14.
DANIELA GETS OUT to guide her brother-in-law as he turns the car around. We'll backtrack a bit, he says, and if we can't find the fork where we went astray, we'll wait till they get in touch with us from the farm and guide us home. Don't worry, this has also happened when Sijjin Kuang was driving, and they always found us. Anyway, I'm sure I recognize that hill across from us, I can see it from my bed. You should recognize it, too, since you've been sleeping there for four nights.
The car retraces its path, but after two kilometers or so they reach an indistinct four-way intersection where they have never been before, and Yirmi brakes, turns off the engine, and says, that's it. We'll wait here, so we don't pile one mistake on another.
And from the tool chest he takes out a rag and unwraps a large pistol, saying, I always forget how to undo the safety catch, so I don't use this very often, but if an impressive enough animal comes near us, we'll try to scare him off. He then takes out a two-way field radio and turns on its red flare. Like the gun, it is a souvenir of British times, or maybe even German, but miraculously enough, it still works.
Suddenly the radio emits a screech of chatter, and Yirmiyahu flips a switch and identifies himself with a few words of English. It's too early for them to get worried about us, he explains to his sister-in-law, but soon, when it gets dark and they see we haven't returned, somebody will be sure to make contact. Don't worry, we're really not far, and there's no danger.
"I'm not worried," his sister-in-law answers calmly, "I'm convinced that Shuli, like me, chose a reliable husband."
They sit silently in the car, as the sky grows purple. Daniela senses that her brother-in-law is in a good mood, perhaps because of the rage he vented at the prophet who gave him his name. And so she dares to turn to him softly and ask, Tell me, but only if it's not hard for you, do you know now what happened there that night with Eyali?
"Yes, I understand the whole thing," he answers simply. "That Palestinian, who gave Eyali coffee to keep him awake, knew exactly why Eyal came down from the roof, but he didn't tell anyone, mainly because it didn't occur to anyone to ask him. I knew that Eyal was always precise about time, and the watch they returned to us had also stopped at about the right time, so I was forced to sidestep the army to find out why the soldiers mistook him for their wanted man. I approached a Christian pharmacist, an Arab named Emile from East Jerusalem, an intelligent man who managed to reclaim his father's pharmacy in the western part of the city. I was one of his customers, and we became friendly, and he knew that Eyali had been killed, and I also told him about the friendly fire. So I went to him, and asked if he could help put me in touch with the Palestinian from Tulkarm, who had dodged the meeting with me and the officer.
"And about two weeks later, in exchange for a considerable sum—not for the pharmacist, who acted purely out of goodwill, but for the Palestinian, a man of about sixty, cold and suspicious, who was wary of revealing his name—we met in a greenhouse at Moshav Nitzanei Oz, where he worked as a day laborer, so he could explain to me what he saw on the roof from his vantage down below. And what happened was so simple in its stupidity, so human but also so embarrassing, that I took pity on Shuli and told her nothing. As for me, I could have banged my head against the wall from despair."
Daniela stares at him.
"My precious innocent son, dumb, civilized, the soldier who commandeers the roof of a conquered family and fills the residents with dread—is ashamed to leave behind the bucket they gave him, filled with what it was filled with, because he was afraid..."
"Afraid?"
"Afraid for his good name, his dignity in the eyes of the Palestinian family, and so he doesn't leave the bucket on the roof, and doesn't spill it from the roof, but a few minutes ahead of time he goes down with it, and not to get rid of it in some corner, but to rinse it thoroughly, to rinse it, you hear? So he can return it to the family as clean as he got it. Innocence? Consideration? Respect? Mainly stupidity. Abysmal lack of understanding about what to take risks for and what not. And so, a minute before the shooting, the Arab hears the water in the courtyard. And the soldiers lying in ambush saw not their friend coming down from the roof but rather a figure slipping into the building; why wouldn't they think this was the wanted man they've been waiting for all night?"
"And the Arab saw all this with his own eyes?"
"He didn't see a thing. He was inside the house. But the turning on of the faucet and the sound of rinsing woke him—he was sleeping lightly that night in any case—and right after that, he heard the shots, and in the morning, when the soldiers had already taken Eyali and got out of there, he found his bucket in the doorway, rinsed and clean. Here was a soldier who was ready to disobey explicit instructions so he could say, 'I too am a human being, and I am giving you back a clean bucket. I may have conquered you, but I did not contaminate you.'"
"And the Arab—was he at least touched by what Eyali did?"
"I asked myself exactly that, not at that moment, but later, when I had digested the story. Because the man told it all with a blank expression, without feeling, just the facts, and took the money and hurried back to Tulkarm, as it would soon be curfew."
"But why didn't you tell Shuli?"
"Don't you know your sister? She would have immediately blamed herself, because of the way she had brought him up, all that insane order and cleanliness of hers."
Daniela falls silent. She knows exactly what he means.
The hill that serves as their reference point gradually loses its outline and turns into a murky silhouette. A large flock of birds flaps through the soft air. Yirmiyahu takes the stretcher from the vehicle, places it on the ground and lies down. Daniela looks at the big bald man, whose eyes are closed. She wants to say something to him, but decides against it. She gets out of the car and walks a short distance away, finds a spot concealed by taller grass, takes down her pants, crouches and relieves herself slowly. And as the last drops fall she raises her eyes to the heavens and discovers the first cluster of stars shining overhead.
A sharp chirping pierces the African emptiness and quickly fades into a sob. And then a crackling, metallic voice speaking excellent English calls out, Jeremy, Jeremy, where are you? Yirmi leaps up from the stretcher to seize the connection.
"Come, Daniela," he calls to his sister-in-law as he starts the engine, "get in and see the surprise that's waiting for you."
And as they slowly make their way along the dirt road toward the murky hill, a flare shoots into the sky and spreads a canopy of yellow light. Slowly, slowly sinks the flame, and the trail of light dies down, and then another candle shoots through the darkness, and following that, a third.
Seventh Candle
1.
JUST LAST NIGHT, his elderly father said to him: I want you to know that I definitely do not need you tomorrow. Francisco and I have organized a whole crew to take care of the little Jerusalem elevator. You can relax and tend to business at the office and get the house ready for Daniela. But if you insist on coming along, then early in the morning, please. Before noon my shaking is not as bad.
"But morning, Abba, not dawn."
"We'll compromise on in between. The difference isn't that much."
When Ya'ari arrives at his father's home at half past seven, he finds him trembling in his wheelchair, ready to go. Washing must have been accomplished at first light, and breakfast too, and on the table, cleared of crumbs, the Filipino baby is avidly sucking her toe, surrounded by five plastic containers filled with sandwiches, cookies, and peeled vegetables.
"You don't trust your woman in Jerusalem to feed us?"
"Food there will surely be, but I know this lady very well. Given her regal manners my staff may be too intimidated to go to her table. We're taking care of them, so they won't be dependent on her refreshments."
"The staff, the staff," Ya'ari scoffs, "what staff?"
It turns out that a real delegation has been assembled, six escorts for one old man, not counting Ya'ari him
self: a private ambulance driver; two Filipino friends recruited by Francisco; Hilario, in the role of interpreter; and one little surprise...
"What surprise?"
"A surprise," his father says, smiling. "When you see her, you'll understand right away that this is a surprise."
"But what sort of surprise?"
"A little patience, please. Have I ever disappointed you?"
Ya'ari looks fondly at his father, who is dressed festively for the occasion in a white shirt and black vest; a red tie lies folded in his lap. His shaking does not seem any better this morning.
"And your medicines?"
"I took a little more than the usual dose. And I have another dose in my pocket, in case the old girl tries to exceed the bounds of propriety."
"How many years since you've seen her?"
"Not since the beginning of the millennium. When my illness got worse, I understood that it would not be dignified for us elderly people to peddle illusions to ourselves."
"Illusions about what?"
The father removes his eyeglasses and brings his wristwatch close to his eyes to verify that the second hand is moving. Then he looks up at his son and grumbles, "Illusions ... illusions ... you know exactly what I mean, so don't pretend this morning to be somebody you're not."
"Meaning what?"
"Meaning a square, naïve, limited, engineer."
The elder Ya'ari, who had no formal education, still teases his son sometimes about his degree in engineering. But the son doesn't drop the subject.
"Illusions that love can be a consolation for death?"
The father waves his hands irritably.
"If that explanation makes you feel better, then we'll agree on it. But do me a favor and save the philosophy for later, and instead tell me, should I put on the red tie, or is it too much?"
"If you don't also plan to put on makeup for the visit, then a red tie will brighten your pale face."
"But a festive necktie may give the wrong impression, that I'm coming as something more than a technician fulfilling a guarantee."
Ya'ari takes hold of his father's quivering hand.
"Lover-technician, nothing is more attractive than that."
There's a quiet knock at the door. Hilario, who is sitting by the table making sure that the baby won't spread her arms and legs and fly to the floor, runs to answer it. Two Filipino youths with sad adult faces enter awkwardly and are drawn immediately to their infant compatriot, who greets them with a friendly smile. Kinzie hurries in from the kitchen to introduce the newcomers, Marco and Pedro, good friends and fellow caregivers who got the morning off from their employers to help a friend carry his boss up four flights of stairs to his lover in Jerusalem.
2.
EVEN AFTER FIVE nights here she still wakes up into pitch-darkness. This time she's roused by a sudden anxiety about Nofar, whose devotion to her service in the hospital could get her unwittingly infected by some rare disease. The day after tomorrow, immediately on returning to Israel, she will demand that Nofar spell out for her which injections are given to assistant nurses and explain the procedures for handling people afflicted with dubious illnesses. It has been several years since she and Amotz have grown wary of intervening in Nofar's private affairs, but illness is not a private affair.
She considers whether to turn on a light in the room or to try and cling to the tail end of the sleep that is slipping away from her. After fifteen minutes of lying still with her eyes closed, she concedes that this night's slumber has abandoned her for good, and she turns on the light, intending to replace her own worries with the material and moral losses of the heroine of the novel. But after two pages, the arbitrariness of the plot again stops her reading cold. Fictional troubles can't trump real concerns, and given no choice she lays aside the novel and picks up the King James Bible. At first she returns to the book of Jeremiah, calmly to assess the validity of the heated protest against the prophet by the man bearing his name. And indeed, the level of aggression directed by the biblical Jeremy against his countrymen, coupled with such ornate linguistic virtuosity, confirms her brother-in-law's accusation: these furious prophecies were delivered with pleasure and satisfaction rather than sorrow or pain.
She looks for the Book of Job. There, at least, she can find human suffering with a personal, not a national, dimension. She hopes, too, to find in it rare words to challenge her English.
In this version, for some reason the Book of Job is in a different place, hidden in a spot that considerably precedes Jeremiah. Once she locates it, though, she has no trouble at all collecting words indecipherable to her, such as:
froward
collops
assuaged
reins
gin
cockle
neesing
It is wondrous and pleasing to encounter in the Bible vocabulary she fails utterly to understand in a language that she loves and teaches, and she writes the words down on the last page of the novel. Perhaps she can use them to test the regional supervisor of English studies back home, an ironic bachelor from South Africa who likes her and cultivates her company. But would it be nice to embarrass a friend with a test he might well not pass?
Then she lets go of Job, which does seem to her a more estimable text, but stuffed with tedious repetitions. And in general—a lazy drowsiness flutters her eyes—one could compress the Bible a bit without losing anything significant. With the book in her hand she gets up to close the blinds against the imminent sunrise, but before laying it down and turning off the light, she decides to have a look at the Song of Songs.
Right from the sensual start—Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth—the English flows melodically. Here there's not one cryptic word; each one seems right and trustworthy, with the spirit of the original Hebrew hovering over the lines. The old-fashioned English resonates with grace and grandeur, even a hint of humor. Here is love, open and generous, sometimes pleading for its life, sometimes daring and expansive, bronzed by the noon sun, or burning at night. Yes, now she understands why it was here that the bereaved father began to sob.
I am black, but comely,
O ye daughters of Jerusalem,
As the tents of Kedar,
As the curtains of Solomon.
Look not upon me because I am black—
Because the sun hath looked upon me.
In the imagination of the white woman, on her bed at night in the Dark Continent, the Sudanese Sijjin Kuang arises now from the desert, black and comely, her stature like a palm tree, and goes about the city at night sick with love, wandering through streets and markets, searching for the one that her soul has loved, and she cannot find him, and the watchmen on the walls find her and beat and wound her, and tear away her scarf, and she is as a rose among the thorns...
And the Israeli visitor is drawn to her and runs after her, skimming through the eight chapters not in tears, but with a pounding heart.
0 that thou wert as my brother,
That sucked the breasts of my mother,
When I should find thee without,
1 would kiss thee;
Yes, I should not be despised.
She closes the book and sets it aside. Turns off the light, curls up, and plummets into merciful sleep. And not one hour passes but three, as the violent morning light tries in vain to peek between the slats. At last a knock at the door wakes her; surely it is her brother-in-law calling her to breakfast, or else Sijjin Kuang who has returned, and without a second's thought she invites whoever is at the unlocked door to enter, but the door does not open, because out by the stairway stands the Ugandan archaeologist Dr. Robert Kukiriza, who very politely asks permission to enter for a private conversation.
And because she is flattered that the star intellectual of the team has seen fit to come alone to her room, she asks him to wait a moment, and she takes off her nightgown and runs barefoot to wash her face, puts on the African dress, quickly makes the bed, after closing the Israeli novel lying t
here face down and standing it on the shelf beside the Bible. Just before going to the door, she opens the shutters wide to let in some fresh air, and then, still barefoot, she turns the handle.
3.
NOW FRANCISCO ENTERS with Maurice, the owner of today's private ambulance, who years ago used to transport the lady of the house to clinics and hospitals for her tests and treatments. He is an Egyptian Jew, and he was brought with him to Israel the easygoing, patient temperament of the denizens of the land of the Nile. Sometimes, with just a few words, he instills hope in his round-trip clients. In her final years, Ya'ari's mother became quite attached to him, and preferred his ambulance to a taxi even for shopping or visits to friends.
"And here's our Maurice," says Ya'ari's father, spreading his arms with affection to greet the short, solidly built man. "When we see you, we remember the one who loved you so."
Maurice leans over the wheelchair and clasps the old man to his breast carefully, as if he were made of glass, then warmly shakes young Ya'ari's hand. How happy he is to be summoned again into service by the Ya'ari family, especially for a trip not to a hospital but to visit an old love.
The old man turns crimson and wags his finger back and forth at Francisco, who talked too much. But Amotz Ya'ari laughs and says, Here's proof for you that the heart just gets younger every day.
Friendly Fire Page 30
