“There’s no reason?” Clyde straightens and looks at Ralph, who is staring at Yoshi, his eyes wide and shot through with red. He looks back at Yoshi. “Then how about an explanation? Why did you treat me so badly?”
“Because she wanted to replace Hiro. Because I hated you. Because I wanted to die.”
Clyde leaps to his feet. “Because you hated me?”
Yoshi closes his eyes. “Yes,” he says through gritted teeth, “I hated you. You’re no son of mine.”
“That’s a lie,” Clyde screams.
Yoshi opens his eyes and glares at Clyde. “Your mother’s a whore, and you’re a whore’s son.”
“Stop it!” Clyde screams. “Stop saying that.” He grabs the gun out of Ralph’s hand and before Ralph can stop him, he pistol-whips Yoshi across the face. Then does it again. And again. Ralph grabs at Clyde, but Clyde shoves him away and kicks out at Yoshi’s chest, sending the chair flying backwards crashing into the camera and knocking the lights on top of Yoshi.
Ralph tackles Clyde and wrestles him to the ground, then holds him there, his arms pinned to his sides, until Clyde stops struggling and the two of them are left gasping deep gulps of air. A deathly silence descends over the garage, the only sound their heavy breathing. After a moment they look over at the tangle of camera equipment and the upended chair where Yoshi was sitting. Ralph releases Clyde and crawls over to inspect the mess. Clyde sees him move aside the camera equipment and disappear behind the chair. After a moment, he straightens up, his face contorted in fear.
“He’s dead.”
Clyde lets out a muffled scream and scrambles forward. Yoshi is staring blankly, a puddle of blood spreading out from under his head where it bounced from the concrete onto the tripod leg of one of the lighting fixtures, impaled on a thick screw. “Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit!” Clyde turns away and casts about the room as if looking for an escape.
“Why the hell did you have to go and do that?” Ralph says. “No one was supposed to get hurt. That’s what you said.”
“I know, I know, I know…” Clyde says, wringing his hands and looking down at Yoshi. “But when he started saying all those things, I lost it. Fuck! What are we going to do now, Jimmy?”
“What are we going to do?” Ralphs backs away from Clyde and points at Yoshi. “This is your mess, baby doll. I didn’t agree to this shit.”
Clyde pushes Ralph back against the wall. “Don’t kid yourself, babe. You’re the one who tied him up; you’re the one with the gun. I’m sorry, but it’s your shit too.”
Ralph shakes himself free of Clyde. “The least you can do is cover his face.” He hands Clyde a bandana and points it at Yoshi.
“Right, and then what?”
“Just—” Ralph raises his chin at Yoshi. Clyde drapes the bandana over Yoshi’s face and straightens up.
“It’s not true, you know,” Clyde says.
“What isn’t?”
“What he said about Momma and Clyde.”
Ralph closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Whatever…”
“So what do we do now, Mr Genius?”
Ralph narrows his eyes at Clyde. “You should turn yourself in,” he says after a moment. “The sooner, the better. Considering your history with him, you’ll probably only get done for manslaughter.”
“What about you?”
“I don’t have the same defence as you. They could get me for felony murder. It’s best if I pack up my stuff and get the hell out of here.”
“Why should I have to go to jail and you get to go free? That’s not fair.”
“It’s fair that I get done for murder when you’re the one who went and killed your own father without my having a say in it?”
Clyde turns away from Ralph and stares across the garage with tear-filled eyes. “I’m not turning myself in alone.”
“Then we only have two choices. We can either take the body with us and get rid of it somewhere, or we can try and hide it here.”
Clyde blinks away tears and wipes his face with the back of his arm. After a moment, he lifts his head and stares over Ralph’s shoulder, narrowing his eyes at the back of the garage. Ralph turns to see what Clyde is looking at and looks back at Clyde.
“What is it?”
“Albacore…” Clyde whispers, lifting his arm and pointing at the tool room.
“Albacore?”
“He used to keep fish in a freezer in there.”
Ralph jogs over to the tool room and jiggles the handle. “It’s locked.”
Clyde stoops down and pulls a jangle of keys out of Yoshi’s pocket, then runs over to the tool room and tries a couple of them before finding the one that unlocks the door. He and Ralph step inside and push past the various tool carts to the back of the room, where they find the humming freezer. Clyde unlatches it and pushes aside several layers of packaged fish, unmistakably scarred with freezer burn. He turns to Ralph, holding one of the packages. “Nobody’s opened this thing in years.”
Ralph nods, and the two of them spend the next few minutes removing the fish from the freezer. Once it’s completely empty, they locate a discarded tarp, wrap Yoshi’s body in it, drop him into the freezer, and reload the frozen fish on top of him. Once they are sure the freezer looks as it did before, they stare at each other for a moment as if entering into a wordless agreement and set about finishing the job of cleaning up the garage before quietly backing Ralph’s car out of the driveway at a few minutes past three in the morning and driving off.
* * *
Ralph and Clyde hop onto Highway 2 and drive in silence toward the Angeles National Forest, both of them shell-shocked and neither knowing what to say. North of La Cañada, they leave civilisation behind and roar into the wilderness, bounded on both sides by massive pines and California oaks. As they reach the turnoff to the Switzer Falls trail, Clyde kicks out at the glove box and whirls on Raphael.
“Everything that happened back there… it’s all your fault. I hope you know that.”
Raphael glances at Clyde, then calmly pulls a cigarette out of his breast pocket and lights it with a trembling hand. “Of course, it is.”
“I’m serious, Jimmy. None of that would have happened if you hadn’t riled me up with all that revenge talk.”
“I’m not arguing. That’s the way it’s always been with me. Everything always ends up my fault.”
“Well, this time you really took the cake. You made me kill my father! That’s the worst kind of sin in any religion. He didn’t deserve that no matter how bad he was.”
Ralph pulls his car into the dirt lot at the Switzer Falls trailhead and switches off the headlights, plunging them into the darkness of a moonless night. The soft glow of the Milky Way bears down on them from between the dense trees of the forest.
“Look, Marilyn,” Ralph says after a moment, “I get that you want to put it all on me, which, between us, is fine if it makes you feel better. But as far as the law is concerned, you’re as responsible for this as I am, if not more. I think you should get that into your pretty head.”
Clyde kicks the glove box again and rolls down the window to gulp down some fresh air.
“And now that we’ve actually taken steps to hide the evidence,” Ralph continues, “there’s no way out for us. We’re well past the point of no return. This is a game changer—for both of us.”
“What do you mean, a game changer?” Clyde says, staring into the dark.
“I mean that no matter what we do from now on, both of us know what’s in that freezer. And one day someone’s going to find it. It could be ten years from now; it could be tomorrow. We can go about our business—together or separately, it doesn’t matter—always wondering whether the trail will lead back to us; always wondering if whatever we’ve built will come crashing down on us.”
Clyde turns to look at Ralph, straining to see his eyes in the darkened car. “It’s like being cursed,” he whispers.
Ralph lowers his forehead to the steering column and lets out a long
sigh.
“What are we going to do, Jimmy?”
“I don’t know.”
After a few minutes of silence, Ralph steps out of the car and walks to the trailhead, leaving Clyde behind. He stares into the darkness trying to clear his mind. The cool, sage-scented breeze caresses his face, and he closes his eyes and draws it in once, twice, feeling the calming effect of the exercise. Up ahead he senses the rustle of rabbits or similar scampering in the brush. Nature is more benign here than in the Negev, he reflects. Little chance of being bitten by a viper. Danger here lurks inside, not out there.
A cold hand touches his arm, and he opens his eyes and looks back at the car. The windows are fogged up, but he can still make out the figure of Clyde pitched forward in the passenger seat.
An inexplicably warm current of air cuts through the early-morning freshness, coming from the direction of the trail. Ralph turns away from the car and hikes further into the woods to investigate. Up ahead in the distance beyond a bend in the trail, he sees a soft glow at ground level, orange, yellow, red—strong enough to illuminate the trees around it. Ralph instinctively reaches into his back pocket for a kippah, but finding none, he fishes out his bandana, ties it onto his head and moves forward, compelled by a force at his back.
The air gets progressively warmer as he nears the source of the glow, as if he is approaching an open oven. And there, dead ahead, he sees it, a fire in a clearing, an acacia bush ablaze. Ralph removes his shoes and socks and moves toward the bush, which, like its biblical counterpart, appears unconsumed by the flames.
“Is that you?” Ralph asks the bush.
His question is met by the crackling of the fire.
Ralph looks up at the sky, at a trail of aromatic smoke ascending to the heavens. Then he looks back at the bush.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I know I was supposed to be your special son. But instead, I’ve been a total fuck-up. My whole life—one disaster after another. I thought I’d be able to turn it around somehow at some point. But after tonight, I see that’s never going to happen, is it?”
Ralph steps closer to the flames, feeling the searing heat on his face, smelling the singe and sizzle of his hair as he reaches out his arm toward the burning bush, yanking back his arm at the pain. He drops to one knee, feeling a crushing sensation in his chest, and he cries out, “Help me fix it!” He breaks down into loud choking sobs. “Show me the way, please. Give me a chance. Once last chance. I promise I’ll return. I promise. I swear it. On my life, I swear it. I’ll return.”
“Jimmy?”
Ralph opens his eyes and finds Clyde standing over him in the darkness. He whips around and looks for the acacia bush, but the clearing is empty with no sign of either the bush or the fire that enveloped it. He lets out a groan and absently sifts a handful of dirt through his fingers
“What happened to you?” Clyde asks.
Ralph staggers to his feet and glances around the clearing. “Let’s just go home,” he says after a moment, his voice weak, barely audible.
“And then what?”
“Nothing. We wait. If there’s anything to be done, the answer will come.”
“What about in the meantime?”
“We carry on like nothing’s happened—for now.”
Clyde looks off to one side for a moment and back at Ralph.
“I’m scared, Jimmy.”
Ralph nods. “Me too.”
Clyde tries to draw Ralph into a hug. But Ralph squirms out of the embrace and trudges back up the trail toward the car.
* * *
Sometime in the middle of the night, a distant wail jolts Clyde awake. He throws out his arm to reach for Ralph and find an empty bed, the sheets soaked through with sweat. As he struggles to establish his bearings, he notes the mournful baying of an electric guitar floating up from the ground floor, and he creeps downstairs to investigate. Just off the kitchen, he finds Ralph in his music room curled up on a leather lounge chair listening to Pink Floyd’s Comfortably Numb at full volume. He is grasping the framed photograph of the soldier to his chest, his face turned away from the door.
“Jimmy?”
Clyde’s voice is swallowed up by the music. Stepping into the room, he notices Ralph’s mother’s photograph strewn on the floor near the foot of the chair. As he bends down to pick it up, Ralph’s head jerks up. He stares at Clyde bleary-eyed, a stream of drool draining onto his chest from the corner of his mouth.
Clyde drops the photograph onto Ralph’s lap, then backs out of the room. He races upstairs and scrambles into the guest hutch, his heart pounding in his ears. Pulling the pillow over his head, he rigidly holds his position until he no longer hears the music and eventually loses consciousness, overtaken by dizzying exhaustion, his mind flooded with images of murder and gore and the last cursed words his father uttered on this miserable planet.
* * *
The next morning, after stealing out of the loft while Clyde was passed out in the hutch, Ralph hyperventilates in the car park of his former synagogue. He plays out the garage scene in his head over and again: Tying Yoshi up at gunpoint; Clyde kicking Yoshi in the chest; Yoshi’s lifeless face staring up at him; loading Yoshi’s body into the freezer. Raphael the Avenging Angel. What was he thinking? Anger and regret surge within him. Sweat streams down his face, and he is racked by shudders as he runs through alternate scenarios, seeking justification for what has happened, trying to figure out how to undo what’s already done.
Clawing out a bottle from the glove box, he downs a Quaalude and waits for the drug to take effect, deliberately slowing down his breathing, trying to regain control. After a few minutes, he feels the familiar warm rush that takes the edge off. The tension in his muscles dissipates. Confidence replaces anxiety. Noting the engine is still running, he snaps it off and yanks the keys out of the ignition.
What Clyde said was true. He had encouraged Clyde to confront his father from a position of power, as a form of revenge. If it wasn’t for that, Yoshi would still be alive. But the old bastard deserved it, Ralph reasons. Still, Clyde shouldn’t have to go down for murder. He considers turning himself in and taking the blame for everything, explaining the whole thing as a dispute over a car repair gone wrong, something done in the heat of the moment. Whatever the explanation, it would be the right thing to do, to suffer the punishment.
The thought of punishment brings back the words Saba taught him from childhood: “Everything happens for a reason.” Perhaps this is the moment it all catches up with me. This is the moment I start to pay for all my crimes.
“And Adonai said,” Ralph recites out loud, “‘the voice of your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground’.” The blood of Ima, Tomer, Aunt Penina, and countless others. And now Yoshi. There’s no turning back.
He launches out of the car and strides into the building. He feels his way along the long, darkened corridor to the empty sanctuary and stands in the back gazing at the ark. Seeing a prayer shawl folded over the back of a chair, he feels an unexpected urge to pray and drapes it over his head. The blessing for donning the shawl takes control of his brain, and his lips mime the ancient words.
Then he makes his way to the bima and ascends the steps, his eyes fixating on the ark, imagining the Torah scrolls inside. The last time he set foot in a synagogue was for the joint funeral of Aunt Penina and Tomer. Others had dragged him there, had taken him from his hospital bed in utter sedation and positioned him in the front row, moaning and drooling and fighting the temptation to throw himself into the crater. And now here he was again.
“I’ll give you one last chance,” he whispers.
“Can I help you?” a familiar voice echoes off the hard walls of the sanctuary.
Ralph turns and sees Rabbi Mordechai standing in the back. He takes the prayer shawl off his head and drapes it over his shoulders.
“Hello, Rabbi.”
Ralph descends the bima and meets the rabbi at the front row.
“It’s me. Raphael.
”
The rabbi reaches out a hand tentatively and touches Ralph’s arm. “Baruch Hashem.”
Ralph looks down and squeezes his eyes shut. He feels the rabbi’s hand on his shoulder. He shakes his head. He feels like crying. He swears to the highest heaven he’ll kill himself right then and there if he does.
“Welcome back,” Rabbi Mordechai says. “I was waiting for this day.”
“I’m not back, Rabbi.” Ralph looks the rabbi in the eye. “I came to say goodbye.”
The rabbi frowns and looks around at the empty room. He takes Raphael’s hand. “Come sit for a while.”
The two of them sit in the front row and stare at each other for a few seconds.
“With respect, Rabbi…”
“Speak your mind, young man.”
“Sending me back to Israel was a mistake. You see that now, don’t you?”
“The story’s not over yet.”
“How can you say that? I lost myself completely; people got hurt. My life is complete rubbish. And my love for Torah, the only thing I ever truly loved, died there. In Israel.”
“You were not responsible for what happened in Mitzpe Ramon. It was an accident.”
“I get that! But, don’t you see, if nobody was responsible, if it was all just a string of accidents, then where is He in all of this?” Ralph points a finger at the ark. “Where was He when an Egyptian shell hit Yossi’s tank? Where was He when Aunt Penina and Tomer were burning?”
“He was right there with them in the midst of the flames, and His heart was breaking. Just as He’s here right now in this room waiting for you to return.”
Ralph stands and removes the prayer shawl.
“I don’t understand any of it, Rabbi.” He folds the shawl and hangs it on the back of a chair. “In any case, I don’t think I can ever return. I’m too far gone.”
“It’s never too late, young man. Be patient with yourself.”
“Goodbye, Rabbi.” Ralph moves down the aisle.
“Your sister came to see me recently,” Rabbi Mordechai says.
Ralph turns around. “What about it?”
“She’s trying to track you down.”
“Why?”
The Death of Baseball Page 35
