was only late in life – after a desperate attempt to salvage my marriage led me back to Singapore – that a friendship, albeit non-physical, with an attractive and highly intelligent woman half my age, brought a few rays of light into my life.
A glance at my watch told me it was getting late. Having settled the bill, I went back to the mountain train station on the Riffelalp. As I took my seat back to Zermatt, I started to meander on the period preceding my departure from Israel. I had spent these years in Jacob Keren’s firm in Tel Aviv. Pilkin was busy working on his Arts degree in Jerusalem. At the same time, he persevered with his efforts to find a niche on the stage. He had considerable success in comic roles – adding French characters like Tartuffe – to his repertoire. In contrast, his numerous attempts to excel in serious dramatic roles were not crowned with success. He appeared to have a knack for irritating high minded critics.
As Pilkin lived in Jerusalem while I was working in Tel Aviv, we saw little of one another during these years. Usually, even my day trips to the Law Library in Jerusalem were too fleeting to provide an opportunity for anything except a brief luncheon engagement in King George Street or a cup of coffee in the late afternoon in the Arts cafeteria. Our only other encounters took place in the weddings of mutual friends and in gatherings of our old classmate of TA.1.
None of these occasions gave us the chance for a heart to heart talk. Naturally, Pilkin and I were always glad to see one another. But I was, invariably, disturbed by my friend’s decline. The edge to his smile, the lacklustre of his eyes and his languid expression told their tale. A particular cause for alarm was his demeanour in the party given by Shosh and her husband to celebrate the circumcision of their first son. Pilkin, who used to be the heart and soul of each festivity at school, stood by himself in a corner. His face was set and he drank more than was good for him. Still, I experienced some comfort when he confided that, if he did not have a breakthrough on the stage in the foreseeable future, he would take up the post awaiting him at TA.1.
Some three months after that occasion, Rachel Zeitlin brought our relationship to its end. In public, I did my best to put up a stiff front. In the privacy of my own room, though, I felt that my world had caved in. Fortunately, I had by then become too experienced a hand to allow any pressure to interfere with my professional commitments. In consequence, my work did not suffer. But my existence in the office, side by side with an estranged Rachel, had become unreal.
Jacob Keren – whose harsh mask disguised a kind heart and sensitive soul – tried to smooth matters over for both of us. One of his ruses was to send me up to Jerusalem, whenever he found a suitable pretext, to carry out research required for complex files. Earlier on, I had been expected to take a train back to Tel Aviv as soon as I finished a project. After my fall, Keren encouraged me to take my time on each matter and, if necessary, take an afternoon off.
As the mountain-train sped through the Alpine landscape on its way back to Zermatt, I reflected on the sharp contrast between the everlasting magnificence of the cliffs and chasms and the impermanence of humanity. To me, the scenery appeared identical with the spectacular views that had captivated Pilkin and me forty years earlier. The mountains and the snowy cliffs were – and would remain – in their untouched primeval state. True, the persistent hand of Man had transformed the tracks here and there, had hewn fresh paths out of the rock and had erected new buildings. But the original planners and their workmen had been replaced by a younger generation, which in turn would give way to new men. Indeed, Pilkin and I, who had admired the same eternal view together – each with great expectations at heart – were by now reaching the other end of the tunnel. What had been a life-time to us, was but a fleeting moment in real terms!
2. Chat with Pilikin prior to my move to Oxford
A similar feeling of transience, of inadequacy, had engulfed me years earlier, in Jerusalem, when Jacob Keren’s kindness enabled me to visit Pilkin after I had sorted out a particularly tricky file. Pilkin was at that time sharing a flat on the outskirts of a fine suburb with some acquaintances. As he was not contactable by ‘phone, I had arrived unannounced.
“So it’s you,” he said as he opened the door.
“Who else?”
“Now, now: if I had to wait for your appearances, I should be a very lonely fellow!”
“Come, come, Pilkin: sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”
“Oh, very well then: so come and step into my parlour!”
As I sat down on one of the uncomfortable chairs in Pilkin’s ramshackle room, I was distressed by the sparseness of the dilapidated furnishings and by Pilkin’s personal appearance and attire. He was unkempt and unshaved and, despite the chilly weather, wore a shabby vest, a pair of untidy shorts and his bare feet were stuck into old sandals. Noting my apprehensive glance, he closed the window and switched on the electric heater.
“Thanks,” I said feebly, fastening my leather jacket around me.
“Don’t mention it. I hope you’re OK?”
“Of course; and you, Pilkin?”
“As well as can be expected. But, Bushi, what’s up? Such an unexpected call has a reason!”
“It has, Pilkin. I’ve come to say goodbye. I leave in a few weeks!”
“Where to? Vienna?”
“No, Pilkin: Oxford. I’m enrolling for a doctorate!”
“I thought you were doing very well in practice?”
“Well, I am – or was. But this is a new opening; and it’s coming at the right time!”
“The right time?” he mused. “Oh, I see: is it because Rachel Zeitlin and you have split?”
“How on earth do you know?”
“A little bird told me!”
“What’s her name?”
“Actually: the source is Rachel’s second ex: Ami Mor!”
“You know him? Isn’t he in the construction business?”
“He’s an architect. But his dream is to become a producer. So we’ve … common ground!”
“And how did he find out?”
“He still thinks of her!”
“I see!” For a few moments both of us were immersed in our thoughts. Eventually, Pilkin broke the silence. Looking at me awkwardly, he volunteered: “Bushi; if you want to tell me about it – go ahead. Only don’t you end up resenting me because you blabbered. It happened to me with other friends.”
“I’m not that perverse. And, yes: I want to tell you about it. I’ve kept mum up to now; and I can’t stand it any longer. But, first, tell me about yourself. How are you doing?”
“Not too well. You won’t see me on stage in Ha’bimah or the Kameri,” he replied with a shrug, referring to the two leading theatres of Tel Aviv.
“But you’ve done well as Polonius and as Falstaff!”
“In minor theatres; amongst amateurs! And the Kameri turned me down for Lennie! I wanted that role; wanted it badly! And have you read that review of my Uncle Vania?”
“It was unfair! We saw you. You were OK! Still, what’ll you do?”
“I’m giving myself another five months! If I don’t have a breakthrough, it’s back to TA.1!”
“Is this so terrible?” I asked, perturbed by his mournful tone. “Ben-Zvi, Frank and that Simple Simon were a happy enough lot!”
“I know, Bushi. I keep telling myself teaching’s a noble job.”
“Well?”
“But I want to be an actor! I crave the limelights, Bushi!”
“I know! But surely, Pilkin, a good teacher is a bit of an actor! Remember how old Klein used to draw hyperbolas and parabolas in front of him to make his points!”
“True. Still, teachers and lawyers use acting as a tool – not as an art in itself. And that’s what acting is all about!”
“But who can get everything he wants, Pilkin?”
“Have you ever taken a fall, Bushi? Do you know what it feels like?”
“I do know! I too have taken falls!”
“In you career?”
“Yes!”
“Oh! I thought you wanted to be a lawyer. And, Bushi, here you are – on your way to the top!”
“It ain’t that simple, Pilkin!”
“What d’you mean?”
“I wanted to be courtroom virtuoso, Pilkin – like Jacob Keren!”
“And?”
“I haven’t got it in me. My timing is bad and I’m too slow on my feet. My strength is in planning the strategy in tough cases and in booby trapping opponents. I’m good at that! Even better than Keren! But my execution is poor. So I’m bound to remain a support person. And there goes the great dream.”
“You were pretty good in our Josephus trial!”
“I was. It was my type of case: turning on unexpected points. And, Pilkin, I booby trapped your ‘corner’, and you didn’t anticipate such tactics. It’s different when the opposition expects them! I get flustered when they punch back! So I need a cool headed leader in front of me!”
“And for all appearances you remain the backup. Is this why you’re going to Oxford?”
“It’s one reason. And, of course, I’m a good researcher! Also … well … the split with Rachel. If she hadn’t sent me packing, I should have loved to stay on as her chief-of-staff. And I’ve taught myself to take pride in my role. Nobody wins a case without thoughtful – often ruthless – planning. So someone like me is just as indispensable as Rachel or as Jacob Keren! And so is a good teacher, Pilkin. We were lucky – very lucky – to have outstanding teachers in TA.1!”
“I get the drift,” muttered Pilkin. “You think I ought to join their ranks!”
“And you needn’t give up acting. You can teach and remain a prominent part-timer on stage. It’s a compromise – but not such a bad one!”
“Maybe. Beggars can’t be choosers!”
“You mustn’t look at it like that, Pilkin. Feeling sorry for oneself is poison!”
“You are right there. And a classroom full of admiring pupils is an audience – even if captive.”
3. Pilkin’s Analysis
“Very well, then Bushi,” proceeded Pilkin. “That – well – takes care of me. Now, let’s turn to yourself. What do you want to tell me? The split with Rachel?”
“Yes; and I want your … analysis!”
“But, Bushi, all I know about Rachel is what I’ve been told by Ami. And I’m sure he’s one eyed! And the only time I saw you with her was about a year ago. You came out of the cinema.”
“So?”
“So how can I form an opinion? I don’t want to talk from the top of my head!”
“But didn’t you notice anything?”
“Well. Anybody could see you were madly in love with her. And she was responsive!”
“Anything else?”
“Isn’t Rachel a bit older than you?”
“Not significantly!”
“How old is she?”
“In her thirties – 34, actually!”
“And you’re 27!”
“But she looks so young. And she’s young in spirit!”
“Maybe; but didn’t the difference in ages crop up in your conversations?”
“It did, rather. And I always told her it didn’t matter. I assured her again and again I’d be just as much in love with her in ten, in twenty and in thirty years!”
“I see. But, Bushi, what do you think led to the split? What happened?”
“I honestly don’t know, Pilkin. I was so happy with her, and I was sure she was just as happy with me. We had been living together for about a year and everything seemed fine; couldn’t be better. And then she told me leave. And I don’t know why. I don’t know why!” I had been trying hard to remain in control but, at this juncture, my resolve failed me. “I want to know why she sent me packing, Pilkin. I’ve got to know; I’ve got to know!”
Pilkin’s eyes opened wide as I blurted the last words in a trembling, shaky, voice. He had seen me in the grasp of severe attacks of Asthma and, on other occasions, fighting panic prior to crucial exams in TA.1. But in none of these ordeals had I lost the grip on myself.
“But Bushi,” he reasoned when the echo of my scream for help died out, “I told you already: I don’t know enough about Rachel to form a dependable opinion.”
“Can’t you try?”
“Alright. But you’ll have to tell me more about your liaison.”
“What should I tell you?”
“Just describe how you went through an ordinary day!”
“I always got up first, Pilkin. Rachel’s a sound sleeper and I’m an early riser …”
“I remember,” growled Pilkin, whom I had woken up mercilessly in Istanbul, to watch the daily opening-up of the Galata Bridge, and in Athens, to see the sunrise on the Acropolis.
“Alright, alright,” I retorted. “So you see: I made breakfast: Rachel loves porridge with a bit of sugar and a trace of cinnamon. And it takes some skill and time to cook it! When we finished, Rachel took her time over her toilette. So I washed the dishes. If it was a nice day we walked to the office. If it was cloudy she drove us over!”
“And then you worked together?”
“Only in the early and final preparation of a case. Generally, I did my research and opinion work and she handled the clients – took their depositions, prepared the witnesses and so on. But we always had lunch together!”
“And then you went back to work. Still, you returned home together?”
“Yes; but often we stopped in the supermarket, or at the grocer. We usually bought some sandwiches or Kebabs or some other stuff. In the evening we went out or just relaxed at home. And, Pilkin, Rachel has a good taste in wine: so on weekends we often drove to a vineyard. In summer we went for swims and sometimes I’d row us for a few hours on the Yarkon! I was so happy with her!”
“But, Bushi, don’t you think such an existence is claustrophobic?”
“What do you mean?”
“From what you tell me, the two of you were always together – day in, day out! Didn’t you fear it might be too much for her?”
“The thought did cross my mind. So I encouraged her to go out with old friends and to attend all kinds of functions like former school mates’ parties. And when she went to visit her mother in Jerusalem, I came along only if she asked me.”
“I understand. But whenever she came back there was a hot dish in the oven, or a bunch of flowers or a box of chocolates!”
“Of course!”
“I see. And what were your plans for her?”
“Well, I proposed to her, of course!”
“What did she say?”
“That she’d think it over. So I went on proposing; and she kept saying: ‘we’ll see later’.”
“Humph. But actually, Bushi, that’s not what I was after when I asked about your plans for her. What was the professional target you had in mind for her?”
“Well … I wanted her to be the first woman Judge on the Israeli Supreme Court. With me by her side she had every chance of getting there. I’m not exaggerating!”
“And you kept telling her this?”
“My object was to inspire her!”
“What was her response?”
“At the beginning, she treated it as a joke! Later on, she used to say: ‘too high a target, Eli, I’m not sure I want it!’ Occasionally, she just shrugged.”
“But you persisted?”
“I raised the subject from time to time: usually after a victory in court!”
“That’ll do, Bushi. I have a hunch. But, of course, that’s all it is!”
“Well?”
“A combination of factors. The difference in age; do you really think it didn’t matter!”
“It didn’t” I insisted.
“But any sensible woman in Rachel’s position would have feared the future. Human relations are fluid, and nowadays not too stable! And I do think your relationship was claustrophobic. More often than not women thrive when a relationship is very close and men hate it. But there are exceptions. Ami says she is very independent. Maybe she needed a looser sort of tie.”
“It is possible. But then – why didn’t she tell me?”
“Perhaps she lacked the courage, or didn’t want to hurt you. Love can lead to strange results!”
“Anything else?”
“Actually, two points. First, your ambitions for her might have frightened her! Tell me, Bushi – can she get there without you?”
“Not too easily. She’s not so good on the finer legal point. And I’m not sure she has the drive!”
“So your high target might have put her off?”
“She didn’t say so! At least – not directly”
“But indirectly?”
“Well – perhaps. And, Pilkin – what’s the second point?”
“Rachel has had two divorces. And Ami told me she had a liaison after her first divorce!”
“So?”
“How many girls go through so many relationships in less than twenty years?”
“To tell you the truth – I can’t think of any.”
“So isn’t it possible that Rachel Zeitlin is unable to maintain lasting relationships? Maybe she needs change or maybe she keeps things – I mean little resentments and irritations – bottled up inside for too long. When she can’t take them any longer – she walks out.”
“So it may be a pattern?” I observed after a pause.
“I think so! So stop flagellating yourself. I suspect the split was on the cards from the word go!”
Pilkin’s tone carried conviction. Even in our school days, he was renowned for keen insights. His objective perception lent support to his words. So did scenes from my life with Rachel, which flickered in front of my eyes as he spoke.
“Then, perhaps, it’s fortunate it happened now,” I observed.
“Why?” he wanted to know.
“Because I have the opening in Oxford. Do you think I should go?”
“As long as the move makes sense as a career decision. Plainly speaking: I suggest you make your decision without taking Rachel into account!”
“You think there’s no chance of winning her back?”
“Based on past and general experience – none!”
“That in itself is a reason for going!”
“No, Bushi; it isn’t! You musn’t ‘escape’. Of course, it’s no good for the two of you to work in same office after you’ve broken up. But I’m sure each of you can easily get another job in Israel. So don’t let the split affect your decision on Oxford. Do what’s best for your future!”
“There can be no doubt on that: Oxford presents a unique opportunity!”
“Then grab it!”
“I will. And thanks, Pilkin.”
“So, you see, we can still help one another. Well, when will you leave Israel?”
“The Oxford term begins in about six weeks. I’ll have to be there by then.”
“Which means we’re not likely to meet again before you leave?”
“True. But, Pilkin, how about a goodbye dinner before I take the train back?”
“Just have a look at these magazines while I tidy up,” he accepted warmly.
Despite the worn out appearance of Pilkin’s tee shirt, jacket and trousers, his neatly shaved face and tidy hair gave him a fresh look. As we made our way to the German Colony, I noticed that girls bestowed their glances on him rather than on me. Pilkin, I noted, was lost in his thoughts. During the sumptuous meal, we engaged mainly in small talk and in gossip about old friends. It was only when we enjoyed the delicious chocolate cake, that I took the courage to raise a point that kept bothering me.
“Pilkin, my experience with Rachel suggests that I’m not too good when it comes to the ‘fair sex’, doesn’t it?”
“Well?”
“Do you think it’s a trend I can break?”
“Time will tell,” he replied, shifting his glance and breaking our eye contact.
“Tell me the truth, please!”
“I’m not a prophet, Bushi!”
“But what do you think?”
“You do have a problem there. You see, Bushi, after we came back from Zermatt, you went out a few times with Leàh. But nothing came of it!”
“I didn’t think she was serious about me.”
“That’s where you are wrong. Leàh’s a worldly girl. She’s out for a good husband: a dependable chap with good career prospects, steady and not too hard to handle. You fit the bill. But you had no idea of what she was after!”
“I thought she was interested in you? You are far more flamboyant than I would ever be!”
“I may be. But that’s not what Leàh is after. She has had her fill of mere flirtations. She wants to settle down and start a family!”
“How’d you know!”
“I’ve teased her about it. You see, we went out together a few times just for fun and she kept asking about you, far too innocently, I’d say!”
“I’d no idea. But surely it’s only a one instance?”
“I can think of a few others. You see, Bushi, you admire ‘glamour women’. But – as far as I can see – you’d be better off with a plain wife who wants to make a career of her home and family. And that would suit you because your real existence is at work. In the long run, a glamour woman would be nuisance!”
“You are right. So what should I do?”
“It’s not easy to go against ones nature,” sighed Pilkin. “I’m a showman at heart: that’s why I hate the idea of giving up the stage!”
A brisk walk took us to the railway station. I sensed that Pilkin had no desire to accompany me to the platform. I recalled that in Zermatt, too, he felt the need to cut our parting short.
“Bushi,” he asked as I was about to take my leave, “did you tell Rachel Zeitlin about the opening in Oxford?”
“I did. She sent me packing a week later!”
“I thought this might be the case. You see, she must have concluded you should not miss the opportunity!”
“Do you think that’s why she broke off with me?”
“No, Bushi. But it may have prompted her to make her decision forthwith!”
“Something like the ‘last straw’ or ‘the point of no return’!”
“Quite! And this, Bushi, means that a ‘reconciliation’ – if that’s the words – is definitely out!”
“Coming to think of it, she said it was possible – even probable – I shan’t come back!”
“So Rachel knows you pretty well. And you should not dream of her when, after you’ve finished your research, you decide what to do. The question will be: where will you be happiest?”
“Do you think I’ll come back?”
“I tend to agree with Rachel. Remember, I told you as much in Zermatt!”
“I remember!”
“So remember also that we have a rendezvous! Even if we get out of touch with one another, don’t you forget our dinner in the Zermattschein! And, Bushi, I do hope you don’t mind if I walk back now. Lengthy partings are too sentimental for good taste!”
“I understand. So – if we don’t meet sooner – see you in Zermatt as arranged! And, Pilkin, thanks for everything!”
“Bye for now – my friend,” he said and walked away without turning back.
4. Getting out of Touch
My parting with Pilkin kept hovering in front of my eyes while the mountain train covered the last few miles to Zermatt. As I walked back to Pension Kegel, through the winding lanes of the resort, I reflected that Pilkin’s two predictions had come true. I had not returned to Israel and, during the years of my self imposed exile, we had got out of touch.
This apparent estrangement materialised gradually. Initially, during my years in Oxford and my first years in Singapore, I got news about him from my mother, whom Pilkin visited from time to time after he joined TA.1. I was relieved to glean that, right from the start, Pilkin proved an excellent and popular teacher. His success as an amateur actor was borne out by the numerous newspaper cuttings mother forwarded me.
A letter she wrote just before my departure from Oxford, referred to Pilkin’s marriage to Galya Hadar, a starlet in the Kameri Theatre. In a subsequent letter, mother told me Pilkin had been appointed one of the founding members of Israel’s Educational Television. Later still, she mentioned TA.1 had seconded Pilkin to this Channel for a two years attachment.
Shortly thereafter mother left Israel and joined my ailing father in Vienna. For a while, I got some scattered news about Pilkin from Shosh, who kept sending me cuttings respecting his performances. Then – to my disappointment – all information dried up. Notwithstanding my direct and indirect enquiries, neither Shosh nor any other mutual friends favoured me with news about Pilkin. It was as if a blanket of silence had descended to widen the gulf separating the two of us.
Pilkin, in contrast, was able to keep tabs on my progress. Throughout our many years of separation, I kept getting sporadic communications from him. Most of them were greeting cards, sent on festive occasions such as the Jewish New Year. Others were plain postcards. The majority bore Israeli stamps and a Tel Aviv postmark. Some, though, came from places as diverse as Acapulco, London, Marakesh, Madrid, New York and St. Petersburg. None of them set out his address.
Usually these cards were just dated and signed “Pilkin”. In only few did he add a message. For instance, shortly after my marriage, he wrote: “hopefully you will continue to deny the existence of the same God”. During my years in New Zealand, he expressed the hope that I had taken up the national art of sheep shearing, adding that rugby and cricket were too dangerous for a sedate scholar like me. Writing in a more serious vein after my transition to Melbourne, he reminded me that my new abode had a thriving Jewish community. He urged me to forge links with it. “Blood,” he exhorted, “is thicker than water and must not be diluted”. The only message I received after my return to Singapore, was a reminder of our rendezvous.
That Pilkin had not reneged on our arrangement was confirmed as soon as I arrived back at Pension Kegel.
“There is a message for you, Professor Berger. You are expected for dinner in the Zermattschein at 7.00 p.m. sharp. Please give your name to the Concierge when you arrive. He will guide you to your table.”
“Thanks,” I told her, unable to suppress a happy smile. “I’ll need a wake up call at 6.30 p.m.”
“Very well!”.