Summer 1995 • Vol. XVII No. 3/4 European Voices |

Post-Prandial Conversation

Abba Jacob said: I'm sorry; I forgot. I'm always forgetting things. The Wednesday morning mass, for instance. It's an early mass, right after my morning prayer, and sometimes I forget myself so deeply I'm late, or I don't make it to mass at all. It's happened so often the parish councilhas suggested the police might fetch me every Wednesday, with flashing lights and sirens. I've always been a bit absentminded. When I was in England I once invited a friend's mother, an old lady as absentminded as I, to lunch in my flat. On the date of our engagement I forgot, and went out. She remembered the date and time and the numbers of my address, but went to a house on the next street over. She knocked; there was no answer. She assumed I'd ducked outand would return soon with something I'd forgotten: chutney, perhaps. She tried the door, found it unlocked, and went in to wait. Meanwhile, gazing from a bus window, I suddenly remembered. I jumped off the bus, ran to the nearest florist, and bough

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