Authors: Yoram Kaniuk
Yours ...
After Sam's premiere performance, there on the stage covered with
thousands of pairs of shoes while a gigantic heart pounded metallically
and three actors fought some war against themselves, Rachel Blau decided to reveal to her son who Sam Lipp was and who Lionel's father
was. Her husband told her: Why is that so important? I'll take care of
everybody and if Sam wants theater and Lionel wants to write stories, let
them. Rachel didn't argue with him. She took the subway because she
didn't know how to drive and didn't want to waste money on a taxi.
When she came out of the station, she fainted. People who from now on
would look alike to her took her to a nearby hospital. Nuns dressed in
white laid her in a narrow bed, above her hung a big crucifix and below
burst the melancholy cold sound of the nuns' singing. When Lionel came,
she smiled at him and thought he was all the people she had seen before.
She was transferred to Mount Sinai Hospital but her condition didn't
improve. Lily took Lionel's hand and then touched Rachel. Rachel didn't
know who they were anymore. She turned to Sam and spoke Polish. She
muttered and suddenly fell silent. Her face contorted and Sam told her
in Polish: Regards to Rebecca Secret Charity. Lily said: She'll recover,
but everybody knew she wouldn't.
A week later, the play of the shoes closed and the reviews came in. Sam
listened and was silent. Then he said: The play was no good, but I know what I want and what I want will take time, but it will be better. He came
home and saw Lionel and Lily sitting with dictionaries in their hands and
Lily was editing an article for Lionel for The New York Times. Sam looked at
them and glanced again at a story that Lionel published in Harpers, and
said: I'm a wretched creature, Lionel, a creature others die for, Ebenezer
recites them, I'm not an expert in writing stories, in your articles you're
wise and smart, so you succeed, but the heroes in your stories aren't wise
like you, and that's not good.
The next day, Lily found a letter. Sam had sent the letter with a
dog he rented in a shop of postal dogs. The dog knocked on the door and
Lily opened it. There was also a bill and she paid it, patted the dog,
and it wagged its tail and left. The money was in its mouth. The letter said:
Lionel, here's a list of materials to weave your poems;
twenty-one thousand synagogue curtains, seventeen tons of
brown and black hair, six tons of blond hair, two tons of silver
and gold teeth, eight million pairs of shoes, one million six hundred thousand pairs of earrings, two million three hundred
thousand silver candlesticks, two million little Havdalah towers
of silver and other metals. Two tons of diamonds, thousands of
kilometers of train travel, coal for the trains, track repairs, employment of train workers. Thousands of kilometers of barbed
wire fence and coils, thousands of tons of gas, bullets, spades for
burial, crematoria, one million five hundred thousand used
beds, factories, shops, research institutes, fur hats, granite hats,
felt hats, cloth hats, wool hats. Dental crowns, phosphate from
bones, fat for soap, cooking ovens fit for use, cars! Silver, dollars,
marks, zlotys, francs-together, more than three billion dollars,
machines, presses, stockings, overcoats, carpets, works of art,
luxuries, etc....
I hired the dog who brings this letter from a shop on Fourteenth Street because he looks like Ebenezer. Calculate the
burials, the killings, the fear, the frozen feet, the time wasted
rewriting and writing every execution, spying, axes, chamber
pots. Does the energy really get lost, Lionel, if all that is later
turned into a book of tears hidden by Jews in cellars?
Tape / -
The Lamentfor the Death of the Jews was written over a year. Lionel revised,
corrected, rewrote, and then, when it snowed nonstop for three straight
days, the first chapter of the Lament was published in The New York Times.
It was based on statistics. Reactions were immediate and excited. By the
time the snow melted, Lionel had been interviewed on television and had
signed a contract with Harper and Row. A few days before Christmas, Sam
brought home a fir tree he bought on the street. Lionel, who was concluding a phone conversation with his new agent, said: Why on earth a tree,
Sam? Got to be, said Sam, I'm fed up with cemeteries. I searched for life
in zoos and I studied beautiful and natural death in the Museum of Natural
History, I know how living creatures turn all dread and hostility into ceremony. A Christmas tree is also a ceremony. They hate together, love together, forgive together, kill together. Lily said: A beautiful tree, Lionel,
and everybody has trees.
Not me, said Lionel. Rachel is still dying in the hospital. Saul Blau
would bring shirts, and in pain at his wife's condition, he started in his
mind's eye to dress his hungry children in all the shirts their parents, may
they rest in Paradise, didn't have. Sam already had seven hundred sixtyseven shirts and didn't wear even one of them.
In London, the section that appeared in New York was published. Criticism was excited there, too. Dead Jews are excellent material for artistic
success, says Sam, the death of a Jew works today, and Lionel who had
turned into a success story, written up in Time, felt crushed, borrowed from
Sam, incomprehensible to himself, humiliated.
Lionel didn't think all that was happening to him, he said: Jesus was a
tremendous success story and he started believing that things were again
happening to Sam, and Sam-dammit-won't put up a fir tree in my room.
Sam came out of the subway station. In his hand he held the hand of a
tall girl. Her name was Licinda. Once they had studied acting together.
When they acted an improvised piece and he called her Melissa, he was
filled with a wave of warmth he had never felt, and then he mocked her and
said how tall and shrewd she was. Maybe that's love, Licinda said then
and he laughed. Licinda had long hair as smooth as silk. It was light brown
and looked like a cascade. A rather nervous laugh was sketched on her open face by tormented nerves. Sam and Licinda walked in the dirty melting
snow and bought wine and flowers. Loaded with shopping bags, they went
down the steps and entered the house. Lily said: Sam brought a girlfriend
with flowers and wine. Lionel saw the shy but aggressive laugh on Licinda's
face and wanted to hug her as an old acquaintance. Lily took off Licinda's
wet coat and gave her some hot wine and together they stood in front of
the fireplace. Big logs wisped thin smoke and spread a pleasant warmth
in the room, and Sam asked Licinda to help him. Lionel sat down in the
brown easy chair, put on the new eyeglasses he had started using a few
months earlier and wasn't yet used to, and Lily asked, What are you doing,
and Sam said: Trimming the tree for Santa, Lionel. Lionel said: That's
stupid, and Lily said: Lionel, your son wants a fir tree so let there be a
tree, and Lionel said: He's a grown-up now, my sons die in private hospitals in Pennsylvania and don't put up fir trees in my apartments. They
didn't respond, even though they saw Lily turn pale but recover immediately and they stood the tree in a box of sand, reinforced it, Licinda
took out the ornaments that Sam had bought before and the chain of small
lights she had hidden in her purse. Lionel asked: What exactly is your full
name? And she said, My full name, Mr. Grumpy, is Licinda Eliot Hayden.
Lionel said: His grandmother is dying and he puts up a fir tree! Licinda
tried to help Lily put up water and make coffee, but Lionel got up from his
easy chair, took a bottle of scotch out of the chest, poured drinks, added
ice, and gave one to Licinda. She understands that better than coffee, he
said angrily. Sam hung the chain of lights and plugged it in. For a moment
the lights shorted out. They saw themselves as demons in the light of the
red stumps of wood blazing in the fireplace. Sam fixed the broken light,
fixed the short, and a pleasant light spread in the room. Lily went to Sam
and gave him a cup of black coffee. He stood next to the tree he was
trimming, drank the coffee as Lionel, Lily, and Licinda drank scotch and
turned on the radio. Christmas songs were playing on the radio. He hummed
the songs to himself, and Lionel said: Lily, light Hanukkah candles. Lily
said: Not me, and not you either. I'm just a wasted father, said Lionel, I
didn't teach you anything. Sam laughed and said: What I've forgotten you
won't have time to learn. And then he added: You're too sentimental,
Lionel. You're able to yearn for things that never were. I'll tell a story: A
man married off his son to a woman. He made a banquet for his friends and when they had eaten, he said to his son, Go up to the attic and bring us
wine from the barrel that's kept there. The son went up to the attic,
went to the barrel, was bitten by a snake, and died. The father waited
and the son didn't come down. The guests ate and the father went up and
saw his son thrown dead between the barrels. He waited until the guests
had eaten and drunk and finished reciting the blessing, and he said to them,
Gentlemen, you didn't come to recite the blessing of the bridegrooms today,
but the blessing of mourners. Not to bring my son to the wedding canopy
did you come, but to put him in the grave.
Lily said: That's not Sam's voice, that's Ebenezer's voice. Licinda, who
didn't want to understand and was frightened, said feverishly: What difference does that make? And Sam said: Christmas or Hanukkah, the main
thing is that we're happy because I found myself a nice and wonderful
woman and so cruel that her name is Licinda Eliot Hayden.
Licinda went to Sam, kissed him on the mouth, and said: It seems I love
this man, and then she sat down in a chair, stretched her legs to the fire,
and let the warmth enter into her until she felt the warmth suffocating her
crotch and she started weeping. Sam asked her why she was weeping and
she didn't answer, waited until the tears dried, and then asked if it really
was allowed to sing Christmas carols in this house. Lionel said, No, but
Sam said, Of course, and started to sing himself. Lily softly hummed "The
Star of Bethlehem" and Licinda tried to sing but couldn't, because the
tears moved from her face to her throat and Lionel, who wanted to lecture
to her about the history of the Jewish people, decided to give up, shut his
eyes and sank into a doze of weariness, which he later claimed was a characteristic result of his advanced age. Sam said: Safer to sing the songs of
the winners, Lionel! But Lionel was already asleep, and Lily said: What the
losers never understand is that there really aren't any winners in the world
... And Sam looked at her, put on his coat and went out. Licinda watched
him go, and Lionel who woke up saw the door shut, and said: Don't pay
attention to every word he says, and he fell asleep again, but Lily said:
Listen to him, he knows something none of your friends knows. Licinda
shut her eyes, licked the little bit of whiskey still stuck to her lips, held her
hand out, and Lionel, who opened his eyes again, held out a tired and shaking hand and poured her another drink. She poured the whiskey into the
fire and brought her hand back to gesture a request.
No, no whiskey, she said and covered the mouth of the glass with her
other hand. Lily went to the bedroom and came back from there in a white
dress. Her hair was disheveled now. Sam, who came back with two bottles
of wine, saw two angels standing next to the fireplace. He uncorked one
bottle, poured into Licinda's empty glass, and also poured for himself, and
after they drank, he said: Blessed art Thou 0 Lord our God King of the
Universe who commanded us to light a Christmas tree, amen.
And then, when Licinda sat down, he ordered her to stand up, his voice
was metallic and coarse. Lionel poured himself another glass of whiskey,
this time without ice, and drank it without putting the glass down until he
turned pale. Church bells were heard in the distance and Licinda started
humming "Silent Night." Sam hugged Lily, put out the colored lights, and
said: Lionel, sing something. Lionel asked: Sing what? His voice sounded
of blood with an edge of whiskey. A song of thanksgiving to the god of
Licinda and Lily, said Sam. Lionel said: I'm too drunk, and he fell into the
easy chair. Sam said: Too bad I don't have nails. Lionel opened his eyes,
took off his glasses, and looked at Lily. His face was impassive; Licinda
looked drunk. Sam turned off the light again and plugged in the colored
lights, Lily glowed against the dark tree. The branch moved, the electric
lights went off and on, and Sam said: We're celebrating today one thousand
nine hundred sixty-two years of His birth. Licinda tried to applaud, Lionel
wanted to get up, and when he did, he slapped Sam's face, but Sam didn't
react. Licinda said: That's beautiful, God! That's beautiful ...
Advertising jingles were played on the radio. Lily released her hands
from the tree, and Sam said: Two demonesses, he laughed and was sad at
the same time. Lionel suddenly looked sad and gnarled. Sam said: The
hangwomen look beautiful in the home of the hanged. Else Koch had a
dog, his name was Man. Lionel, who muttered vague words, looked at the
two women.
Licinda said: I met Sam when he did the play with the shoes and I'm
scared ... Lily said: Welcome to the home of the urban hangwomen. For
the sake of argument, I'm Else Koch and you're the woman named Frieda
with a white band on your arm trampled to death b y a gigantic dog ..
Two hours after the birth of their messiah, when heavy snow started
falling in the window, Licinda fell asleep in her chair. Lily stood fascinated
at the tree and her eyes measured its beauty unlike the snores of Lionel, who firmly refused to admit that now that he had become a well-known
poet, he started snoring. The light goes on and off. Sam pees sitting down
on the toilet and forgets to get up, and then begins the event that Sam
later called "the four lost years." None of them remembered exactly how
it happened or what caused the years to disappear, but four years passed.
Life flowed on the side, as if on another planet, Lionel published more and
more chapters of the gigantic poem (seven hundred seventy-five pages)
about the death of the Jews, Licinda came and went, there were months
when she was apparently not there and Sam missed her or perhaps didn't,
none of them remembered exactly. And then she came back and maybe
she really wept as it seemed later. Sam hugged or hit her that time she
remembered extremely unclearly as the day she broke the glass where
Lionel collected the tears of angels. He was drunk and slept hugging the
scrap of cloth of Sam's mother's dress and Sam was watching him. Other
events took place: international or national, elections, one president fell
and another was elected, thieves were arrested and one murderer drank
the blood of his victim, the newspapers with Lionel's articles or articles
about his poems were published regularly, none of them filed the oblivion
precisely. Somebody, maybe Lily, said: Maybe we invented a machine of
oblivion, but then they forgot they said that. A fortune teller Licinda may
really have visited said: You're in love with a shadow; the man you live with
doesn't exist, or he lives far away from here and Licinda was scared and ran
away from the fortune teller's dark house and Sam staged plays, chose a
group of actors and somehow, along with oblivion, as if in a dream everybody dreams together, united a troupe of actors, an auditorium was found
at a university, they worked on the body, soul, and dialect of actors, Lily
managed the house and the lives of Licinda, Sam, and Lionel, discovered in
dictionaries words that were also forgotten, Sam was so immersed in forgetting that he once spoke for a long time in Yiddish with Licinda, and after
years when the invention of time stirred ancient echoes in her, Licinda said:
That's funny, Sam, and she started dreaming about people she had never
known and who maybe really were her forefathers. The invention of extinct
time wasn't a secret. An important poet claimed in an interview he granted
one of the newspapers that Sam Lipp dictates his poems to Lionel from
documented dreams filed by a Jewish magician who learned nine million
words by heart and would recite them in seedy nightclubs.