Chapters (33)
Suddenly he felt disgusted with his linguistic niceties. Gulping down thick slices of bread and jam, sipping his second coffee, he said to himself: When the whole planet has been destroyed by atom bombs or hydrogen bombs, what difference will it make whether we describe it as a conflict, holocaust, doomsday, or a bloody war? And who will be left to decide which is the most appropriate description? So Baruch was right when he used the expressions “a handful of dust,” “a putrid drop,” “a fleeting shadow.” And the Likud member of parliament was right to recommend playing for time. Even the orgiastic radio announcer was right when she said that there were lessons to be drawn.
But what lessons? What precious light, for heaven’s sake?
The snows of yesteryear. The bones of yesteryear.
I’d hang the pair of them.
Look what they’ve done to you, stupid.
Your problem, pal.
So surely that is the root of all evil, Fima suddenly shouted, alone in his kitchen, as though he had received a dazzling revelation, as though a simple solution to the problem of jet propulsion on land had flashed into his head. That is the original sin. The Other Side is the source of all our misfortunes. Because there is no such thing as your problem, my problem, her problem, his problem, their problem. It’s all our problem. There, the Korean kettle’s boiling again, and if you don’t switch it off, it’ll go exactly the way of its predecessor. Who asked for coffee anyway? I’ve had two cups already. Instead of drinking coffee you’d better go back to the shopping center, because although you remembered to put a stamp on the envelope with the article in it and to put it in your pocket, you forgot to take it out of your pocket and mail it when you bought the kettle. What’s going to become of you, mister? When are you going to be a mensch?