Authors: Albert Cohen
didst dwell in the tents pitched at eventide in the plains of the valleys God who was worshipped at the rising of the sun by my fathers amid the clamour of ox goat and camel God of the storm and God of the whirling wind God the unforgiving God the chider Thou didst rain down brimstone and fire upon the cities of the unjust Thou didst crush the impure Thou didst cast down the evil-doer Eternal God who didst bring us out of the house of bondage Thou didst chastise Pharaoh with Thy mighty hand Thou didst perform great marvels Thou didst put aside the waters like an unclean woman that Thy beloved people Israel might go out Eternal God of my fathers with fire lit on their lips didst Thou consecrate the clamouring madmen that stood at the crossroads and shouted threats at kings and smote the mighty and roared Thy ordinances wrathful God of Israel God of my fathers who gave Thee praise dressed in gold and fine linen who did make Thee offerings of lambs and wheat and wine, but what can I do about it if I lack the innocent guile to call truth those things which comfort me nor am I sufficiently afraid of dying to need a paradise populated by irritating old women with moustaches who though spiritual are not alas invisible and praise the Almighty without end and cling to the hairs of His beard which He shakes with a toss of His head to be rid of them for He hates them, they say you've got it wrong there is no paradise no one bothers with paradise nowadays smart modern souls go to the hereafter, ah yes the hereafter I had forgotten, the hereafter inhabited only by invisible shades which have no flavour no smell no eyes to see nor lips to smile sorry wraiths bloodlessly floating, ah yes life eternal correct me if I'm wrong means that I shall apparently still be able to see though my eyes are pools of deliquescent slime, ah yes you're trotting out the good old invisible realities again, so very handy these realities which have the good taste to be invisible, and where do I stand in all this, and what am I supposed to do in the hereafter surrounded by invisible exhalations and puny charmless shades, I who am addicted to seeing and hearing seeing with real eyes of flesh and blood hearing with ears that are visible and fitted with Eustachian tubes, the way I see it I'll be more or less lost in the crowd in a set-up designed for souls I who love loving with my loving loved lips, and it would appear that in this hereafter my billions of thoughts and images and feelings for yes in these areas I am a billionaire will go on existing in the ether without any help from my eyes or the workings of my brain beneath the vulnerable shell of my soon-to-be-decomposed skull, so it seems that I shall see without eyes and love without lips, oh no the whole idea is barbarous and fantastical and childish, come let's discuss it seriously like grown men and not like quibblerians, now sexuality is a rather basic ingredient of the human personality and of what you call the soul, so where does this prime ingredient and its physical well-spring figure in your paradise and what happens to it in your hereafter where for obvious reasons angels cannot even sit down, and are not your vasodilators and vasoconstrictors the condition or cause of your excitements and affects and what is a soul without affects and what is meant by living without a body, I hear them protest but in such sweet tones with such pity for the vulgar upstart that I am and they speak to me of disembodied eyes and immaterial ears, but armour-plated by my obtuseness of which I am reasonably proud I say it won't wash with me for ears that aren't ears are hilarious nonsense and as notions go pretty feeble to boot, vulgar upstart you say, I'm only too happy to be vulgar, only vulgar people are afraid of vulgarity, so in a word gentlemen I simply do not believe all this nonsense about ears that vanish up some hey-prestoing conjuror's sleeve, oh yes I'm up with the latest thinking I know that the aficionados of the incorporeal state don't talk nowadays about disembodied eyes and immaterial ears they prefer to talk about an extremely genteel world inhabited solely by gaggles of unearthly presences that are neither fish nor fowl principles essences insubstantialities taradiddles the fundamental quality and attribute of which is to be non-existent, a very proper very smart very exclusive world where souls circulate safely without ever colliding innumerable intangible souls little diaphanous monsters the plenipotentiary representatives of their owners who have popped their clogs, a very fashionable refined snobbish world where there is neither seeing nor hearing but only spiritually being, but enough for I fear my wits will turn that's more than enough about invisible realities they stick in my craw cut it out away with the rotting stench of the fear of dying, they can think whatever they like let them believe that I'm an infidel that I'm spiritually far too illiterate ever to be at home with their subtleties, oh I see them so knowing but quite incapable of explaining anything to my squalid intellect, expatiating on forces and sources and emanations and fluids and tidal flows of spirit would that be all Madame shall I wrap them for you, expatiating on spiritual experiences which is the name they give to their autosuggestions, when faced by my gross materiality they are visibly embarrassed by an awareness of their own superiority of the loftiness of their spirituality which is never explained but invariably carries all before it, and this spirituality of theirs serves as an extra hot-water bottle and additional central heating and is an anaesthetic and an alibi too, this spirituality of theirs justifies injustice and enables them to reconcile a clear conscience with a private income, spirituality with a bank account, yes God exists but is so inconspicuous that I feel ashamed on His account, but this elderly lady assures me that He thaved her and that she ith conthtantly filled by Hith Prethenthe but what's the point of arguing with the poor old girl let's leave her in peace leave her to be happy another old biddy this one has a beard and the stubborn stern intimidating look of the obtuse informs me that there is a plan in creation and therefore a mind which devised the plan and that it follows that I should pay the author royalties on His handiwork let's leave her alone too, actually in their heart of hearts men don't believe in God all men including those who do believe in God and pious people about to embark for the hereafter are afraid of dying and much prefer the here below, O sweet seamstress of mine so patient so discreet shall I tell her my Rosenfeld story to entertain her no that's one to keep all to myself you see darling my Rosenfeld story isn't true at all there's no such person as Rosenfeld and I feel rather ashamed about the story which isn't true I feel guilty but I can't get it out of my mind I shall tell it to myself all of it leaving nothing out I've plenty of time because she'll be kept fully occupied for a couple of hours with my dressing-gown which I deliberately sabotaged pretty sneaky really but anyhow a. good hour .I've bags of time, here goes if you were to invite Rosenfeld something which you'd do reluctantly but let's say you had no choice that day when you met him for the first time if you were to invite him round for tea at four you could be sure he'll turn up at three or five wearing a dinner-jacket and escorted by various members of his family none of whom you know and none of whom you have of course invited, now describe the antics of Rosenfeld and company, the minute he arrives he makes straight for your grand piano and on it deposits little Benjamin who is six wears a miniature grown-up's suit and a dinky bowler hat which he makes no attempt to remove, Benjamin stands on the piano and immediately starts talking to you in English and Spanish and even Russian which he informs you is the language of the future and all the Rosenfelds swell with pride meanwhile Rosen-feld senior watches you like a hawk does not take his eyes off you trying to guess how you are reacting trying to see if you are admiring too, I can already speak four languages says Benjamin but I'll be even cleverer when I'm older because a command of languages shows what a man is made of'and helps you to get to the top with a car servants marry the boss's daughter wedding breakfast in a five-star hotel with smoked salmon and everybody wearing morning coats, then at a sign from his father Benjamin who is still standing on the piano sings a Hebrew prayer then a Swiss folk-song, hums a Russian dance and recites an unsolicited fable which he introduces in these terms And now I shall recite the ant and the grasshopper by our great French poet La Fontaine, and when he has recited it he asks which you like best Corneille or Racine and immediately argues with what you've said while his aunts read your personal diaries and laugh uproariously at the naivety of your jottings and then compare the prescriptions issued by your doctors and discuss your constipation which has emerged in the process and advise you what to do about it while the little sister who wants to show how clever she is and be admired too scrapes away on the fiddle she has brought for that very purpose and the thin oldest sister with the coal-black eyes flicks through the books on your shelves which she makes no secret of despising and then delivers a lecturette in a Romanian accent on Rimbaud who she tells your appalled mother was a young homosexual god or rather a yunk homosessual gott while placid Sara sixteen hair like shoe-polish and mountain-breasted makes periodic forays to the sideboard from which she takes a cream cake and leaning her elbows on the table and cupping her cheek in one hand like a fat Queen of Sheba nibbles the cake half-heartedly and says it isn't very fresh and promptly moves on to the sandwiches which she opens discarding the ones made with ham which she puts to one side for you whispering that Grandma mustn't know that there's pork because she'd be dreadfully cross and if you say that you have been very careful not to serve pork she shakes her head in a sceptical but placatory way and says yes yes yes or rather yay yay yay while Rosenfeld weighs up your cigarette-case in his hand to see if it's made of solid gold or just gold-plated tries to put a value on your carpets blows on his tea which he has poured into his saucer to cool before swallowing it to an earnest accompaniment of gurgles says it's not bad but it would be a lot better if you served it with cherry jam old man to sweeten it the thing to do is pop a spoonful into your mouth and take a quick swig he expresses surprise at your ignorance in the matter of tea raises his arms to heaven knocks over a large Chinese vase of ancient vintage says not to worry he's quite all right thank God and in any case the vase was very badly placed it was far too close to people what a peculiar idea to put it there and anyway who told you it was authentic it's a fake you can take that from me old man and while he's on the subject he tells you a boring story which amuses him immensely about a member of the Romanian cabinet who was a friend of a rabbi a really close friend you have my word on it may I lose the sight of my eyes if I tell a lie who even used to have the odd meal with the rabbi in his house so you can see he had a taste for kasha tzimmus cholent essigfleisch lokschen verenikas kneidlach very partial to anything like that was the Christian politician you understand, at which point he asks you if you believe in God and how much rent you pay for your flat which he says is very tasteful though it's a pity it has a view over that horrible backyard, and then he asks if you declare all your earnings to the taxman and if you say yes of course he smiles sceptically and says yay yay yay just like his daughter, then he asks you if you're a touch anti-Semitic or rather anti-Semitical and tries to get you to admit it with all sorts of friendly knowing conniving cheery kindly head-wagging encouragements and he rounds this off by saying that surely you have polyps in your nose and adenoids too which is why your voice is so flat and nasal and he mimics it and roars with laughter but since he has a kind heart he adds that you shouldn't waste any time but get it seen to by a surgeon whose address he lets you have no better still old man I'll put in a word with him myself and while you stand helplessly by in your own living-room which he has dismissed as being dark and as he says a bit tatty as you stand helplessly in your own living-room amid the debris of Chinese vases shattered by this stumbling fumbling gesticulating athletically ungifted family and while the younger members of the tribe read dog-ear and write all over your books Rosenfeld phones the surgeon embarks on lengthy negotiations over the price of the operation which he enthusiastically haggles down in a welter of chummy conspiratorial winks he tells the surgeon that you are a friend and friends are entitled to a discount yay yay yay a friend I think a great deal of because he's a gent but ha ha not much of a head for business not got much go a bit of a weak character really, whereupon his oldest daughter passes remarks about you and says sniggeringly that you are
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an introvert what are you talking about protests a cousin recently arrived from England he's an extrovert read Jung read Stekel read Ranck read Ferenczi read Karl Abraham read Jones read Adler rubbish he's a schizophrenic shouts Benjamin and the moist-eyed Rosenfeld looks on admiringly I advise a course of electric-shock treatment says a young Jacob in a shrill voice whereupon his father a Greek Jew who holds a Turkish passport glares triumphantly at Rosenfeld while his eleven-year-old offspring announces in the same shrill voice that next year he intends sitting the baccalaureate given the fact that my teachers have such a high opinion of me and after that I shall be the most brilliant student in medical school where I shall specialize in gynaecology which is a very lucrative trade because of all the deliveries involved but on the other hand I may very well decide to go into the French diplomatic service or the Turkish diplomatic service if pater hasn't yet got himself naturalized French whereupon Rosenfeld uninterested in the doings of everyone except his Benjamin picks up your phone and uses it to make a number of calls in the course of which he buys and resells a second-hand car while an obscure quarrel breaks out between members of the tribe and an old woman lets down her hair and ululates and Rosenfeld's brother-in-law plays your guitar and a child is sick all over your bed and his hysterical mother makes him a cup of herb tea while Madame Rosenfeld wearing a toothpaste-pink dress opens all your kitchen cupboards and passes remarks about how few provisions they contain and Great-Grandma sings in Russian that love is not a crime as she makes Romanian cakes in the kitchen and explains that she's doing it to teach your wife how meanwhile a female cousin with a face like an ibis and a great mop of hair gives lessons in personal hygiene to your daughter and unidentified relatives taste all the tonics and pick-me-ups in your medicine chest or try your aftershave and a woolly-headed infant pops up in the living-room yelling that the gas company is diddling you because the meter in the cellar which he has just inspected has definitely been tampered with and an aged forebear raves to you about the Old Testament in words which emerge from a beard as long as the fur-lined overcoat he has insisted on keeping on and various ladies wearing jewellery and carrying their shoes in their hands walk about unshod in clammy silk stockings and waggle their toes to rest their feet and complain about the heat which makes their tired little fat tootsies swell and one of them tells you that it's odd you should have chosen a house so far from the underground but obviously it's cheaper to live in an area as derelict as this and maybe you haven't got the cash to move to a better area don't talk rubbish exclaims Rosenfeld suddenly reappearing he's a lot better off than you think so there's no need to worry on that score maybe he's got more than me I'll make enquiries I have this friend who works in a bank but anyhow you needn't worry he's very well off but he's discreet I like a man who's discreet and he slaps you on the back so hard it makes you choke while young girls in green and yellow ball-gowns details of whose respective dowries he has whispered in your ear just in case noisily tuck into successive waves of oily Romanian cakes borne in from the kitchen by the beaming perspiring great-grandma assisted by mute but curly-haired cousins and a nonagenarian fans himself and chuckles inwardly at some obscure joke in the Talmud and a wrinkly-faced but young gnome rattles off incomprehensible Jewish stories which only he finds hilarious and all around you the mob drink noisily congratulate you on your breeding but criticize your plumbing and in particular the flush eat with lips greasy and mouths open and talk as they eat and talk only about themselves and they know everything and they scoff and patronize meanwhile a tiny wily hundred-year-old with a face like a kid goat and a rabbi's skullcap who locked himself in your bathroom the moment he arrived is using your Sandow Elastic Chest-Expander to tone himself up and develop his muscles at the expense of the Gentile whose bathing-trunks he unearthed and immediately put on and at intervals he trots into the living-room to show you his new biceps and makes you feel them makes remarks in Hebrew displays colossal vitality and showers heart-warming blessings on his swarming progeny while one of his aged sons splashes about in your scalding bath and fills your house with steam and singing and you are comatose by midnight when Rosenfeld who you invited to tea by himself suggests having a bite of supper old man we'll start with a vat of bortsch followed by piroshki or if you prefer maybe Pojarski cutlets which he pronounces cutterlets look lively old man don't be like that not saying anything nodding off you're a real sleepyhead come on perk up please we'll ask the womenfolk to see to it we'll ask your ladies and my ladies but my ladies will be in charge because my ladies are better at cooking which he pronounces cushion and we'll lend a hand we'll sing and you mustn't worry about a thing we brought everything we need with us salted cucumbers gefilte fish applestrudel tzibbele kugel nice chopped liver the whole works because it's good manners and we'll stay up all night chatting like old friends and you can put mattresses down on the living-room floor just like in Romania and Rooshia ah Rooshia before was much nicer we'll sleep like tops now you're not to worry the kiddies are used to it and it's no good being all down in the mouth and going all psychautomatic on me you might drop dead tomorrow so you've got to laugh and have fun and to encourage you to relax and cheer up he becomes very familiar and says shape yourself start getting your papers together so you can register which he pronounces rochester, but why in God's name have I told myself this ridiculous made-up tale which has no basis in reality why oh why because I've never met any such crowd of grotesques nor have I ever been present at any such masquerade on the contrary it has always been among my Jewish brethren that I have encountered human beings with the noblest hearts and the most courteous manners, why so fascinated by the minor eccentricities of the handful of Rosenfelds who do exist why did I exaggerate inflate give them such a free rein why did I join so willingly in the festivities oh yes it's because I am unhappy that I said all those horrible things which aren't true it's perhaps because I want to convince myself convince other people that I'm not a Jew like other Jews that I am an exceptional Jew to make it absolutely clear that I am different from those who are reviled of men because I make mock of them to let it be known oh