Five Seasons by A. B. Yehoshua Page B

realizing their error only by the door and halting there awkwardly, uncertain whether to sit down. But he made them, only then answering their questions, telling them a bit about the children and a little more about his mother-in-law, who was managing very well. “Rather too well,” he added with a smile, describing how healthy and independent she was: why, even her cane was just for show! They seemed to listen with interest, like the good and loyal, if somewhat dull, friends that they were. Despite his overoptimistic diagnoses, the doctor had been a great help to them in dealing with the hospital staff. Though Molkho had an urge to tell them about the phone call and to ask if they knew the woman who made it, he changed his mind at the last minute, not wanting them to think it gave him pleasure. When the two of them rose to go, he could feel the doctor’s wife being drawn back to the bedroom, as if she had a need to see it. It was dark and untidy, and his clothes were lying all over. “Why, it’s completely different,” she whispered in amazement after silently regarding it. “Yes,” sighed Molkho. “Even the bed is gone,” she added sadly, as if the least he could have done was continue sleeping in it himself. The doctor put an arm around him. “If you need any help,” he said, “just ask.” “I’m fine, really I am,” said Molkho, the thought crossing his mind that the man might want to buy the Talwin. Though something warned him it would make a bad impression, he wanted to be rid of the tablets so badly that he couldn’t restrain himself. “Just a minute,” he said, running to bring a box of them; he had thrown out all kinds of drugs, but this was brand-new, it had cost twenty dollars a box, perhaps the hospital might like to buy it at half price. The doctor weighed it in his hand, holding it at arm’s length while giving his wife a look that plainly said that Molkho had made a mistake. Hospitals, he explained politely, were not allowed to buy secondhand medicines, even if unopened, but if Molkho would give him a box as a sample, perhaps a private buyer could be found. “Never mind,” said Molkho, reaching out for the Talwin, which he knew he never would see again once the doctor took it. “Never mind. I’ll find a buyer myself.”
    He walked them to the street. A flood of light, as if the moon had been turned up to full amplitude, poured down from the cloudless sky. A solemn beauty filled the world. Now that they, dressed in their best, were about to vanish into the wonderful darkness and leave him all by himself, it was hard to part with them. And yet it irked him to be pitied. His unhappiness, he feared, would only alienate them more, and so on the spur of the moment, he told them about the phone call, concluding with a wry smile, “So you see, I’m already an eligible bachelor.” They didn’t smile back, though. The woman was aghast: “But how could she? How awful!” The doctor said nothing, regarding Molkho with curiosity. “And not even a month gone by!” added his wife bitterly. Wrathful and incredulous, she made him regret having mentioned it. Why, you would think he had secretly arranged that telephone call himself! Suddenly all the years of devotion to his wife meant nothing anymore, and he was being stared at as though he were her murderer.

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    T HE NIGHT GREW BRIGHTER and colder, and he slept fitfully, turning from side to side and waking up every two hours as though to boil water, to give an injection, to check the intravenous, to fetch pills or tea, to say something comforting—instead of which he went to the bathroom and then plunged back into his bed, over which loomed the triumphal moon while fresh, enormous stars drifted upward from the horizon. In the middle of the night, he turned the bed to the window to get a better view of the spectacular sky. His two youngest