by Eli Hai
Broken Leaves of Autumn
ELI HAI
All rights reserved. Copyright © 2016 Eli Hai
Reproduction in any manner, in whole or in part, in English or in other languages, or otherwise without written permission of the publisher is prohibited.
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Translated from Hebrew by Amit Pardes
Copyediting of the English edition: Susan Uttendorfsky at Adirondack Editing
Contact: [email protected]
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Chapter 1
The heavy heat rising from the fiery dunes exhausted the many palm trees scattered along the deserted street, and their branches drooped, submitting to the forces of nature. Even the minuscule cloud above halted its movements. It seemed as though its strength abated in the face of the blazing sun. The air rested in place, refusing to create the slightest breeze that would relieve his stay under the sun.
Jeff Farmer wandered up the deserted street toward the bus station. After walking the short distance, he felt a sharp pain piercing his right foot. He wasn’t barefoot, yet the canvas shoes he wore didn’t prevent the burning heat from permeating his flesh and slowly singeing his feet. The blazing sun had no mercy on him either. It sent its fiery rays down on him, and Jeff felt its devastating heat in every part of his body. His cheeks reddened, and the sweat pouring from them mixed with the thin film of dust covering his face. He hurriedly pulled a bottle of water out of his shoulder bag and weighed his possibilities: should he wash his face or drink the water? The water wasn’t as cool as it was when he’d left home. Nevertheless, he drank from the bottle eagerly, until he emptied its contents.
He looked around in a desperate attempt to find shelter from the exhausting heat. His eyes carefully scrutinized the tiny town that looked abandoned. He rejected the option of returning home, even though he knew the bus he was waiting for wasn’t due for another hour. What would he do in the meantime? Where would he find shelter from the terrible heat that fell on the desert town, leaving its residents shut-in in their homes? Dejectedly, he did something wrong and even dangerous. He took advantage of the fact that the house next to the station looked empty, leaped over the fence, sprawled under a tree, and took off his shoe. He lifted his right foot and studied it carefully. The foot was red with a huge blister in the middle. He stood up and hobbled to the nearby tap, hoping the water would ease the pain. But he immediately pulled his foot back when the hot gush of water just aggravated the state of his sore foot. Just what I need right now, he thought with disappointment. Maybe I’ll postpone my trip to a different date, a better one?
After all, that was what Pam requested. Requested? More like begged, cried, and whatnot. She did almost everything to try to stop him from leaving home, leaving her and his mother vulnerable to the whims of a cruel, foolish, mentally unstable father.
Pam was his only sister. Even though she was twenty-six, and three years older than he, she looked like a girl. She was short and plump, her body lily-white, her face flushed and freckled. Her light-blue eyes stood out strongly in contrast to her thick eyebrows and curly red hair. Her sloppy attire and unkempt face kept the few young men in town away from her, and not even one suitor knocked on their door. Their father abused her and made her life a living hell, while their mother stood aside, unable to save her. He was her only ally, and now he wanted to leave, as well.
For years, he yearned to leave the remote town in the heart of Arizona, but fear of leaving his mother and sister with his crazy father dissuaded him. However, even that fear didn’t prevent him from dreaming of the day he’d leave home and build himself a new, different life, somewhere else, far from where he was born and raised.
Jeff gently massaged his feet, and doing so, recalled the last two times he ran away from home. The first time was when he was only twelve years old. It happened during a noisy fight in which his father hit his mother in the face. When he saw his mother rolling on the floor, blood pouring down her lips, he felt mindless with anger. In a rage, he launched himself at his father—who looked amused by the entire matter—and hit him with his small fists. It was then that his father’s face flushed with rage, and his eyes spit fire. He shook off his son, slapped him, kicked him in the stomach, and showered him with a collection of his regular curses: “You’re the spawn of the devil, boy! You and your sister were born in sin—a sin committed by your ungodly mother. If not for that sin, you wouldn’t be here, you little bastards. I wish you were never born!”
Jeff was insulted to the depths of his soul, and despite the sharp pain in his body, he got up, left the house, and set out in a crazy and aimless sprint. He didn’t care what would happen to him; he just wanted to get away from that cursed house. After running for fifteen minutes, he stopped dead in his tracks. To his disappointment, he’d noticed no one had followed him. No one cared about him, not even his mother. Maybe she regretted his birth as well? Maybe she also believed that if not for him, her life would be better. Perhaps he and his sister were the source of all of the family’s maladies? During his short life, his mother had demonstrated so few gestures of affection. Sometimes she stared at him indifferently, as though he wasn’t even her son, but a stranger. Did she also blame him for the sins his father accused her of? And if so, what was her sin in giving birth to him and his sister? Perhaps that sin was bringing them into this world? During those hours, endless questions spun in his head, until the sun set and a heavy gloom settled on the town. Only then, he returned home, holed up in his room, and endured his pain silently until he fell asleep.
The second time he left was more serious. It happened two days after he’d turned seventeen. He remembered that Sunday morning well; his mother and sister had gone to church while his father still slept. According to what he’d planned for a long time, he’d collected his few belongings in his rucksack and left the house. As planned, he hitched a ride with Joe, the neighbor’s son, to the next town, Casa Grande, and from there hoped to hitchhike to Phoenix. He hoped that this way, he’d save the meager amount of money he’d toiled to earn during many months. In the big city, he’d definitely find a job, and this would be the beginning of a new life. And indeed, in the beginning, things went according to plan. Joe’s pickup brought him to Casa Grande. From there he hitched a ride with a truck that took him all the way to Saxton, about twenty-five miles or more from his home. In Saxton, he tried to hitchhike, but to no avail. After two weeks, he ran out of money and had to return the way he came. Ever since, he hadn’t tried to leave home but was convinced that the next time he’d succeed.
“Damn this foot. Why now?” he whispered to himself angrily and continued massaging his foot, until the large blister burst, and transparent, viscous liquid poured from it. The pain was so intense that he felt his foot burn. Maybe he should postpone the trip? This wasn’t how he expected to start his journey, which would be difficult anyway. After thinking it over quickly, he decided he had to continue what he’
d started. This time, it was final! He’d leave this damned desert and never come back! Okay, maybe just the once, to retrieve his sister…. He also thought about his mother but knew she wouldn’t agree to leave the house she’d lived in for so many years. Furthermore, who knew what would become of her in several years? Would she live until then, or would she be too old to travel? Even though she was only forty-nine, she looked much older than her age. Her pale, delicate face was already creased with wrinkles; Jeff didn’t know if they were caused by life’s hardships or the desert sun. Her blue eyes squinted sadly, and her blonde hair was peppered with gray that she didn’t bother to dye. In her youth, she had been a beautiful woman, and in fact, up until several years ago, she was still pretty. Jeff recalled that well. He remembered how the townsmen envied his father, sometimes even openly.
“Hey, John, your wife is pretty, a real hottie,” they’d tell him, “and you’re a fool. Such a fool that you prefer to sit in a bar and drink, instead of enjoying yourself in her arms.”
“I wish my wife looked like yours,” the others laughed.
“You can have her for yourselves,” his father would slur slowly in the way of drunks, wallowing in his drunkenness, his mouth spitting fumes of alcohol.
Well, that was a while ago. It had been years since men had envied his father. Jeff felt his heart clench in sorrow for his poor mother. He didn’t even think about his father. As far as he was concerned, he could drop dead on the street! Why should he care about a father who’d just piled trouble on him, his mother, and his sister? Why should he have mercy for such a stupid, selfish man, to whom liquor was the purpose of his life? Even if his father died in agony, he wouldn’t feel sorry for him. The opposite was true. Maybe he’d even dance on his grave, as the old saying went. Who was to blame for him abandoning his home? His father! Who turned his youth into a nightmare? His father! So why shouldn’t he rejoice in his father’s death?
When he was small, he was convinced his father was at least the legendary John Wayne. He was a tough, strapping cowboy, with a straight, proud walk, and he trained his horses with an iron fist. But more than that, he was a great father, who dedicated a lot of his time and energy to his children and wife. However, several years later, everything changed. His father became a mean drunk who beat his children and wife mercilessly, and alcohol consumed him, body and soul.
His father was a lazy man. Most of the time he didn’t work, so the burden of their livelihood fell on Jeff’s weak mother, who worked in a sewing factory from morning until dusk. His father lounged all day in the bar, drinking himself silly, and in the evening, he’d drag himself home. Sometimes, he’d stumble on the way and fall asleep in the street. Then Jeff would go looking for him, at his mother’s request, and when he’d find him, he’d carry him on his shoulders, dragging him all the way to his bed. The old man would vent the majority of his frustration on his mother and Pam. In the past, he even used to beat them until he drew blood. When Jeff was a child, he didn’t even think of trying to intervene to save them. In the beginning, he would look at his rampaging father, and only after he calmed down a bit, would Jeff attack him with his little fists, trying to stop him from hitting them. His father would shake him off like a rag doll, brutally flinging him on the floor, and continue beating his mother and sister. When he grew into a powerful youth, he had the strength to restrain his father, and indeed, when he was at home, his father ceased with his physical violence, making do with verbal abuse. “You fucking little whore,” he’d say to his daughter, and to his wife, he’d say, “You’re a shitty Christian. The day will come when the Holy Mother will punish you for all your sins. Yes, woman, you’re a shit Christian. Why do you even bother going to church? You’re an adulteress, and the church is for decent folk, not for cheating sinners like you, you piece of shit.” And his mother held her tongue and bore her pain silently.
“Why do you let him talk to you like that?” they asked their mother more than once.
“What am I supposed to do? Does a drunk man have a brain in his head? Does he understand what he’s saying?” she always responded dismissively, putting her finger against her temple as though to indicate their father’s mentally unbalanced state. Sometimes, it seemed to Jeff as though his mother was deliberately keeping the conversation brief. Was it because she herself feared his father’s vitriol? Or perhaps she was hiding some sort of secret? Could there be truth in his father’s words about them being born in sin and adultery? And why did he hate them so?
By the time he was fifteen, Jeff had already started working. He found a job in one of the town’s diners, first as a dishwasher, and after a while, as the head cook’s assistant. Sometimes, he had to work until the small hours of the night. One day, he returned home at midnight. To his surprise, his mother and sister weren’t home despite the late hour. His father was sprawled on the couch; the smell of alcohol fumes from his mouth filled the house, reaching Jeff’s nostrils. He sensed immediately that something was wrong.
“Where are Mom and Pam?” He tackled his drunken father and shook him.
His father mumbled something incoherent that Jeff didn’t understand. “What did you do this time, you motherfucker?” Jeff yelled.
“Mmhm, I…” his father mumbled, turned around, and continued his drunken slumber.
When Jeff entered the kitchen, he immediately realized what happened. The floor was bloodstained. In a panic, he ran to the clinic. When he burst in, he saw his sister lying on one of the beds, a nurse tending to her. His mother sat on a bench at the side, weeping soundlessly. Jeff turned fearfully to the bed and looked at his sister. Her face was bruised, her eyes filled with anxiety. She looked at him without saying a word.
“Did he do this to you?”
Pam didn’t answer, just continued to stare at him in fear.
“The bastard hit her. He broke two of her teeth, and there are stomach injuries, too. I hope her ribs are intact. I just don’t understand how a father can hurt his daughter like this,” the nurse answered in her stead.
“Bastard! I’ll end him! I swear I’ll kill that fucker!” Jeff slammed the wall with his fist.
Since that incident, it seemed as though Pam’s heart had broken. Her spirits, which weren’t high to begin with, seemed to plummet and become more and more dark, and she shut herself in her room. Was it fear that she felt, or perhaps she was afraid to expose her battered face and broken teeth? She spoke sparingly, and when she did, her stammer was stronger. The doctor recommended they take her to a psychologist, but his mother refused with incomprehensible obstinacy. “She’ll get over it on her own,” she decided.
After that incident, his mother summoned her nerve and went to file a complaint at the Sheriff’s office. The Sheriff agreed to lock up the abusive father. However, two weeks later, he released him after warning him not to repeat his violent actions.
Over the years, his father’s strength waned. Old age and alcohol weakened him. He made do with verbal abuse and his attempts to hit his mother and sister were unsuccessful. When he tried to hit them, they pushed him away as easily as though he were a child.
The week before, Jeff turned twenty-three. That day, the die was cast. It was time to leave home. All that was left was to wait for the right time. His opportunity was quick to come. It was after a loud fight—one of many—with his drunk father. Not that there was anything unusual about this fight. It was a fight like any other, which took place almost every day. Yet, this time he felt he couldn’t endure the sight of the pathetic drunk he called his father.
“You’re the most loathsome, meanest person I’ve ever met in my life. It disgusts me to see you constantly drunk!” he hollered at his dad.
“Well then, get the hell out of here, leave home. You’re useless anyway, and more trouble than you’re worth!” his father yelled back.
Jeff was surprised by his reaction. His father cursed and shouted abuse frequently, yet he’d never demanded that Jeff leave.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be gone
in the very near future,” he said and looked directly at his surprised father.
“What are you doing?” Pam asked him when she saw him packing his belongings in his bag.
Jeff didn’t answer. He raised sorrowful eyes to his sister and studied her. He could still see where her teeth had been broken, although two new teeth had been implanted instead of the broken ones.
“A-a-a...are you leaving?” Lately, her stammer had worsened, and she could barely finish a sentence.
“I’m sorry, Sis. I can’t do this anymore. I have to get away from here. I have to find a future somewhere else,” he finally answered, his voice quiet. However, he felt moisture gather at the corner of his eyes.
“W-w-w-here will y-you go? W-w-wha...t will you d-do?” Pam’s face was frightened.
“New York,” he replied quietly.
“N-new York? A-a-are you crazy? W-w-within hours y-you’ll have nothing to eat! W-w-what will you live f-f-from and w-w-what will you do for work?” she persisted.
Pam was right. Jeff knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he didn’t care. What was better, staying here, rotting away in the desert? Was he supposed to spend the rest of his life in this cursed place? What choice did he have?
“Don’t worry, Sis, I’ll manage. I’m positive that I’ll find a job in no time at all. And when I get settled a bit, I’ll come back to visit you, and who knows, maybe I’ll take you away from this place,” he soothed her while she cried.
“B-b-but until you come back, w-w-what will I do?” she finally asked the question Jeff had been so afraid of. He didn’t know how to answer that, and Pam cried some more.
“It’ll be okay, Pam, it’ll be okay. Don’t worry,” he rushed to reassure her as though she were a little girl, without giving her question much thought.
“D-does M-m-mom know?” Once again, she posed a difficult question.
“No,” he responded dryly. “It’s better that you tell her later. I prefer that she know when I’m no longer here.”
