The Death of Baseball

by Orlando Ortega-Medina

  “Oh!” Raphael says. “That’s funny. Why?”

  Yossi shrugs. “I was looking for Hashem.” He glances at Raphael and looks back at the road.

  “By staring at the sky?”

  “I was a kid. What did I know? Abba and Uncle Isaac were always talking about Him, and I wanted to find Him. So that’s what I did.”

  Yossi draws a deep breath and holds it for a moment, then lets it out slowly. “Honestly, cousin”—he lowers the sun visor to block the glare and slips on a pair of sunglasses—“I never was much of a believer. I prayed and all that. But I was never sure anyone was listening. Then after you lot left, and Abba dragged us to the edge of civilisation, and then the cave-in happened…”

  “You can’t blame that on God.”

  “I don’t,” Yossi says. “There is no God. You can’t blame things on something that doesn’t exist.”

  “You can’t possibly know that. Just because bad things happen doesn’t prove He doesn’t exist.”

  “I’m not saying it does. I just don’t believe there’s anything out there other than the sky, the planets, and the stars in an expanding universe that one day will collapse back in on itself.”

  Raphael shakes his head and stares out the window as they speed past a sign that indicates they are 100 kilometres from Mitzpe Ramon.

  “Anyway,” Yossi says. “I still like looking up at the sky. Back in the day, the best views were in a park. Now I have the desert at my doorstep.” A smile breaks out on his face. “You’ll be able to take some great photos there with that camera of yours.”

  At the mention of his camera, Raphael pulls it off the backseat and snaps a few pictures of the passing landscape and a couple of Yossi driving.

  “Now it’s my turn,” Yossi says.

  “For what?”

  “To ask a question.”

  Raphael slips the camera back into its case and nods.

  “What’s up with the stealing?”

  Raphael narrows his eyes at Yossi. “How do you know about that?”

  “People talk. Anyway, what’s that about?”

  Raphael shrugs. “I don’t know. It just happens. Randomly sometimes. I see something, could be anything, and I get this itch to take it. The itch gets stronger until I think I’ll go crazy. When the thing’s finally in my hand, the itch goes away.”

  “And now?”

  “It’s better now.” Raphael looks away from Yossi and stares out the window for a few seconds, then looks back at him. “Sometimes it still hits me, especially if someone pisses me off. But it’s a lot better than before. I haven’t stolen anything in a long time.”

  “Remind me not to piss you off.” Yossi gives Raphael’s arm an affectionate squeeze. “Anyway, I’m not into possessions. Feel free to take whatever you want.”

  They drive in silence through the desert, passing the eyesore of Dimona on their right and joining Highway 40 at Sde Boker heading south. After a few minutes, Raphael spots a complex of ruins on a hilltop overlooking the road. He readies his camera to snap a few pictures but changes his mind when he sees the determined expression on Yossi’s face as he urges the car forward, clocking 120 kilometres per hour. Raphael slouches in his seat, pulls his hat over his eyes, and dozes off.

  After what seems like a few minutes, he is lurched awake as Yossi abruptly reduces his speed and manoeuvres the car off the highway, mounting a narrow gravel road at the city limits of Mitzpe Ramon. Raphael pulls off his hat and rubs his eyes, focusing on a large iron structure in the distance toward which Yossi is guiding the car over the bumpy road. He straightens up as he recognises the gates of the cemetery in which the family interred Uncle Shimshon’s personal effects in the absence of his body. Black memories from the funeral loop through his mind, transporting him to that day five years ago when the family and the entire Mitzpe Ramon mining community gathered graveside under the glare of the blistering desert sun in that awful cemetery in the middle of the wilderness. Aunt Penina had been inconsolable, on her knees and sobbing loudly, heaping handfuls of yellow dirt on her head, and spitting out curses at Raphael’s father. It had taken her three sons and Saba several minutes to coax her off the ground, and several more to calm her in the Cadillac limousine Raphael’s father had rented for the family.

  Yossi parks outside the gates and hops out of the car, and Raphael follows him as he picks his way to the far end of the graveyard and stands in front of his father’s headstone. Raphael pulls up next to him and reads the inscription, which gives no indication that the grave is empty, save for some clothes, a prayer shawl from which the officiating rabbi severed the fringes, and Uncle’s Shimshon’s prayer book, the one Saba gave him on the day he and his twin, Raphael’s father, became Bnei Mitzvah.

  Yossi looks up at the sky for a moment to collect himself and looks back at his father’s headstone. He produces a blue-and-white knit kippah from his breast pocket and recites Kaddish, the prayer for the dead. Raphael joins him, the two of them swaying gently in the empty cemetery. When they finish, each of them places a pebble on the headstone. Yossi kisses his fingers and touches the inscription, allowing them to linger there for a moment, then turns away and trudges out of the cemetery. Raphael follows a little behind.

  Once outside the gates, Yossi hops up on the hood of his car and looks directly at Raphael for the first time in over an hour, the pupils of his hazel green eyes mere pinpoints in the bright morning light. “Ima still blames your father, you know.”

  “What on earth for?” Raphael clambers up next to him. “Abba was nowhere near here when it happened.”

  “That’s the whole point. My father would have never moved us here if Uncle Isaac hadn’t left for America. And this is where the accident happened.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Maybe so. Still, be careful. Both with Ima and with Assaf as well.”

  “What about you?”

  Yossi shakes his head. “Everyone’s responsible for their actions, that’s what I believe. But, that’s me. Ima and Assaf think differently.” Yossi pulls his keys from his pocket and slides off the hood of the car. “In any case, as I told you before, I’ll be watching your back.”

  Raphael hops off the hood and slaps the dust from his trousers. “Thanks, but don’t worry about me. I’m a big boy.”

  “I can see that.” Yossi brushes aside Raphael’s hair to expose his forehead. This time Raphael doesn’t pull away. Instead, he closes his eyes and allows himself to feel the cool of Yossi’s fingertips as they trace the outline of the scratches.

  Moments later, when he opens his eyes, he finds Yossi staring into the distance, in the direction of the Ramon crater, the makhtesh, his face an unreadable mask obscuring any hint of emotion.

  The silence is broken by the sound of a vehicle grinding across the gravel. They climb back into the car just as a beige military off-roader pulls up next to them. Yossi salutes the soldier driving the vehicle, and the soldier salutes back. He glances at Raphael, then nods at Yossi.

  Chapter 10

  The town of Mitzpe Ramon comes into view as Yossi enters the central traffic circle, with its collection of hastily assembled prefabricated concrete apartment blocks dramatically perched at the edge of the Makhtesh Ramon, the largest erosion crater in the Middle East.

  “Lasciate Ogni Speranza,” Raphael says as they drive slowly around the traffic circle.

  “I beg your pardon,” Yossi says.

  “It’s Latin for ‘Abandon all Hope’.”

  Yossi shakes his head.

  “You know, from Dante’s Inferno. It’s what the sign says over the Gates of Hell.”

  Silence.

  “Never mind.”

  Yossi speeds down the access road toward the apartment blocks. “It’s not that awful here once you adapt to it.”

  As they pull into the car park at the side of one of the blocks, they disturb a flock of Nubian ibexes, which scatter in the direction of the makhtesh. Raphael squeals with delight and jumps out of th
e car with his camera and follows after them, snapping pictures and tempting two baby ibexes toward him with a few weeds he yanks out of the cracked asphalt.

  “Let’s go,” Yossi calls, smiling at his cousin’s interest in the ibexes. “There are plenty of those around here.”

  Yossi carries Raphael’s suitcase across the threshold of the apartment and sets it down in the foyer. Raphael trails behind. There are split nail holes on the doorpost where the mezuzah should be and Raphael points at it. Yossi shakes his head and waves Raphael into the dim, sparsely decorated living room. He tells Raphael to wait and disappears down the hall in search of his mother. Raphael moves to the window and pulls aside the heavy curtain to let in some light and finds the apartment faces another block only a few metres away. He cranks open the window and cranes his neck around the corner, catching a glimpse of the makhtesh and the expanse of desert beyond.

  The sound of footsteps clicking toward him on the tile floor makes him turn around. Aunt Penina emerges from the hallway followed by Yossi, wearing a black, sleeveless housedress. Her kinky grey hair is pulled away from her face into a tight bun, which emphasises her high cheekbones, her sharp nose, her almond-shaped black eyes, and her thin dark lips. Her skin looks as brittle as crepe paper, sunbaked and withered by the harsh desert climate. She narrows her eyes at him, then glances at the open window.

  “Hello, Aunt Penina.”

  Aunt Penina snaps her fingers at the open window, and Yossi crosses the room to close it and draw the curtains.

  “This is a desert, in case you hadn’t noticed,” she says. “There’s wind and dust. We keep the windows shut here.”

  Yossi stands next to Raphael. “He’s only just arrived, Ima.”

  Aunt Penina strides past them and pulls the curtains even more tightly closed. “All the more reason. He should start learning how things are done here now.”

  Raphael suppresses the urge to snap at his aunt. “I’m sorry, Aunt Penina. It won’t happen again.” He takes a step toward her and kisses her on the cheek. “Thank you for having me.”

  Aunt Penina’s head jerks in his direction, and she brings her hand to her cheek. She stares at him as if seeing him for the first time, then she reaches up and pulls aside his hair.

  “What’s this?” she asks.

  “I lost my footing in the dark last night and fell into some bushes.”

  “Is that so?” Aunt Penina lets go of his hair.

  “Assaf should examine him, Ima,” Yossi says. “There’s a bruise on his chest that I’m worried about.”

  “We don’t need troublemakers here, young man. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Aunt Penina.”

  She stares hard at him, and Raphael averts his eyes.

  “Show him where he’ll be sleeping,” she says to Yossi after a moment. “I’ll set the table for lunch.”

  Raphael follows Yossi down the dark hallway, dragging his suitcase into a small room with a bunk bed, a dresser, a small writing desk, and a wooden bookcase containing a few textbooks, some action figures, and a collection of Matchbox cars.

  “That one’s yours.” Yossi points at the lower bunk. “Tomer sleeps on the top.” He slides open the bottom two drawers of the dresser, both of which are empty. “We cleared these for you.”

  Raphael nods and lifts the blanket on the bottom bunk, exposing the thin mattress and the roller springs on which it lies. “This is just brilliant,” he says, dropping on to the bed and looking around the room.

  Yossi sits next to him. “Mine’s the same. I sleep on the bottom bunk, and Assaf sleeps on the top one.”

  “Why don’t you people just move somewhere else?”

  “Ima refuses to leave.”

  Raphael rolls his eyes and stands. He looks out the window at the apartment block opposite, noticing that the curtains are closed in all the other apartments as well, except for a couple on the top floor.

  “What is it with your mother? I mean, I get that she blames my father and all that. But, why does she have to be so harsh?”

  Yossi joins Raphael at the window, placing his hand on his shoulder and squeezing it. “Hang in there, achi. She’ll eventually get used to your being here; then things will settle down. In the meantime, I’ll watch your back.”

  They sit down with Aunt Penina to a lunch consisting of vegetable soup and a beef liver steak with a side of boiled cabbage. Raphael pokes at the steak with his knife and looks up at Aunt Penina.

  “Is this meat kosher, Aunt Penina?”

  “This is Israel,” she says, slicing a piece of liver and holding it up at the end of her fork. “Everything is kosher.” She pushes it into her mouth and chews on it.

  “It’s true,” Yossi says, cutting into his steak. “All the meat here comes from the same source.”

  Raphael looks at the two of them as they focus on their food, then looks down at his plate, his stomach grumbling.

  “Are you sure?” he asks Yossi, who nods and continues to eat.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Raphael recites a blessing over his food, pushes the plate with the steak to one side and eats the boiled cabbage. Aunt Penina frowns at Yossi, who holds up his hand and shakes his head. Raphael catches this out of the corner of his eye and takes a sip of the soup. They eat the rest of their meal in silence. When they finish, Yossi kisses his mother, who is trembling with rage, and he rises from the table, picking up his plates and cutlery.

  “We each take our plates to the kitchen,” he says over his shoulder as he moves out of the room.

  “It’s nearly noon,” Aunt Penina calls out, tracking Raphael with her eyes as he follows Yossi into the kitchen.

  Raphael puts the empty plates in the sink and places the one with the uneaten steak on the counter.

  “That wasn’t cool,” Yossi whispers, lifting his head at the stiffening steak.

  “What’s not cool? I only eat kosher meat. If it’s not from a kosher butcher, I’m not eating it. Simple as that. You don’t expect me to break the commandments just because I’m joining an unobservant household, do you?” He points in the direction of the front door. “And on that subject, whose idea was it to rip the mezuzah off the doorpost?”

  Yossi wraps aluminium foil around the plate with the steak and places it in the refrigerator. “All I can say is, from what I can tell, you’re very selective about which commandments you observe and which ones you break. But that’s a subject for another time. Right now I have to hurry. I’ve got to report for duty in a half hour.”

  “You’re not going to leave me here alone with her, are you?”

  “I have to. But I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. Assaf’s around today and Tomer will be back from school in a couple of hours. So it won’t be only you and her most of the time. Don’t worry."

  “What’s to worry?” Aunt Penina says from the doorway, startling Yossi and Raphael.

  “Nothing, Ima,” Yossi says. “I was just filling Rafi in on things, that’s all.”

  “Thank you for lunch, Aunt Penina. I’m sorry about the meat. But I only—”

  “Yes, yes,” Aunt Penina says, “I heard.”

  Yossi puts his arm around his mother and guides her back to the living room. Raphael sneaks past them, excusing himself, and heads back down the hallway to his room. He is in the middle of unpacking his suitcase, arranging his clothes on the bed for placement in the dresser and the closet, when Yossi steps into the room, now in full uniform, holding his beret in his hands. Raphael straightens and takes in the sight of Yossi looking more handsome than ever.

  “I’ve just heard I’m off duty from Rosh Hashanah through Yom Kippur. So, if you’re up for it, we can do a bit of touring, maybe an overnight in the makhtesh. I have a favourite spot I want to show you.”

  “Yes, sure. Why not.”

  “Sababa,” he says with a smile. “I’ve got to run now.”

  Raphael watches Yossi disappear from the doorway, feeling an ache in his chest and wishing he’d given him a hug before he left
.

  He spends the next few minutes putting away his clothes and organising the bookshelf, moving Tomer’s things to the bottom shelf to make room for his books. Then he tapes some of his photographs and drawings to the wall above the writing desk.

  When he finishes, he pushes his empty suitcase under the bed and walks to the living room toting his backpack and camera. He finds Aunt Penina there, hovering over an antique wooden ironing board, an electric iron in one hand and a dripping plastic bottle in the other. A white shirt is draped over the board, and a half-dozen others hang behind her on some wooden pegs hammered into the dividing wall between the living room and the kitchen. She looks up at him for an instant, then turns her attention back to the shirt.

  “I do this for extra money,” she says, wiping her forehead with a yellow dishtowel. “The money your father sends us each month isn’t enough to feed a dog.”

  “Where’s the synagogue, Aunt Penina?” Raphael asks, not wishing to be drawn into a discussion about his aunt’s finances, especially as it touches on his father. “I’d like to pray Mincha.”

  Aunt Penina sets down the iron and wipes her forehead again. “There’s no synagogue here.”

  “Where do people pray?”

  She picks up the iron and spits on it, making it sizzle. “I’m sure some of them do.” Shifting the shirt to another angle, she attacks it again with the hot iron. “I’m not interested in that sort of thing.” She peels the shirt off the ironing board, hangs it on a vacant peg, and grabs another one. “Neither are my sons.”

  “Aunt Penina.”

  She places the next shirt on the ironing board and comes around to Raphael’s side. “You’re not here to ask questions, young man.”

  “Tell me why I am here, Aunt Penina.”

  “You’re here to atone.”

  “For what?”

  “For the sins of your father. For the death of my husband.”

  “I’m meant to be the scapegoat, am I?”

  “Don’t get cute with me.”

  Raphael takes a step toward his aunt. “I’m sorry about what happened to Uncle Shimshon, Aunt Penina, I honestly am. I loved him like I love my own father. But hating Abba and being mean to me won’t bring him back.”