The Death of Baseball

by Orlando Ortega-Medina

  “Does Abba know about this?”

  Savta looks at Raphael for a moment. “Of course he knows, motek. We speak on the telephone every day.”

  “He never mentioned it to me.”

  Savta lifts her shoulders in a vague shrug. “He didn’t want to worry you, I suppose.”

  “If I knew, I would have come sooner.”

  Savta lets out a sigh. She rises from the sofa, carries her tea to the kitchen, then returns and sits at the table, lowering her head to her hands for a moment.

  “This has been the worst time of our lives, motek, Saba’s and mine. There’s been nobody here for us. Neighbours, yes. The community, yes. But nobody in the family, except for your cousin Yossi, Baruch Hashem. If it weren’t for Yossi, that sweet boy, I think I would have completely despaired. Your father calls every day, yes. But he hasn’t come to see us in nearly three years.”

  Raphael sits next to Savta, takes her hands, and kisses them. Then he looks into her eyes. “Savta, I’m so sorry you and Saba have had to go through this alone. It’s terrible to feel abandoned, I’m sure. But I’m here now.”

  “So am I,” a man’s voice says from the doorway. Raphael and Savta swing around and see Yossi standing there, holding a bouquet of yellow roses. He is dressed in the olive green off-duty military uniform of a tank unit sub-commander and a pair of black desert boots, with a shiny black Uzi submachine gun casually slung over his shoulder.

  “Yossi, my boy!” Savta says, rising from the table. “Shabbat shalom! Come in, come in.” She meets him halfway across the room, kisses him, and receives the flowers. “You remember your cousin Rafi, don’t you?” She takes the flowers into the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

  Raphael stands and raises his hand at Yossi, not quite sure what to say or do. Yossi strides across the room with a broad smile and, shifting his machine gun to his back, startles Raphael by throwing his muscular arms around him and hugging him, his face pressed against Raphael’s neck. Raphael takes in the smell of Yossi’s freshly laundered uniform, his recently shampooed, sun-warmed hair, and a musky hint of perspiration. “Welcome home, cousin,” Yossi says, as he releases him from his embrace. “Shabbat shalom.”

  “Shabbat shalom.” Raphael stares deep into his cousin’s eyes and feels the bottom drop out of his stomach.

  “I hear you’re going to join us in Mitzpe Ramon.” Yossi sets down his Uzi in the corner, never taking his eyes off Raphael.

  “That’s the plan,” Raphael says, tracking Yossi’s every move. “We’ll see.”

  Yossi sits on the sofa, spreads himself out, and raises his eyebrows at Raphael. “You’ll love it there. All wide-open spaces. You can see all the way to the horizon. And the colours, my God, when the sun sets, it’s a-mazing.”

  Raphael stares at Yossi, mesmerised by his energy, half-listening to what he is saying.

  “Don’t worry about anything, cousin. I know the desert like I know myself. I’ll show you around. If you’re up for it, maybe we can even do a bit of camping.”

  Savta comes out of the kitchen with a crystal vase in which she has arranged the yellow roses and puts it on the table, then she hands Yossi a hair clip and a black felt kippah, which he affixes on his head.

  “It’s time,” she says.

  Yossi and Raphael join her at the table and put their arms around her as she lights the Shabbat candles and utters the blessing to usher in the Sabbath.

  Once they’ve finished the initiatory blessings, Yossi picks up the kiddush cup and leads them down the hall into Saba’s room. They sing Shalom Aleichem at his bedside, each of them taking their turn to kiss him on his cheek and to tell him how much they love him. Then Yossi and Raphael sing Eshet Chayil to Savta, who beams with joy, looking from grandson to grandson as they honour her with the proverb that is usually sung by a husband to his wife on Shabbat.

  Yossi and Raphael turn and look into each other’s eyes, the way their fathers trained them from childhood and recite Psalm 1 in unison: Happy is the man who does not heed the advice of the wicked, nor take his stand on the sinner’s road… Savta then places one hand on Saba’s arm and takes Raphael and Yossi’s hands in the other and recites the blessing for the sons, then Yossi and Raphael rest their hands on Savta’s head and recite the blessing for the daughters.

  Tears stream down Savta’s face. Raphael puts his arm around her and holds her tight while Yossi takes the silver cup and raises it. He chants Kiddush, blesses and sips the sweet wine, and shares the cup with Savta and Raphael before dipping his finger into the wine and dabbing a bit of it onto Saba’s trembling lips.

  The three of them return to the kitchen and perform their ablutions before taking their places at the table to bless the bread. Against their protestations, Savta insists that her grandsons sit and allow her to serve them. Raphael and Yossi smile at each other sheepishly as Savta shuffles in and out of the kitchen, first with the cutlery, then with the dishes and wine glasses.

  “You’ve grown a lot since we last saw you,” Yossi says the next time she leaves the room.

  “I should hope so. I was eleven years old. You look the same.”

  “Yeah, right.” Yossi reaches over and playfully squeezes Raphael’s bicep. “Are you working out?”

  “Rafi’s a champion swimmer,” Savta says, as she emerges from the kitchen and places a steaming dinner plate in front of each of them piled high with saffron rice.

  “A lot of good that’s going to do me here.” Raphael lowers his head to his dish and takes in the aroma of the freshly made rice.

  “The regional council’s putting in a swimming pool,” Yossi says. “It should be ready in the spring. The high school’s hoping to have a swim team this time next year.”

  “Like I said…” Raphael shrugs, tears another piece of bread, and munches on it. “I’m turning seventeen in two weeks. I’ll be done with high school in June.”

  “Save that sort of talk for later,” Savta says, spooning generous servings of lamb stew with yellow split peas and dried limes on their plates. “Remember, it’s Shabbat.”

  Yossi and Raphael apologise and spend the next twenty minutes alternating between singing Sabbath songs and gorging themselves on the stew, mopping it up with za’atar-spiced Syrian bread, while Savta sits back and watches them.

  “Aren’t you going to eat anything, Savta?” Yossi asks, pointing at the salad plate in front of her.

  Raphael notices for the first time that Savta has not touched the half-portion of rice and stew she served herself. “Yes, Savta, eat something.”

  Savta shakes her head and slides away her plate.

  “What’s wrong?” Yossi and Raphael say at the same time. They glance at each other, then back at Savta.

  “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just thanking Hashem for the privilege of having my two favourite grandsons with me, sharing Shabbat. All of us together. Who knows when I’ll have this opportunity again.”

  “What do you mean, Savta?” Raphael says. “Now that I’m back, we can do this every week.”

  “Don’t be silly, Savta,” Yossi slides the salad plate back toward her. “Eat with us. At least a little.”

  Savta flashes a sad smile at her grandsons and spends the next few minutes picking at her food while they mop up the last bits of stew in the silence that has descended over the room. Once they’ve finished, Savta pours onto their plates her signature cherry tomato salad with lemon-allspice dressing to round out the meal, which they polish off in a matter of minutes.

  Yossi distributes prayer booklets, and they sing Grace After Meals, using the tune composed by his and Raphael’s paternal great-grandfather, which Raphael hasn’t heard in several years. Raphael stumbles over the words at the start as he adjusts to the nearly forgotten tune. Yossi adjusts his speed, allowing him to catch up and follow along, before bringing the home service to an energetic conclusion. Yossi, Raphael, and Savta then wish each other Shabbat Shalom and retire to the sofa to sip cardamom tea and nibble on fresh fruit. />
  “Tonight and tomorrow night,” Savta says to Raphael, “you’ll sleep in your old room with Yossi.”

  Raphael nods and glances at Yossi, whose focus is entirely on Savta. Even though Yossi is not the type of man Raphael would typically find physically attractive, he can’t deny he feels drawn to him. Something in his eyes, or perhaps in his manner, the way he moves, or maybe the way he smells, something Raphael can’t quite fathom, exhilarates him about Yossi. And as he ponders this, he finds suddenly frightening the thought of spending the night in the same room as him.

  “And on Yom Rishon,” Savta continues, “you will go with him to Mitzpe Ramon.”

  Yossi raises his eyebrows at Raphael. “Maybe we’ll go back tomorrow night after Havdalah.”

  “Couldn’t I stay here with you and Saba?” Raphael says. “That way you won’t be alone. I could help with things here in the house. Plus, I could stay with Saba while you go out and run errands so you wouldn’t have to worry about leaving him alone.”

  “No, motek. You must go to Mitzpe Ramon. That was already decided. Hashem will take care of us, as he always has. Come back next week for Shabbat.”

  “We can’t next week, Savta,” Yossi says. “I’m on duty. But we’ll be here for Rosh Hashanah.”

  “I’ll come next week,” Raphael says. “I’ll catch a bus or a sherut.”

  “We’ll see, motek,” Savta says.

  “Fine, fine, we’ll see.” Raphael gathers up the empty tea glasses. “Thank you for the lovely dinner, Savta.”

  When he comes out of the kitchen, Raphael sees Savta and Yossi conferring in hushed voices. “I’m going to take a stroll around the neighbourhood,” he announces. “Maybe I’ll poke my gulliver into the Ades to say a prayer for Saba if it’s still open. Would you like to come?” he asks Yossi.

  “No, I’ll stay here with Savta. You go ahead. I’ll see you when you get back.”

  Raphael glances at Savta and raises his head questioningly. She shrugs at him, then smiles tenderly at Yossi and caresses his face with the back of her hand.

  When Raphael returns after his walk, he finds the house already dark. He climbs the stairs to his old room and finds Yossi inside, still wearing his military trousers, but now bareheaded and barefoot and wearing a white tank top, busily arranging his clothes in the top right dresser drawer. Raphael is momentarily taken aback by how tiny the bedroom looks compared with his room back home in Los Angeles, so much smaller than he remembers it, especially in the dim light emanating from a Sabbath nightlight.

  Yossi pivots to grab something out of his pack and catches Raphael staring at him from the doorway. He nods at Raphael and points at the beds, which, although they are pushed up against opposite walls, are only two arms’ lengths from each other. “Take your pick,” he says, his face an inscrutable mask.

  Raphael notices his backpack and suitcase at the foot of the bed nearest the door and arches his brow at Yossi. He hangs his backpack on the wooden bedpost, then hauls his suitcase onto the hard mattress and flips it open, rummaging around inside until he finds his flannel pyjamas and night kippah.

  Yossi strips off his tank top, and Raphael does a double-take at his hairy, muscular upper body and well-defined abdominals.

  Yossi looks down at himself and back up at Raphael. “What is it?”

  “Talk about working out.” Raphael unbuttons his shirt and tosses it onto the bed, exposing his tallit katan.

  Yossi nods. “Yeah, I do a bit of that.”

  Raphael turns away, carefully folds his tallit katan, and drapes it over a chair. “I’ll bet you do,” he says under his breath.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing.” Raphael unbuttons his jeans and looks over his shoulder at Yossi, who is staring at him, his tank top still hanging from his fingertips. “It’s a little joke, achi, that’s all,” Raphael says.

  Yossi nods and unbuttons his trousers. They fall to the ground, and he steps out of them. Raphael finds himself suddenly facing Yossi, who is wearing a pair of olive green bikini underpants. He blinks at Yossi’s powerful-looking hairy legs.

  “Oh, man.” Raphael brings a hand to his mouth and chokes back a laugh. “You are one hairy gever.”

  Yossi frowns at Raphael.

  “No offence, achi,” Raphael says, doing his best to suppress his laughter. “I’ve just never seen anyone as hairy as you.” He peels down his jeans and kicks them off into a corner of the room, then adjusts his blue-and-white striped boxer shorts. “I mean, I thought I was hairy.” He tugs on his leg hairs.

  “You are.”

  “Nothing like you.” He retrieves his jeans and folds them. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You’re built like a brick shithouse anyway. I’d murder someone for a body like yours.”

  Raphael shuts his suitcase and slides it under the bed, then slips into his pyjamas. He sits on the edge of the bed to affix his night kippah with a soft clip and stares at Yossi, who is still standing in the middle of the room.

  “I have to warn you,” Yossi says.

  “Warn me about what?”

  “I sleep in the nude.”

  “Do you really?”

  “Yeah. So you might want to turn away right now.”

  Raphael continues to look straight at Yossi, trying his best to look nonchalant despite the hammering of his heart, despite the shallowing of his breath. Yossi cocks his head to one side.

  “Go on,” Raphael croaks, his mouth now completely dry.

  Yossi laughs and climbs into bed, slipping under the duvet. “Meshuga,” he says, ducking under the duvet for a moment and emerging with his underpants dangling from his hands. He flings them at Raphael, who bats them away with a melodramatic shriek.

  “Don’t tell me you’re shy,” Raphael says when he recovers himself, eyeing the bikini in the corner and playing with the idea of keeping it for himself.

  “I’m modest, not shy.” Yossi raises himself up on one elbow. “There’s a difference.”

  “What about when you’re with your army unit? Don’t you have to get naked in front of them?”

  “That’s different. Why are you so interested anyway?”

  Raphael shrugs and slips under his duvet. “You were practically naked, already. I just wanted to see the rest. That’s all.”

  Yossi stares at Raphael across the room, an ambivalent expression playing over his face. After a moment he shakes his head. “Meshuga,” he repeats, then turns on his right side and faces the wall, drawing one of the pillows over his head.

  Raphael takes a deep breath, hardly believing what has come out of his mouth and wondering what’s going through Yossi’s mind. Still, he can’t get the image of Yossi’s half-naked body out of his head, especially his well-muscled, hairy legs. He wonders how he’s ever going to manage to fall asleep this close to Yossi, knowing he’s completely naked right on the other side of the room under a thin duvet. The ache of desire takes hold of him.

  Yossi pulls the pillow off his head and holds it against his chest. Raphael catches his breath. Yossi looks over his shoulder at Raphael and finds him looking at him out of half-closed eyes. He turns onto his left side and props up his head with the pillow.

  “Still awake?” Yossi says.

  “I can’t sleep. Jet lag, I guess.”

  “Ah, of course.”

  “Are you coming with me to Shacharit tomorrow morning?”

  Yossi closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I don’t go for that stuff anymore. Not since Abba died.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Yossi shrugs. “Abba was the religious one at home. And I never liked it much myself. So after he was gone…”

  “What about tonight with Savta and Saba? Seemed like you were completely into it.”

  “I do it for them. Aside from that, I’m not interested.”

  Raphael sits up and crosses his legs Indian-style on the bed, pulling a pillow over his lap. “I can’t live without it. It’s in my blood.”

&nbs
p; “You’re a funny one.”

  “What’s funny about being religious? It’s how we’ve survived throughout the centuries.”

  “Not about being religious.” Yossi sits up and rests his back against the wall. “You. You’re funny. First, you walk through the door fresh from saying prayers and dare me to strip naked in front of you. Then you invite me to Shacharit and tell me about how religious you are.”

  “What does one thing have to do with the other?”

  “Isn’t modesty part of being religious?”

  Raphael smirks and leans forward. “I’m young and curious, that’s all. And you have one of the nicest bodies I’ve ever seen. I wanted to see more. Nothing wrong with that, is there? It doesn’t make me any less religious. It just makes me honest.”

  Yossi locks eyes with Raphael for several seconds. Raphael flashes a half-smile and winks at him.

  “You’re flirting with me, cousin,” Yossi says, his face expressionless.

  Raphael laughs. “I’m only playing with you, achi. Sorry, I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “But, seriously, you do have a great body.”

  “I’m flattered, but not interested.”

  Raphael shrugs. “At least you’re flattered. That’s a start.”

  “Listen, achi,” Yossi says. “You and I, we grew up together. We’re practically brothers. Don’t ever forget that.”

  Raphael stretches out his legs and rubs his hands against them to restore the circulation in them.

  “Life isn’t easy in Mitzpe Ramon,” Yossi continues. “To survive there you’re going to need a mentor, a friend. Someone to guide you, maybe even to protect you.”

  Raphael snorts and stretches out in bed. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m sure you can. But things will go easier for you if you have a friend, especially where my mother is concerned. Believe me.”

  “OK, fine,” Raphael says, deliberately ignoring Yossi’s comment about his mother. “We’ll be friends.”