From the album of happiness 18

This article is published in number 7 of Vanity Fair on newsstands until February 16, 2021

I was sitting in Jaffa. On a bench facing the sea.
Before the last lesson of a writing workshop I’m always a little sad. Like it or not, pupils become attached to them.
Suddenly a woman with a pair of huge sunglasses approached me. And he asked me if I am who I am. I confessed.
I modestly bowed my head.
Ready to get compliments on my books.

She said: I don’t know if you remember me, I was your teacher in fourth and fifth grade.
His name came back to me.
It occurred to me that she was a witch.
It came back to me that he once made a fool of me in front of the whole class by commenting, after I asked to go to the blackboard to solve an exercise: I prefer someone who has hope of being able to solve it.
It occurred to me that she once punished me for daring to argue with her – I don’t remember what – by sending me to spend the whole hour in the boys’ bathroom.
I thought: it’s your chance, it’s still not too late to make him pay for it.
I said: how are you, teacher Eden? Glad to see you.
He said: you know, I’ve been thinking about you recently.
I’m glad to know, I replied. And thought: if he asks me for a dedication on a book, I refuse. Refusal, full stop. He doesn’t deserve it.
He said: of all the students I have had in so many years, you are the worst disappointment for me.
I? A lump tightened my throat. Really?
You had so many talents. You could have become a doctor. A scientist who designs rockets. You could have worked in high tech. And instead? This is precisely the problem of your generation.
What … what would be the problem of our generation?
You have too many possibilities. And this confuses you. It pushes you to make bad choices.
Sorry, but
If at least I wrote something valid.
Yup.
And then I don’t understand why you have to put an Arab protagonist in every book. Don’t we already have enough in reality?
I…
And tell me, kindly, why are you in Jaffa?
To tell the truth, I hold a seminar. Not far from here. I too became a teacher.
A seminar of what?
A writing workshop.
You cannot learn to write. It’s quack stuff.
I mean, I’m not sure I agree with you on this point. Anyway, if you allow me, I would like to ask you… what are you doing here in Jaffa?
It’s kind of you to care. My mother is dying. I assist you. It’s exhausting. I came here to rest a little. To calm me down. She’s a tough woman, my mom. Very hard.
I can’t imagine it.
By the way, how are your parents? Am I already retired?
Yup.
Your father was an attractive man. Very attractive.
It was and still is.
And tell me, do your parents always vote left?
To the left? I guess so. By now, however, even the center has become …
You must know that there are many Arabs here in Jaffa. Even those who don’t look Arab may still be. As soon as you turn your back they are ready to stab you. They don’t care if you support them in your books.
Ok.
As I always told you in class, if someone tries to kill you
Hit you first.
Oh, I see you remember something of my teachings.
How could I forget them.
Then maybe it’s good that we met.
Maybe.
How old are you? Forty? Forty five? You still have time to give up this nonsense of writing and find yourself a serious job. It’s not too late yet.

(Translation by Raffaella Scardi)

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