by Nava Semel
I was convinced that Imri wouldn’t break down during the interrogation and tell the Englishmen where he bought weapons and how he smuggled them into the country, and where the Radoms were hidden.
* * *
“Johnny,” I said hopelessly to my dog, “don’t you have even one idea?”
The days passed and, except for Imad’s friend, the janitor, who was secretly passing us information about Imri, we didn’t receive any sign of life.
Anna was restless. She couldn’t sit by idly. She was also looking for a way. Once, she went to the Jewish Agency in Tel Aviv, and they said that now that she wasn’t Imri’s wife anymore, she had no right to demand visiting rights from the British.
The toolshed was rebuilt. Zionka’s father came home to the village on Friday, and instead of resting, he rebuilt it.
“Where were you when all this happened?” I asked Zionka angrily. We stood facing each other, separated by the ladder her father was standing on as he worked on the tin shack. “You hid in your books, or maybe you ran off to Herzl Fleischer!”
Zionka ran home and pulled the telephone string so hard that it tore. The two tin cans fell at the same time.
She yelled, “The people who say you’re a troublemaker are right. I was with the ducks, guarding the two guns.” Zionka disappeared into her room and then her head of curly hair reappeared at the window. “I know why you don’t read or write,” Zionka shouted, “You’re just afraid!”
I feel rotten, Johnny. Why can’t dogs talk? Tarzan understands every word Cheetah says to him, and the elephants came to help him when he roared for them. You think my roars are a game. If my life was a movie, I could tell the audience I was sorry and say it was the wrong reel. Wait a minute, I’ll just change it. Or, if worst comes to worst, I’ll give them all their money back and invite them to see the movie another time.
I felt as if someone was playing a terrible prank, but wasn’t enjoying it. Like when I was little, and Imri was looking for me, and I was hiding in the toolshed and laughing to myself. Now I was the one searching, and not finding what I was looking for.
I couldn’t tell her I didn’t mean it. I wanted to simply say “Zionka,” and she’d understand. I didn’t know how many reels there were in a movie, and how to tell them apart when putting them on the projector. Johnny, try to understand, I don’t want to make a mistake. What I did is already done. I was standing in the yard and talking to the air.
Miriam
I have never seen a love like yours, my sister. To this very day, I don’t know whether you pursued him, or he courted you. Who would have thought you’d get married. You were just children. You romped in the fields surrounding the village. His family kept bees and we raised chickens. Now, your younger son and Zionka, the neighbors’ daughter, play outside, and the dog with the strange name leaps around between them. The boy talks about the future. His head is full of strange ideas. For example, that magical device people talk into that turns the sounds into a string of letters. It will save all the bother of writing. And he has another crazy idea. He wants to get a special movie camera no bigger than his hand, go everywhere with it, and turn us all into moving pictures. I ask you, is such a thing possible? After all, we wouldn’t be able to prepare ourselves for this ordeal, and the people looking at our pictures in the future will laugh at us, because we were caught, God forbid, misbehaving.
I remember the two of you sitting in the yard, your legs crossed, and he, the boy who would become your husband in a few years, was describing the way bees live. You, my sister, asked why the Creator had treated them so badly, giving them so many females when only the one that was crowned queen could fulfill the commandment to multiply and be fruitful. You said you would do without the crown if you could have the man your heart desired. He, the boy who would become your husband, thought for a long while, and then said that maybe God was half-asleep when He created the bees, and so distracted that He didn’t consider the results of what He was doing. He didn’t think about the poor female bees who would never taste love even once in their short lives.
I am reminding you of all this, my sister, only because I’m not sure that people remember anything where you are now. Your future husband also mentioned something you learned in school. When the world is immersed in sorrow, it is forbidden to multiply and be fruitful. He told you about Noah and his sons and all the animals and birds in the ark. The Creator separated them, placing the males on one side and the females on the other, and they did not approach one another. Rest in peace, my sister. Anna says the world will soon be immersed in sorrow.
Chapter 34
When Tonka Greenbaum, that beauty from Vilnius, arrived in the village the second time, she got off the bus near the water tower and announced to the curious crowd hungry for gossip, that a distant relative on her mother’s side was a leader in Palestine’s Jewish community and personally acquainted with the High Commissioner’s cook in Jerusalem. She assured them that Imri would be released soon. “You would do well to trust me,” she said.
Zionka’s mother spread the gossip. She described how Aharonchik fixed his admiring glance on the second wife, and even suggested that she come to his bakery to sit near the oven and rest up from her long, hard trip.
“Is there a telephone here?” Tonka Greenbaum asked, and Aharonchik took her to the village committee-chairman’s office. Mali Perlmutter claimed she’d seen prettier girls, and Ezra Yacobi from the post office gushed with praise for her silk blouse and the gold pin on the collar.
It was too bad that whoever distributed beauty in the world wasn’t a communist who believed in equality. Aharonchik’s wistful sighs would still be heard in the village many years later. Even then, I thought maybe I should tell him to ask Tonka Greenbaum to marry him. If I ever talked to her, I would explain that all she had to know was one sentence from the Communist Manifesto to pass the baker’s test for a wife. But Tonka had only returned to the village to see Anna.
They stood face to face. Two brides with the same groom, and the groom himself wasn’t there to choose.
I never found out what Anna said to Tonka. What Tonka said to Anna wasn’t hard to figure out, because the whole village gossiped about it for weeks. Tonka publicly announced that Imri was hers, that she never intended to divorce him. She wasn’t the second bride, but the last and only one. Tonka also advised Anna to leave the village, saying she would pay for her ticket home, to Lutsk.
“I heard you miss it very much,” the second wife said to the first one. “Not everyone is suited to Palestine, and Palestine is not suited to everyone.”
Anna whispered something to Tonka that no one else heard. To this day, I still don’t know what.
Help me, Johnny. An awful thought keeps running through my mind. Maybe I should stop with movies altogether. Sometimes I think that even the one I saw was too much. All of a sudden, movies seem to be the most terrible prank people ever invented to fool themselves with. Now, when I’m feeling so low, I don’t think the telephone was such a great invention either. You get used to talking to an empty can, and you don’t always know if there’s anyone at the other end. I know I’ll be tempted to see other movies. I’ll sneak you in if you promise not to bark. You’ll be there across from each other, two Johnny Weissmullers. He’ll put out his hand to you from the screen and take you inside.
Was there ever a time when Johnny Weissmuller felt sick of being Tarzan? He was lucky that he could always choose another part, and if he finally decides to be only Johnny Weissmuller, that’s good enough for me.
I suddenly found myself near the English fence. The dog kept looking back to see whether I was behind him, then leaped forward, dug around in the bushes, passed through them, and let out a few impatient barks from the other side. Now I knew how he had sneaked into the base the day Anna arrived. Johnny stopped barking, but was still looking tensely at me, worried that the sentry might discover us. We were separated by the fence, but I didn’t climb it. Instead, I crawled through the pit he’
d dug, dirtying myself, tasting earth and roots.
The two Uziks were having another conversation inside me on their hidden telephone. The Troublemaker said, “Major Charles Timothy Parker won’t want to help. If I were in his place, I’d take advantage of the situation and get rid of the obstacle. I’d deport Imri to a place far away from Palestine, to Eritrea, in Africa, so Anna would forget him, and then, Major Charles Timothy Parker could suck honey in his huge, ancient castle, they would be guarded by five pedigreed dogs, not some mongrel. That was one possible ending to the movie. A happy ending, you have to admit. When all is said and done, it would be very hard to convince Anna’s family to leave Lutsk and join her here. England is not a desert, and it has a future, just as it has a past.”
The second Uzik, weak and pathetic, who couldn’t even make out one letter of the alphabet, whispered, “I’ll go and ask Charlie for help, maybe because Johnny Weissmuller trusts him. Dogs have a special sense. I haven’t forgotten what Mohammed told me when he brought me Johnny. Now I’m afraid Mohammed made it up just to make me happy. I want to believe that what’s in a movie is more real than what exists in reality.”
There were still signs of the fire on the military base. Someone, some “British Aunt Miriam,” had tried to clean them away. The dirt had been swept up, and the trees between the hangars had been freshly whitewashed. But the scorched trunks were still visible under the whiteness. Since the fire, the English had stepped up their security on the base, and now, sentries patrolled the length of the fence. We waited for the guards to change, and started to crawl on all fours across the open field so we wouldn’t be seen from the hangars or the gate.
We reached the landing strip. It was deserted. There were no Hawkers there. The clear air held no trace of smoke. The pale sky was spotted with clouds that looked like patches covering holes. If anyone’s there, I thought, he’s very good at concealing himself.
The scent of the citrus groves, which was always stronger in the afternoon, reminded me that very soon, we’d be extracting the first honey of the season. You could tell from the smell that the flowers were full of nectar, and that next fall, Jews in Poland—maybe in Anna’s Lutsk—would sit down to their Rosh HaShana holiday dinner and dip their apple slices into choice honey, made in Palestine.
I was lying down between the bushes on the edge of the landing field, staring at the sky, dozing off a little because of the sweet smell. Suddenly, Johnny Weissmuller growled. His ears pricked up. We heard the buzz of an airplane. It was circling in the sky, waving its tail and its nose as if its prey was close, and right after that, a man in uniform appeared in the middle of the landing field, signaling the Hawker where to land.
The lights of the airplane were turned on and the buzzing got louder. I’ve been watching bees from the time I was born. I saw how they felt their way to the heart of the flower, where the nectar is concentrated, and I could recognize their fear of the first contact with a solid surface, as if they were safe from harm only in the air. I could sense that same hesitation in the Hawker.
The signalman spoke to the pilot in sign language, and I liked that better than reading or writing. A hand waved from the window. The face was in shadow, but I was sure that Johnny Weissmuller had found the person he was looking for.
The wheels touched down. The Hawker shook, as if it had a chill, and then slid along the strip. Before it had stopped moving completely, Johnny Weissmuller and I were surrounded by a circle of military policemen.
I heard someone laughing his head off.
“That dog. Good God. Is he still alive? I was sure we hit him last time. I thought only cats have nine lives.”
Johnny Weissmuller opened his mouth and bared his teeth as if he was about to attack. The military policeman pointed his rifle at him. “I’ll get you now, you evil creature, and you, boy, get out of here on the double if you don’t want us chasing you too.”
The signalman bent and placed a block of wood under the wheels of the airplane.
Johnny Weissmuller broke away and dashed towards the Hawker. Then Charlie stood at the open door, wearing his pilot overalls and hat and holding Johnny Weissmuller in his arms, the way he had the night he was wounded.
“Don’t you dare shoot! These are my friends!”
The military policemen looked suspiciously at him, and then moved slightly off to the side, watching us from a distance, pointing at Major Charles Timothy Parker, calling him nasty names behind his back, just the way the people in the village did.
Aharonchik
This is our village, Pani Greenbaum. It’s not perfect, but it’s a society in the making. It is wracked with growing pains and the torment of breaking old, ingrained habits.
And I have a mission here. Someday, I will bring about great changes. If you had gotten off the bus on May First, the workers’ holiday, your mouth would have fallen open in shock. Multitudes of free Jews marching behind the flag, and I the main speaker, inflaming them from the platform, inspiring them to advance with me towards the new doctrine, the revolution of the twentieth century.
Welcome, Pani Greenbaum. If you choose to live among us, we will welcome you with open arms, but not as Imri’s wife. You would be doing a very foolish thing to stay married to him. You already have your certificate, and it’s not a contract of slavery. You are released from the bonds of Europe, and now you are a free woman.
If you were a baker like me and spent your nights at the blazing oven, you would understand that you can make anything by kneading flour and water together. First, they are separate, different materials, but once they’re mixed together, you can’t distinguish between them.
Take your freedom, Miss Greenbaum, because the dough has already been baked. Black, fresh bread that gives off heat. Imri and Anna have behaved as man and wife. He has “known her,” in the biblical sense. Why should you take her place in bed and be haunted by her shadow every night? Such is the sanctity of sexual intercourse—ask the rabbi—and the sanctity of the flesh is not on paper.
Chapter 35
“Did something happen to Annie?”
The two Uziks inside me reacted differently. One sighed, and the other shook his head.
I didn’t know how to ask for help. It wasn’t easy to ask. Jane shouted and cried, Cheetah banged on Tarzan’s naked back, and my Johnny whimpered. But I didn’t know how.
Charlie was out of patience. He shook me and asked, “Was Annie hurt? Did she go away? Did something happen to her family. Are they all safe and sound?”
No. It was about her husband. No, he wasn’t her husband at all. What should I call him. Her ex-husband, her beloved, the one who sucked honey with her and slept on the same mattress with her?
I said, “My older brother. He’s your prisoner.”
Charlie pointed to the Hawker. A metal bee, lifeless, unmoving, with no mind or will of its own. Even the machine gun behind the cockpit was still.
“I can take it up into the air. I can bring it down from the air, but the air itself doesn’t change.”
“Will you try?” I shouted, “Promise you’ll try!”
“Yes, little Zionist. You’re all dreamers here. Annie too. If only she would dream of me.” He sounded so strange as he started to predict things.
“You’ll probably be a big Zionist when you grow up. But I think that someday, you’ll ask yourself all kinds of questions. For example, was all of this actually worth it?”
But Charlie promised to help anyway. He would testify for Imri and swear that he was the most honest man in all of Palestine.
I stood across from Major Parker and wanted so badly to sting a world that made you choose only one person. I didn’t understand why you couldn’t love two people at the same time. One Uzik—it doesn’t matter which—admired his older brother, and the other Uzik liked Charlie, although Anna hadn’t sucked honey with him, and maybe that was the difference between the two Uziks. Tarzan didn’t have that kind of problem. The only woman he knew in the world was Jane. Suddenly, somethi
ng else bothered me: what kind of world was it if two peoples couldn’t share the same homeland. I felt hopeless. The machine gun behind the cockpit was a thirty-three caliber Lewis, but I wasn’t going to tell Herzl Fleischer. On that day, I finally touched the wings of the Hawker. The military policemen didn’t notice how Major Charles Timothy Parker took my hand and ran it across the body of the airplane. Canvas stretched tightly over metal. I drummed my fingers on it and listened to the echo coming from the inside. This was all that was left of Tarzan’s roar.
The night stretched on, and I was tense. Every rustling leaf or chirping cricket made me jump. I didn’t have a rope anymore, so I tiptoed down the stairs to see if Imri was back and I sniffed for the smell of a lit Players, but the mattress was empty. Aunt Miriam, full of hope, put it on the floor near the door every night. I didn’t tell her or Anna anything about Charlie’s promise, so they could be surprised when Imri came home.
Early in the morning, the Troublemaker inside me started to fume, and he cursed Major Parker, that English liar who broke promises. That Uzik imitated Aharonchik’s way of talking and succeeded in tricking the other Uzik to come over to his side, and they both hoped the Englishmen would spend the rest of his life talking to the empty air.
* * *
In the morning, Aunt Miriam asked me to come back from school early, and even encouraged me to go with Zionka, who “had a good influence” on me. I slipped out and went to school alone. No one in the world had an influence on me, either good or bad. Maybe Johnny ...
Right after school, Anna and I went out to extract the first honey of the season, and Aunt Miriam went to Tel Aviv again, hoping she would find some important person in the Jewish Agency who could pull some strings with the British generals.
