Alice Shalvi - Never a Native

T HEY SIT SIDE by side on a sofa, a glimpse of its carved headboard and brocade upholstery forming a background bridge between them. Both are looking directly at the camera. He is handsome and well-groomed: a high forehead; hair, already slightly receding, neatly parted on the left; a small, carefully trimmed moustache just above the bow of his upper lip. His dress is formal and festive: a dark suit, white shirt with high, stiff collar and white bow-tie. His arms are folded across his chest; his left hand is tucked into the crook of the right, the right barely visible among the folds of his left sleeve, as if he were hugging, or restraining, himself. A whole man, self-confident, complete, with a sense of occasion.

She sits to his right, wearing a simple scoop-necked dress with elbow-length sleeves, devoid of any ornament. Her bosom is soft, uncorseted. Her thick dark hair, combed softly back from a high forehead, frames the upper part of an oval face. Her head tilts slightly to the side, like a startled bird. Her large, dark eyes, pupils like black buttons a focal point in the picture, are sad, beseeching, a contrast with his almost expressionless impersonal ones. Her mouth curves gently upwards, wistful, shy, perhaps attempting a smile. Although she, too, is looking directly at the camera, she leans slightly forward, her body half turned towards him. Her left arm, an echo of the curved carved back of the sofa, is concealed, from the elbow down, behind his back, as if she felt a need for physical contact, for reassurance. Her right arm lies across her body, the curled hand resting gently on her lap. His firmness and self-assurance form a sharp contrast with her hesitancy and need for contact. It is a picture not so much of a couple as of two people.

These are my parents.

Innumerable questions arise, doomed never to be answered. When was the photograph taken? It could hardly have been on their wedding day, since on that occasion, attended by numerous family members and recorded in one of the wide-lens photographs of the period, she wore white. Is this an engagement photo? I know, from an invitation that has been preserved, that a month before the wedding there was a party at my grandparents home one Friday afternoon to mark the signing of the marriage contract. Is the simple dress she is wearing the one she brought with her from her impoverished post-war home in Galicia, her only one, which she laundered once a week?

My fathers sisters didnt welcome her, although she was their cousin. They were, and forever remained, of the opinion that he could have made a far better match with one of the more elegant, wealthier, self-confident young women who had displayed an interest in him. Perhaps there was some truth in their claim that he was marrying her out of pity, having met her for the first time a year earlier, in 1919, on his way back to Germany from captivity in Russia (where he had served as a medical orderly with the Austro-Hungarian army). He was, indeed, a very compassionate man, quite capable of self-sacrifice. Were these the grounds for her insecurity, her need for reassurance?

They had, on the whole, a good marriage, despite the extreme contrast in personalities he a dyed-in-the-wool optimist, she an eternal pessimist. They quarrelled a great deal: she contended that he was too immersed in his communal voluntary activities, too liberal in donating his hard-earned and not always plentiful income. Extremely generous by nature, he was easily moved to charitable deeds. She believed that charity begins at home, though she never turned away any of the beggars who came to our door, often inviting them in to partake of a bowl of soup and a slice of bread. Yes, they quarrelled, but he once assured me that this did not mean that they didnt love each other.