He sits on the lower bunk and thinks of Los Angeles, of his parents, and of Gabriella. He thinks about his dear savta and of his saba lying helpless in bed, fearing the worst for his beloved grandfather. And he thinks about Yossi, absent only a few hours, already missing him terribly. A sharp pain asserts itself in the middle of his stomach. He takes in a trembling breath, brings his hand to his flushed cheek, and takes a swipe at the tears that freely flow from his eyes.
“What’s the matter?” comes a voice from the doorway.
Raphael jumps up as Tomer walks into the room, his face screwed up and questioning. He whips out a bandana from his back pocket and dries his face. “Hey, little man.”
“You were crying.”
Raphael snatches his prayer book from atop the writing desk and moves past Tomer toward the door. “I’m a little homesick, that’s all.”
“Where are you going now?”
“Outside. To pray. It’s time for Arvit.”
“What’s that?”
“Evening prayers. You don’t know about evening prayers?”
Tomer shakes his head and points in the direction of the front room. “He doesn’t like it.”
“Who? Assaf?”
Tomer nods. Raphael stares at his young cousin and feels moved at the sight of him, looking forlorn in the middle of his tiny, dimly lit bedroom, a hint of anxiety clouding his face. He steps forward and kisses Tomer on the forehead.
“You can come with me if you want. It’s dark now, so you can go outside, right?”
“I don’t know how to pray.”
“You can just watch me.” Raphael smiles and moves to the door. “Or not.”
Tomer runs after him as he moves down the hall and emerges into the living room. Assaf and Aunt Penina are sitting on the sofa intently focused on a news broadcast. Assaf is leaning forward, his forehead a spasm of furrows, and Aunt Penina sits with her thin hand covering her mouth, her almond-shaped eyes widening.
“What is it?” Tomer asks.
Assaf holds up a hand and inclines further toward the TV set. A moment later, the broadcast switches to music, and he leans back into the sofa and exchanges a look with his mother. Tomer sits next to his mother and hugs her. She barely registers the gesture and shakes her head.
“There are troop movements,” Assaf says to the room. “On the Egyptian border. On the Syrian border also.”
“That’s just routine, isn’t it?” Raphael says. “There are always troop movements.”
Assaf narrows his eyes at Raphael. “What would you know?”
“We heard reports about that before back in the states. It doesn’t mean anything according to what we’ve heard.”
“It means something,” Aunt Penina says, her voice barely audible. She searches Assaf’s face, the muscles of her jaw pulsating, her forehead creased and moist. “And with Yossi’s unit operating so close to the Sinai.”
The bottom of Raphael’s stomach drops on hearing Yossi’s name.
Assaf squeezes his mother hand. “Yossi will be fine, Ima.” He looks back at the TV and sets his jaw.
“They wouldn’t dare try anything,” Raphael says. “They know they’d be wiped out again.”
“Why is that?” Assaf snaps. “Because God’s on our side?”
“Because Israel has the best army in the world,” Raphael says. “And, that too.”
Assaf stands and switches off the TV. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Anyway, where are you going with that?” He points at the prayer book in Raphael’s hand.
“Outside. It’s time for Arvit.”
“I want to go with him.” Tomer jumps up from the sofa.
Assaf closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment, then nods and waves them out the door.
Raphael marches across the scrub field to the retaining wall, with Tomer trailing behind. He climbs up and stares into the blackness of the makhtesh, the margins softly glowing in the silver light of the waning moon, a mere three days before the new month of Tishrei and the start of the Jewish New Year. Tomer watches him from below.
The sky pulsates with the light of a billion stars, a carpet of diamonds above their heads, the most intense night sky Raphael has ever seen. Forcing all distraction from his mind, he focuses on Hashem, on the eternity spread out above and before him, on the sound of his breathing. Then he turns to face Jerusalem, grasping the prayer book in his hand, and recites the evening prayers from memory.
He stands framed by the immensity of the star-filled sky, reciting the ancient words in a loud voice, delivering them to the empty streets of Mitzpe Ramon with the dramatic flair of a Shakespearean actor, his arms held out wide and beckoning to an unseen deity. He concludes with a closing hymn, which he softly croons; a soulful, heartfelt tune of his own composition. Once he finishes, he stands silently for a few moments, then reaches down and helps Tomer scramble onto the wall. They sit next to each other facing the parking lot, with the open desert at their back, and Raphael lights up one of his last Marlboros.
“That was beautiful,” Tomer whispers after a while, wiping his face with the back of his hand.
Raphael smiles at Tomer and tousles his hair, then takes another drag on his cigarette.
“No, seriously,” Tomer says. “I’ve never heard anyone pray like that before.”
“I’m not just anyone.”
Tomer sighs and kicks his feet against the wall. “Ima’s worried about Yossi.” He turns around to face the crater. “His unit operates in the Sinai. He’s probably there right now.”
Raphael glances over his shoulder. “They won’t try anything. Believe me. They’re just rattling swords.”
“That’s what everyone says. But Assaf thinks differently. I can tell. No matter what he says to Ima, he’s worried, too.”
“As I said before, even if they try something, we have plans in place. They won’t make it one inch across the border. So don’t worry so much.” Raphael flicks his cigarette into the darkness and watches it sputter as it bounces off the cliff side into the makhtesh. “Listen, little man. Can you do me a favour?”
“Of course,” Tomer says, a smile transforming his face into the face of an angel.
“Anything you hear Assaf or your mother say about me, I’d like for you to let me know.”
“Oh…” The smile disappears from Tomer’s face.
“I just don’t want any surprises, that’s all. Can you promise me that?”
“I don’t know,” Tomer says “I’m not sure that’s right.”
“I’m not asking you to do anything other than to let me know if they say anything about me. What’s wrong with that?”
“It doesn’t feel right, Rafi. Don’t be mad, please.”
Raphael stares at Tomer for a moment, unexpectedly moved by his cousin’s vulnerability. He reaches out a hand and gently tousles his hair again. “That’s OK, little man. Don’t worry.”
He hops off the wall and offers a hand to Tomer. They stroll back together to the apartment. When they reach the front of the building, Raphael puts his arm around Tomer’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry so much, little man. OK?” He kisses the top of Tomer’s head. “Worrying never helps anyway.”
Chapter 12
Raphael feels himself being dragged by one leg over the rock-strewn desert floor, across dry creek beds, through nests of chaparral scrub and thorn-choked acacia bushes, and past scrambling lizards, scuttling scorpions, and hungry open-mouthed vipers with darting, pointed tongues. The hot desert wind screams through the sandstone canyon and flings grit against his face and into his nose and mouth. He opens his eyes for an instant and catches sight of the Milky Way throbbing across the sky, and he cries out to Hashem, even as the rocks shred his clothes and flay the skin off his back.
Moments later he finds himself tumbling down the sides of a clay pit and landing in a pile of mush. He staggers to his feet and sees he is standing in the midst of a collection of dead bodies in various states of decay.
Next to him lies the bloated corpse of Uncle Shimshon, his eyes a pair of opaque marbles shoved deep into a purple face, his mouth open and caked full of clay. Raphael screams and backs into the shadows, squishing through the mush of decaying humanity as loose dirt rains down on him. He raises his arms to shield his head, peers heavenward, and sees Assaf shovelling rubble into the pit, with Aunt Penina and Tomer standing on either side of him, expressionless as a pair of Byzantine icons. High above, a squadron of Israeli fighter jets screeches across the night sky heading toward Egypt and strafing the desert below. “I warned you,” Assaf’s voice echoes through the pit. “I warned you.”
The ground beneath Raphael quivers. He glances down and suppresses a scream at the sight of the tattered flesh of the surrounding bodies rippling toward him in concentric circles. The quivering increases and becomes a shaking so intense he loses his balance and falls face down into the putrefaction. A thick sucking sound echoes through his head as he struggles out of the rancid porridge of macerated cadavers. Then, clawing his way to the side of the pit, he howls at Heaven asserting his innocence and demanding salvation, foam pouring forth from his mouth like that of a rabid bitch.
A pair of hands grasps his shoulders, and he struggles to get away. They yank him back and shake him. Flipping around, Raphael opens his eyes and finds himself staring into Yossi’s face, his heart hammering and perspiration streaming down the sides of his face. He sits up and scans the room, desperate to establish his bearings. He sees Tomer peering at him from behind Yossi, who is dressed in his full combat uniform, in his stocking feet, his hair full of red dust. Closing his eyes, Raphael runs a hand over his damp scalp.
“Is he OK?” Tomer asks.
Yossi glances over his shoulder. “Seems he was having a nightmare.” He sits on the edge of the bunk. “Is that right, achi?”
Raphael falls back against his pillow and draws a few deep breaths.
Yossi points at the door. “Fetch a glass of water, quick.”
Tomer runs out of the room.
“Are you OK, achi?” Yossi squeezes Raphael’s leg.
Raphael looks down at Yossi’s hand and flashes a weak smile. “I’m so glad to see you; you have no idea. I thought I was going to fucking die.”
“Die?”
Raphael narrows his eyes at the door and lowers his voice. “That Assaf’s a complete dick, I swear. I don’t know how you can live under the same roof as him.”
Yossi shrugs. “He’s strong, that’s all.”
“He’s not strong. He’s a bully.”
Tomer runs into the room, hands Raphael a glass of lukewarm water and watches as he drains it in two gulps. Raphael pushes the empty glass back at him and asks for another.
Yossi scoots up to Raphael and looks directly into his eyes. “Listen to me, cousin. Suppress your inner asshole, and everyone will love you. Even Assaf.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
Raphael stares at Yossi for a moment. “Never mind,” he mutters.
Yossi backs away from Raphael and laughs. “You’re a funny one, achi.”
“It was only a question.”
“You’re right about that.” Yossi rolls his head to work out a kink in his neck. “Anyway, switching gears, the good news is they’ve sent us home for the High Holidays. If I’m lucky, I may not have to report back until after Sukkot. So we’ll have plenty of time to hang out before I’m called up again. Maybe we’ll even take in that camping trip in the makhtesh I promised. He rubs Raphael’s head and laughs. “I love the new haircut, by the way.”
“What about Rosh Hashanah?” Raphael says, instinctively reaching up to fix his hair and finding nothing there but nubs.
“We’ll go up to Jerusalem for Rosh Hashanah. So we can keep that date with Savta.”
Tomer pops back into the room and hands Raphael a second glass of water. He sits on the bunk next to Yossi. Raphael takes a quick sip and puts it on the floor.
“What about the Egyptian troop movements?”
Yossi stands and stretches. “What about it?”
“Assaf and your mother are worried.”
“It’s true,” Tomer says. “Ima was crying.”
Yossi shakes his head. “If the Ministry isn’t worrying, then why should we? It’s not like the borders are undefended. We have people there. If they need us, they’ll call.”
“That’s what I told Assaf,” Raphael says.
“Anyway,” Yossi says, looking down at himself and wrinkling his nose, “I’ve got to clean up. I’ve got some errands to run in Beersheba this morning. Are you interested in tagging along?”
“Hell, yes.” Raphael jumps out of bed. “I’m all out of film, and I need to drop off some rolls for developing.”
“Excellent,” Yossi says, “I know just the place. We’ll leave straight after breakfast.”
* * *
Yossi speeds down the highway, and Raphael gazes out the side window at the passing landscape, which glows softly yellow in the early-morning light.
“I understand there was some trouble with my mother yesterday,” Yossi says as they pass Sde Boker.
“Sort of.” Raphael scoots down in his seat and stares at his trainers. “I asked her where I could pray, and then she fired off on me. She said I was here to atone for what happened to Uncle Shimshon in place of Abba and a bunch of nonsense like that. Then I lost it and warned her not to make my life difficult. I didn’t mean to disrespect her, honestly. It just came out wrong. Then her guard dog, Assaf, threatened to kill me. It wasn’t my best day.”
Yossi reduces his speed as they approach the next settlement. “Here’s the thing about Ima, achi, so you can understand how things are. Hopefully, it’ll help.”
Raphael inclines his head and waits as Yossi bites his lower lip for a moment, working out what he’s about to say. Then he glances at Raphael.
“This is confidential, OK?”
“I’ll take it to the grave, I swear.”
Yossi nods slowly and looks back at the road. “Ima was always jealous of Abba’s close relationship with Uncle Isaac.”
“She was?”
“Completely. First, she wasn’t thrilled about us living together at Savta’s. She wanted Abba and her to get their own place. But Saba insisted the house was large enough for the whole family. So they stayed. And that pissed her off. But what really upset Ima was that Abba grew closer to your father after they married, and even closer after we kids were born. So when you guys left for Los Angeles, and Abba fell into a depression…” Yossi frowns and shakes his head.
Raphael sits up. “I know this story, remember? Uncle Shimshon was depressed, so he moved you guys out here.”
“Actually, achi…”
“What?”
“Ima was the one who pushed for us to relocate to Mitzpe Ramon. Her sister already lived here with her husband and their two kids.”
Raphael slaps the dashboard. “So it’s her fault you ended up here?”
Yossi nods.
“But yesterday you said Uncle Shimshon moved you guys here because we left for America.”
“It’s true. But it was at Ima’s prompting. She thought the change would do us good, especially him. She saw it as an opportunity for us to make a fresh start as a family and for them as a couple.”
“That’s really screwed up, gever, you know that? Five years of scapegoating and guilting money out of my father when it was her fault all along.”
“Try to see it from her side, achi. Despite all her good intentions, she lost the love of her life in a horrible accident. The fact they never recovered his body made it even worse. Ima’s tortured by guilt. And at the same time, she’s angry about the loss and doesn’t know what to do with that anger. Somehow, she’s focused it on your father.”
“Great. And now that I’m here, she’s focusing it on me.”
“That will pass, I’m sure. What Ima needs from us, you included, is understanding and compassion.”
; “You’re asking me to be her whipping boy?”
“Not at all. I’m asking you to be respectful and polite. If she crosses the line and abuses you, please don’t react. Let me know, and I’ll intervene. Same with Assaf. I’ll be your buffer. If you follow my advice, things should settle down in a few weeks, I’m sure of it.”
Yossi reaches over and squeezes Raphael’s arm.
“Do you think you can do that?”
Raphael stares at the low-rise, shabby skyline of Beersheba looming in the distance and shrugs. “I’ll do my best.”
They drive for another few minutes past several ramshackle Bedouin settlements constructed at the side of the road. The smell of burning rubbish floats in through the air vent. Raphael flashes on his last drive through the Westside of Los Angeles with his father as they made their way to the airport, and he lets out a loud sigh.
“What is it?” Yossi asks.
“I’m feeling homesick, achi. It’s only been a couple of days, and I’m already missing my old life in LA, my family, my school, my friends. This is hard.”
Yossi nods and glances at Raphael. “I’ll see what we can do to help make it bearable.”
“Thanks, achi.”
“Do you like movies?”
“Movies?”
“Yes, you know, Hollywood movies.”
“Yeah, of course. I love them. Why?”
“My cousin Ari’s the art teacher at the high school. He screens classic Hollywood movies at his place every week. It’s like an informal cinema. He has a 16mm projector and a collection of films he rents from an outlet in Tel Aviv with a branch here in Beersheba; at the camera store we’re headed to, in fact. A lot of those old movies are set in California. Maybe watching them will help you feel a little closer to home.”
“I’m not so much into the classics. I’m more into modern stuff like Kubrick and Peckinpah.”
“Ah, achi, you don’t know what you’re missing. Brando, James Dean, Montgomery Clift. You’ll see.”
A few minutes later Yossi pulls up in front of a shop with an extensive range of cameras displayed in the front window.
“This is it,” he says, nodding at the shop.
“Aren’t you going to park?”
The Death of Baseball Page 22
