“I’ve got a couple of errands to run,” Yossi says. “I’ll meet you for lunch at noon at that place.” He points out a food stand across the road with a few outside picnic tables. “That’ll give you a couple of hours to do your shopping and browse around.”
Raphael frowns at the shop and scratches his head. “I only need to drop off some rolls and buy a couple more. It won’t take long,” he says. “Can’t I come with you?”
“Nah, what I’ve got to do is boring. Plus, it’s worth taking your time to have a look at all the equipment they have. If there’s not enough to hold your attention, you can always check out the Old Town over there.”
Raphael peers at the crumbling Ottoman-era buildings of the so-called Old Town off to the side of the commercial strip and arches his brow at Yossi. “If you say so.” He grabs his backpack and climbs out of the car.
“If I finish early, I’ll come straight back,” Yossi says. “I promise.”
The man behind the counter raises his head at the sound of jangling bells as Raphael pushes open the door and steps inside. The diverse range of cameras jammed into the shop startles Raphael, who stands staring, his mouth slightly open, at all the equipment in glass cases and on multitiered shelving that extends all the way to the back of the warehouse-like space.
“Welcome to heaven,” the shopkeeper says with a smirk, sticking his pencil behind his ear.
“This is amazing,” Raphael says.
“Who would’ve thought, right? In Beersheba of all places.”
Raphael points at a vintage Leica 35mm resting on the counter. “May I?”
The man hands the camera to Raphael, who hefts it, then turns it over in his hands and stares through the lens. He frames a shot of the back room, noting the impressive range of movie cameras and projectors.
“What do you need with all this stuff?” Raphael hands back the Leica to the man.
“It’s for the film and television industry. Storage space is cheaper in Beersheba than in Tel Aviv or Jerusalem.”
“I thought this was a retail shop.”
“The front section is retail.” The man extends his hand toward the shelving behind him. “The rest is industry overflow. The full collection is in our warehouse at the edge of town, where rent is cheap as dirt.”
“I see.” Raphael nods absently.
“How can I help you?” the shopkeeper asks.
An hour and a half later Yossi pokes his head into the shop and finds Raphael and the shopkeeper in the back going over the different parts of a 16mm movie camera. Raphael looks up and beams a smile.
“I thought I might still find you here,” Yossi says.
“Welcome, gever,” the shopkeeper says, straightening up and shaking Yossi’s hand. “How’s my best customer, Ari?”
“He’s fine. He told me to let you know he’ll be swinging by after Shabbat to drop off a couple of things. This one’s my cousin, too.” He inclines his head at Raphael. “He’s recently arrived from America.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” the shopkeeper says to Raphael. “I would have rolled out the red carpet for you.” He slaps Raphael on the back and heads to the front of the shop to attend to a newly arrived customer.
“This place is fantastic, achi,” Raphael says.
“What did I tell you?” Yossi points at the camera in Raphael’s hand. “That one’s for making movies.”
“Yeah, I know.” Raphael frames Yossi through the lens and makes a buzzing sound pretending to film him.
Yossi laughs and holds up his palm at the camera. “Are you considering making the shift to film?”
Raphael sets aside the camera. “Never thought about it.”
Yossi picks it up and holds it out to him. “Maybe you should. You say you love movies, right? You should try making your own. The light’s perfect in the desert for that sort of thing. You can screen them at my cousin Ari’s place.”
“It’s an expensive hobby, achi. Plus, I’d probably need access to editing equipment and stuff.”
“We have all that here,” the shopkeeper says from behind them. “I’d be happy to teach you how to use it when you’re ready. The fundamentals aren’t difficult.”
“There, you see?” Yossi says, winking at the shopkeeper. “My friend here is happy to help.”
“I wouldn’t start with a 16mm, though,” the shopkeeper says. He reaches for a smaller camera. “I recommend that you learn on this 8mm until you get the hang of it. If you end up liking it, you can upgrade.”
“I’ll even buy it for you,” Yossi says. “And a bag full of film, too. Consider it an early birthday present.”
Raphael takes the camera from the shopkeeper’s hands and passes his hand over it, feeling an unexpected surge of happiness welling up inside. He looks at Yossi, who is smiling expectantly at him, and his eyes fill with tears.
“Thank you, achi,” he says, his voice hoarse with emotion.
* * *
Later that night after dinner, Raphael and Yossi stroll along the highway to Ari’s place in a converted warehouse wedged in Mitzpe Ramon’s industrial zone at the edge of town. They crash on one of several beat-up sofas in his makeshift screening room and crack open a couple of beers while Ari sets up the projector and cues up the film they’re going to watch.
“Where is everyone?” Raphael asks, stretching himself out lengthwise on the sofa, extending his legs across Yossi’s knees.
“That’s tomorrow night,” Ari calls out in his gravelly voice. “This is a private screening for you by special request of Mr Tank Commander there.”
“That’s sub-commander,” Yossi says.
“Whatever,” Ari says with a chuckle.
He comes around in front of the sofa and raises his bottle to Raphael. “Anyway, consider this your official welcome to Mitzpe Ramon.”
In his late twenties, a bit on the heavy side, with long sideburns and a receding hairline of kinky dark brown curls, Raphael finds that while Ari is not particularly attractive, he’s somehow pleasant to look at.
Raphael sits up and clinks his bottle against Ari’s and Yossi’s.
Ari takes a swig from the bottle and wipes his mouth on his sleeve.
“Any cousin of Yossi’s is a cousin of mine, especially one from Hollywood. That’s what I say.”
“I’m from Los Angeles, not Hollywood.”
Ari takes another swig of beer and sets down his bottle on a side table. “Same diff. That’s what I say.”
Yossi pulls Raphael into a bear hug and rubs his head playfully. “This one’s going to be the next Elia Kazan, I think.”
“Oh, yes?” Ari says, dropping onto the sofa. “That’s quite a comparison.”
“He’s already won awards.”
“That was for my still photography, achi.”
“If you have an eye for still photography,” Ari says, “then you’re light years ahead of the pack already.”
“I bought him an 8mm camera this morning at Hanut Tzilum. He spent all afternoon wandering around town with it.”
“I’ve shot five rolls already, mainly of the makhtesh and the ibexes, getting used to the camera and practising different techniques.”
“Speaking of Elia Kazan,” Ari says, draining the last of his beer and standing up, “tonight we’re watching his East of Eden, again by special request.” He nods at Yossi. “I also have copies of Streetcar and On the Waterfront that you can come and watch if you’re interested.”
“I chose Eden because it’s set in California like we talked about,” Yossi says. “Not to mention it’s my favourite James Dean film.”
“Cool,” Raphael says, “let’s do it.”
Two hours later Ari brings up the lights and rewinds the film into the canister. Raphael sits staring at the blank screen, his face clouded over with a frown.
“What did you think?” Ari calls out.
Raphael shakes his head.
“What’s up, achi?” Yossi says.
“It’s based on the story of
Cain and Abel from the Bible,” Ari says, bringing over another couple of bottles of beer.
Raphael declines the beer and stands. “Thanks very much, gever.”
“You’re not leaving yet, are you?” Ari exchanges a glance with Yossi, who lifts his shoulders. “We can watch a different one if you want.”
“Not tonight, thanks,” Raphael says. He turns to Yossi. “Is it all right if we go now?”
“What was that all about?” Yossi asks as they walk along the empty highway back into town.
“That film,” Raphael says. “That’s my life.” He kicks a piece of loose gravel into the darkness. “Nothing’s ever good enough. Everything’s always my fault.”
He pulls up and stares around at the barren landscape.
“Steady, achi.” Yossi rests his hand on his shoulder. “It was just a movie.”
“That father, he was like Abba and Ima and Hashem all rolled into one. And I’m like that James Dean character, Cal, always trying to please and never getting it right.” He pulls away from Yossi and drops to one knee. “That’s why they sent me away. That’s why I’m fucking here and not back home in LA.”
Yossi kneels in the dirt next to Raphael. “Listen to me, achi. Forget all that. This is your home now. And I’m your family. Make the best of it and close the door on the past. Otherwise, you’ll lose your mind. Like Ima, like Assaf, they can’t let go, and look at them. They’re consumed with anger and frustration. Don’t let that be your reality. Fight regret as if you’re fighting a mortal enemy. I’m right here with you.”
Raphael stares into Yossi’s shining eyes, which reflect the soft glow of the starlight, and lets his words wash over him.
Yossi lifts him to his feet, and Raphael puts his arms around him, taking in the scent of Yossi, feeling his moist breath on his neck, and surrendering. They remain that way for a few minutes. Then Yossi lifts Raphael’s head.
“Better?” Yossi asks.
Raphael nods.
“Good stuff, achi.” Yossi breaks into a run toward the town. “I’ll race you back,” he shouts over his shoulder.
Raphael watches as Yossi fades into a cloud of dust, feeling a sudden twinge of conscience at the realisation that he has neglected to say his evening prayers. Looking up at the sky, he offers an apology, then rattles off the evening service, dizzied by a sense of terror standing in the dark at the edge of the road.
A light wind kicks up from the south and blows around a bit of grit. Wrapping a bandana around his nose and mouth, Raphael sets his face toward the town and walks with his head down. As he moves along the highway, he reflects that he has utterly lost the battle against Yossi. And yet there is sweetness in the defeat. The question for him now is how he is going to hold onto it.
When he arrives at the apartment block, he finds Yossi sitting on the front steps, his car keys dangling from his fingers.
“I was about to go looking for you. What happened?”
Raphael sits next to Yossi and rests his body against his. “I forgot to recite Arvit before we went to Ari’s. Plus, I needed some alone time. Sorry if I made you wait.”
Yossi’s head jerks up. “You forgot to pray? When’s the last time that happened.”
“That’s the first time it’s happened, achi.” Raphael straightens up. “The first time. It was a little scary.”
“You were distracted. Don’t worry. If He’s there, he’ll forgive.”
“I don’t want to give it up, achi.”
“No one’s saying you have to.”
“I appreciate everything you’re doing for me. I honestly do. But please promise you won’t pressure me to stop observing the mitzvot, to stop praying.”
“Is that what you think this is all about?”
“It’s happened to all of you out here. I don’t want it to happen to me, no matter how bad things get. It’s the only constant in my fucked-up life.”
Yossi nods and stares out at the car park. “The only constant…”
“Yeah, the only one.”
“The mitzvot.”
“Yep.”
Not Hashem?”
Raphael stands. “You got it.”
Yossi lets out a long breath and crunches across the gravel toward the retaining wall overlooking the makhtesh, and Raphael follows. They startle a lone ibex standing sentry on the sheer edge of the cliff, and they watch it bound away.
“Life is full of surprises,” Yossi says, lifting his head at the ibex as it vanishes into the crater. “Even for them.”
“Especially for them,” Raphael says. He pulls out a couple of cigarettes and hands one to Yossi. “We’re not animals. We have minds. We can prepare for things.”
Yossi laughs and lights up. “Don’t kid yourself, achi. We’re animals. And these things”—he holds up his cigarette—“are going to kill us one day if something or someone else doesn’t kill us off before.” He takes a drag and blows smoke over the dark crater.
“Gee, thanks.” Raphael tosses his cigarette onto the ground and snuffs it out with his heel.
“That’s my constant,” Yossi says.
“What is? Death or the makhtesh?”
“Both, I guess.”
“I’ll stick with the mitzvot if it’s all the same to you.”
“Sure, why not. Anyway, I’ve got to go back to Beersheba tomorrow after lunch. Some friends from my unit and I are planning a tour of the north with a military guide around Rosh Hashanah time. Three or four days max.”
“Can I come?”
“On the tour yes, of course. We’ll stop over at Saba and Savta’s for the chag and continue from there.”
“I meant to Beersheba.”
“Not this time, achi.” Yossi flicks what’s left of his cigarette into the darkness, and the two of them stroll to the apartment block. “You’re OK with that, right?”
“To be honest, I’d rather go with you than stay here. But I suppose I need to start getting used to it.”
“That’s the spirit. And you have your movie camera.”
They push into the darkened apartment, and Yossi unshoulders his machine gun and holds it at his side.
“Everything good?” Yossi whispers.
Raphael looks around the empty living room and back at Yossi. He pulls a tight smile and nods. Yossi squeezes his shoulder and moves down the dark hallway toward his bedroom. Raphael brings up his hand to the spot where Yossi touched him, still feeling the pressure of the squeeze, and watches as he turns left and disappears from view.
The next afternoon, Raphael heads over to the school library and works on a shooting script for a short film idea he has in mind. After a few hours, he packs up and heads back to the apartment, timing his return to coincide with Yossi’s estimated arrival from Beersheba. He is surprised to find the front room and the kitchen empty so early in the day and wonders where everyone has gone.
Poking his head into his bedroom and Yossi’s, he finds them both empty. Then he pads over to Aunt Penina’s and, putting his ear to her door, he hears a faint whimpering coming from the other side.
“Aunt Penina?” he says.
The sound stops, and he hears a rustling followed by a soft thump.
He taps on the door, then pushes it open and finds Aunt Penina sitting in the dark with the curtains drawn, crying into a white handkerchief. She is dressed in a plain black housedress with her long, grey hair unpinned and unkempt. There is a red-and-black chequered nightshirt draped over her knees.
“Aunt Penina, what’s wrong?”
He takes a couple of tentative steps into the bedroom, and Aunt Penina’s hand shoots out, halting his forward movement. Recalling Yossi’s admonition about showing her compassion, Raphael crosses the room and sits next to her on the bed. Aunt Penina tosses a sidelong glance at him and scoots a little away. Raphael responds by stroking her back. Her frame feels bony, like the shell of an armadillo. Aunt Penina dries her face with her handkerchief and straightens up.
“Was that Uncle Shimshon’s?” Rap
hael whispers, reaching out to touch the nightshirt.
Aunt Penina nods and holds it to her chest.
“It was the last thing he wore before he left for the mines the day I lost him. It’s all I have left of him.”
“You have your memories, too.”
Aunt Penina looks at Raphael and lowers the nightshirt. “Memories fade.”
“And you have your sons.”
“Sons are no substitute for a husband.”
Raphael pulls back his hand. “I don’t know what to say, Aunt Penina.”
“Nobody asked you to say anything.”
Raphael lets out a short, bitter laugh. “You should know by now, Aunt Penina, I speak my mind; sometimes out of turn like the other day, which I’m sorry about. But if something needs to be said, I say it.”
“Well, save your words.” Aunt Penina puts away her husband’s nightshirt in a dresser. “There’s nothing you or anyone else can say that will change anything.”
“We’re commanded to comfort those in mourning, Aunt Penina.”
Aunt Penina whirls on Raphael. “Comfort?” she spits out. “It’s all lies, all of it; everything you people say.” She slaps the dresser with her open palm. “‘Your happy memories of him will comfort you, Penina’.” She slaps it again. “‘He’s in a better place now, Penina’.” She slaps it yet again. “‘Everything happens for a reason, Penina’.”
“Everything does happen for a reason, Auntie.”
“Tell me, smart boy, what’s the reason? What’s the reason the man I loved more than life itself, the father of my children, a man who never offended anyone and who observed all those so-called commandments you hold dear, why did he end up dead at thirty-nine under a mountain of clay?”
“I don’t know,” Raphael says.
“Who knows then? Tell me so I can ask them.”
“Only Hashem knows.”
Aunt Penina pulls a tight smile. “He and I aren’t on speaking terms, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“With respect, Aunt Penina, maybe you should be. It certainly would be better than this.” Raphael waves his hand around the room. “It’s over five years, and your anger hasn’t subsided. That’s not right.”
“My anger is my comfort.”
The Death of Baseball Page 23
