Very Little
Published in Issue #8 Translated from Hebrew by Ronnie Hope subscribe to unlock the full storyHe hadn’t spoken to him for a few years now. Not because they had quarreled or something, just because there was nothing close between them. They had even postponed this meeting already about eight times. In the end, it came out on a Tuesday afternoon. Exactly my busiest day. But I had to go, because he asked me so nicely, and he is my father—Menachem’s son.
When I got to the intercom door, I saw Menachem getting out of his car, stroking his whitening mustache and looking around. I thought I’d go and say hello and we’d go up to Dad’s apartment together, but he stood there for a long time, concentrating on the avenue of trees.
I didn’t want to disturb him.
I skipped up all the stairs at a run.
“I saw him. He’ll be up in a moment.”
“Where was he?”
“Here, downstairs.”
“Looking for parking?”
“He’d already found somewhere.”
“Near here?”
“Next to the building.”
“He say anything to you?”
“He didn’t see me.”
“So where is he?” Dad sat down and got up. “You’ll help me with him?”
I laughed. When he came in they hugged. The pat-on-the-back kind of hug. Me, he patted my cheek.
“So, this is where you live?” said Menachem, stretching.
“Yes,” said Dad.
“You know, it’s strange. This is the first time I’ve been in this street. It really amazes me that I didn’t know it before… what’s it called again?”
“Hatam Sofer,” Dad replied, the Seal of the Scribe, a famous work by a famous old rabbi.
“Oh, that must be the name of some writer, huh?” said Menachem,...
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