by Iddo Gefen
I have to admit that during the first months I still had my doubts, but they disappeared the day I met Meir. He has a fruit and veggie shop in the neighborhood; he comes to all the demonstrations against the Africans, always in a pressed shirt. This Meir guy doesn’t say much, you see, unlike me. He isn’t big on talking, but when he does talk, he says beautiful things. He said his heart goes out to those poor souls from Africa. That he has no beef with them. That he isn’t fighting against them, he’s only fighting for his own life. That in a different world he’d be playing backgammon with each one of them, and would even let them win. He would come to each demonstration straight from his shop smelling like basil, and I’d stand behind him and sniff his shirt. One day he turned around, said he was sorry he stank, and I shouted that he didn’t stink at all. Meir asked me why I was always shouting, and without even thinking I made up a story about how I could barely hear, that I have a problem with my ears, so he smiled and said that if I shout like that no wonder I have a problem. Apart from that conversation we didn’t really talk much, but over time we started standing closer to each other, and in every demonstration I’d wait until we were all squished against one another to stand even closer to him. He wouldn’t say anything and I wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one, but I kept doing it because I thought that in this life I have nothing more to lose.
But it turned out I was wrong. I discovered this on the day of the big demonstration in support of those Africans. You probably heard about it, it was on every channel. While I was shouting into the camera that Israel is an apartheid state, the whole neighborhood showed up. Apparently they decided to take over the place and fight back. Once I realized this I tried to hide, but it was too late. Someone saw me and started yelling—Look, it’s Anita, and soon enough everyone was yelling traitor and leftist and enemy of Israel. And the funny thing is that the pro-Africans also started yelling at me because they thought I was a mole. People were pushing me out of the demonstration and I found myself standing smack in the middle between those for and those against, shaking. And the worst part is that I suddenly saw Meir standing in front of me. He didn’t say anything, only took a few steps closer and whispered in my ear, Say, are you with us or against us? And I instantly shouted as loud as I could, to make sure he heard me, I’m with you, I’m with You.
Meir grabbed my hand and pulled me out of there. Everyone kept shouting at us, but he told me I shouldn’t listen to anyone. We got on a bus, and Meir said he was inviting me to a restaurant uptown, that he felt like pampering me. I yelled that I couldn’t, since I didn’t even have nice clothes on, but Meir said there was no point arguing because he’d drag me there if he had to. He also said I didn’t need to shout anymore ’cause he could hear me perfectly fine now.
We got off on Ibn Gvirol Street and went into one of those really nice French restaurants, the kind I’d never been to before. He ordered for the both of us, appetizers and main courses and wine, said today we’d eat like kings. I yelled that he was the most romantic person I’d ever met, and he blushed. Then he asked me again to speak more quietly, ’cause it was a fancy restaurant and shouting isn’t very appropriate.
I could tell that striking up a conversation wasn’t easy for him, but he did his best. He asked me what I did for a living and I shouted not much. Then he asked whether I had kids, and I told him I didn’t. Meir was quiet for a while and then said it was weird how loud I was at demonstrations while here I hardly had any words, and I told him he was right and felt that I was about to disappear again. At some point he told me I looked kind of pale, and that maybe I should wash my face, and I said it sounded like a good idea. I went to the bathroom and stood in front of the sink. I told myself that I had to calm down. That I couldn’t let the one person who finally came into my life get away. But then I looked in the mirror and nearly screamed; my skin was so pale, almost see-through, that I could barely see myself.
* * *
I rushed out of the bathroom and started shouting across the restaurant at Meir that everyone in this country was corrupt and that you couldn’t trust no one no more. That the minister of finance was a freaking joke. The diners all looked at me like I was some crackpot who had just escaped from the loony bin, and Meir whispered that this just wouldn’t do and that I had to calm down. I knew from his expression that I was losing him, but I couldn’t help it, because at that moment I realized that I’d do anything not to disappear again, even sell my Dad’s grave. Meir gave up, lit a cigarette, and sat there quietly while I continued to shout about how everything’s shit here and that you can’t get a moment’s peace and quiet in this country. He finally asked for the check and left a hundred-shekel tip to make up for the embarrassment I caused. When we stepped out into the street I shouted into his ear that it had been the best day of my life, and he said he was happy to hear that. Then he asked if I could make my way home on my own ’cause he had to run a few errands in the area, and I didn’t say a word, since I knew I had caused him enough grief.
* * *
And that was it. I actually just came from the restaurant. You know, I think I’ll stop going to the demonstrations in the neighborhood. There are enough poor souls in other cities, enough reasons to protest. So I’ll have to take those long bus rides again, but I’ll survive. Better than bumping into Meir again.
What, we’re at the central bus station already? That went by in a flash! Can you turn here into Shapira? Oh, I see you’re stopping here. No problem, I’ll get off. I’m leaving a fifty-shekel bill here, okay? Do you hear me? I’m leaving it here next to the seat, okay? Well, never mind, I have to go. Worst-case scenario, you’ll see it tomorrow morning, and think it fell out of your pocket.
Lennon at the Central Bus Station
1.
ON ALVIN’S TENTH BIRTHDAY, the tall-woman-with-the-chin-hair brought him a white rabbit with a black ear. The rabbit was crammed inside a plastic Tupperware box, lying on a half-eaten lettuce leaf. Her eyes were open and her front legs kept scratching the box. Alvin pressed his face against the lid and listened curiously to the screeching sound of her whistle.
“Mazel tov, sweetie. Happy?” the woman asked, patting Alvin’s head.
He didn’t reply. Her hands were coarse but her touch gentle. She took a creased fifty-shekel bill out of her purse and handed it to Alvin. “Buy her a carrot if she gets sad,” she told him.
Alvin fondled the bill with both hands and shoved it into his left pocket.
The woman petted the rabbit on the back and she froze. Alvin looked at them both inquisitively.
“Pet her, sweetheart, pet, what are you so afraid of?”
Alvin reached out, touched, and recoiled. Dropped his hand to his side. Then he tried a few more times until he gave into the soft touch of the fur. “I always wanted a rabbit,” he whispered.
“This ain’t a rabbit, sweetheart,” the woman announced with a smile. “What’s this animal called? Uhm. I forget. Cova. Cava. Cavia. Oh, for fuck’s sake. You know what I’m talking about, right?” Alvin grimaced. The tall-woman-with-the-chin-hair sighed. “You need to learn more words, honey,” she said. “If it weren’t for words, I’d still be thinking you people and the Thai are one and the same.” She reached into her shirt pocket and fished out a lighter with a picture of a naked woman on it, and a poorly rolled cigarette. She was about to light the cigarette, but then looked at Alvin’s face and put it back in her pocket. “Well, did you ask your mother why she isn’t sending you to school?”
Alvin nodded.
“And …?”
“She says she loves me,” Alvin said, still stroking his possibly-rabbit and wondering if she liked it.
“What was that?” the woman asked, leaning into Alvin. “Explain, honey, so I’ll understand.”
Alvin filled his mouth with air and tried to hold his breath but gave in after a moment. “She said other parents don’t actually love their kids,” he said and tried again, this time taking in even more air.
“Wha
t do you mean?” she asked. This time Alvin managed to hold on a bit longer, until his cheeks deflated and shriveled. The tall-woman-with-the-chin-hair patted him on the head. “Tell me, sweetie, tell me.”
“She said other parents let someone else look after their kids because they can’t be bothered to do it themselves.”
“And your mom keeps you close because she loves you? That’s what she said?”
Alvin bobbed his head up and down in a dramatic nod.
“Holy crap,” the woman mumbled. “And you’re fine with it? Spending all day in this dump of a station? Not going to school?”
“Yes,” Alvin replied, arching his thin eyebrows and curving his mouth into a crooked grin. “Yes, yes, yes,” he repeated. He wanted her to stop asking about the outside world. The thought of things that happened outside the borders of the central bus station was unnerving. Sometimes he’d peek out the large windows, gazing curiously at the buildings in front of him. He could tolerate them, had come to terms with their existence, but not with whatever was behind them, everything he couldn’t see. He had once tried to imagine that infinite black stain, and for the first time in his life felt the unsettling presence of nothingness.
“What are you doing?!” the tall-woman-with-the-chin-hair shrieked. His fingers were covered in white fur. “Why did you rip out her fur?” she grumbled, grabbing Alvin’s small hand. There was a pink, exposed patch of skin on the possibly-rabbit’s back. The woman pulled him forcefully and sat him down on the nearby bench. Alvin lowered his gaze, his eyes reddening. “It can’t go on like this, Alvin. Do you understand what I’m saying?” the woman scolded. “You understand it can’t go on like this?”
“Whatever,” Alvin grumbled. “I don’t even want her.”
The tall-woman-with-the-chin-hair sat down silently beside Alvin. Then she suggested they name the possibly-rabbit, said Peter sounded nice to her, but Alvin just shrugged. They were both quiet for a while longer, Alvin gently stroking the possibly-rabbit, but only with one finger. The tall-woman-with-the-chin-hair gave him a kiss on the head. Said he was adorable. Alvin was focused on the tiny animal who was lying on her side, thinking how she was even smaller than the RC Cola can his mother used to treat him to once a week. When he looked up, the tall-woman-with-the-chin-hair was no longer there. She had left the lighter with the naked woman on it behind. Alvin looked at the picture, put the lighter in his pocket and went out for a little stroll, holding the plastic Tupperware box in both hands.
2.
ALVIN WANDERED AROUND the sixth floor, pausing by one of the doors to look at the passengers getting off the bus and going into the station. He eeny-meeny-miny-moed the passengers until his finger stopped on a man with a mustache. He started following him, but got tired of it after a few moments. He turned around and bounded down the stairs, arriving on the fourth floor panting, and stopped next to the McDonald’s. He pressed his face against the window, ogling an elderly couple eating corn sticks and drawing the possibly-rabbit’s box to the window thinking she wanted to see them too. A piece of corn stick dropped out of the woman’s mouth, and her husband rushed to shoo Alvin away with menacing arm-flailing. He quickly retreated, leaped up a different staircase, and found himself smack in the middle of a small forest of Christmas trees. Amid the trees were a few tables laden with colorful Christmas decorations and chubby Santa figurines. He reached out to one of the trees and touched the pointed leaves. They were both prickly and soft. He wondered whether leaves felt pain. He plucked a leaf off one of the smaller trees, used his other hand to open the plastic box, and tossed it in. The leaf landed on the possibly-rabbit’s head; she responded in utter indifference, wouldn’t so much as raise her head.
“Yo, chopstick, whatcha doing over there?” the salesperson yelled. “Either buy something or get lost.”
Alvin fled, fixing his eyes on the dirty tiles. It was only when he reached the pay phone that he felt he was finally out of danger. He leaned against the wall and held his left hand to his chest, making sure his heart was still beating. He lifted the box and peered at his possibly-rabbit, calming down only after he saw she was breathing. Then he resumed his stroll and popped into the record shop minutes before closing time.
“Do you have a Beables CD?” he asked the saleswoman, and pulled from his pocket the bill he had received from the tall-woman-with-the-chin-hair.
“There’s no such band,” the saleswoman replied, chewing a gray wad of bubblegum.
“Bearbes. Beaters. Bealbez,” Alvin said. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. You know what I’m talking about, right?”
“Watch your language,” the saleswoman reprimanded him. Alvin shrunk into himself. She turned around, and then tossed a burned CD of Abbey Road onto the table.
“Beatles,” she said and snatched the bill out of his hand, holding it up to the light.
The photo on the cover was faded. George Harrison’s body was cropped in the middle. Struggling to hold both the box and the CD, he decided to chuck the CD into the box. The possibly-rabbit made no objection. She hopped onto the CD, put her head on McCartney’s bare feet, and fell asleep.
* * *
The clock on the big electronic board flashed nine, and Alvin started skipping toward the jewelry stand where his mother, Prudence, worked. He paused by the entrance to the drugstore, spotting her faux-gold earrings from a distance. Her black hair was gathered into a tight bun, and a red sweater clung to her match-like frame. On the other side of the stand stood a young Eritrean couple studying the rings in the display. The dark-skinned woman was wearing a white embroidered dress, and had a faded cross-like tattoo on her forehead. She noticed Alvin staring at her and smiled. Alvin blushed, then dubbed her the woman-with-the-drawing-on-her-head. He always gave names to the people he liked, those he didn’t want to get swallowed up by the throngs at the station.
When the couple left, Prudence began to cover the stand with a stretch of blue fabric. Alvin ran toward her. He emerged on the side of the stand, stood on his tiptoes, and tried to pull the heavy cloth with one hand, but somehow got entangled in it.
“Stop!” Prudence commanded. Alvin stopped in his tracks. He closed his eyes, felt two hands coming to free him. Then he felt a brief caress. Then nothing.
“What were you trying to do?” Prudence hissed and went back to tidying up the stand.
Alvin didn’t dare look at her. He gazed at the possibly-rabbit who was still fast asleep. He jerked the box twice. Her head hit the plastic wall. She immediately woke up, trying to find something to support herself against. Alvin smiled.
“Come on, let’s go,” Prudence said. She left the stand holding two red bags and glanced at the possibly-rabbit.
“What’s that, a hamster?” she asked and didn’t wait for an answer. Alvin looked at his pet. He was confused.
“Maybe,” he said.
They went to the food court on the sixth floor, stepping out through the metal door and finding themselves in front of some big green dumpsters. The loot piled in the corner of the room was relatively meager—five umbrellas, two kettles, a few computer keyboards, and a busted TV set. Prudence inspected the items carefully, finally picking up a black kettle and taking a closer look at it.
“We’re taking it,” she announced, and put it in one of her bags. “Come on,” she said, “we’re going home.”
Next to the kiosk they took the staircase down, passed by the smelly bathrooms and then by the closed office that served as a makeshift church on Saturdays. Alvin liked going to church. He liked the songs, liked the cookies they handed out at the end of the sermon, liked ogling the girl-with-the-headband who always sat in the front row. He never talked to her but always stared, averting his gaze only when their eyes met. He and his mother stopped visiting the church after Prudence knocked over her chair and screamed at the priest that even God himself knew better than to tell her how to raise her child. He liked remembering how his mother picked him up in her arms and everyone stared at them. Even the girl-with-the-headb
and. Alvin couldn’t hide his smile.
They reached the end of the third floor, which was empty. They stopped in front of the wide corridor leading downstairs.
“There’s only homeless people and drugs down there,” said a cleaner with a neon orange vest and black kippah who popped up behind them. He looked at Alvin’s box and announced, “That needs a bigger cage, tzaddik.”
Alvin wanted to ask the man whether she was a rabbit or a hamster, but his mother had already begun pulling him away. They started back toward the stall and waited for the cleaner to disappear before returning to the wide corridor. They rushed down the staircase, clutching the gray handrail. A pale fluorescent light illuminated the abandoned shops. The sour smell of urine became more pungent as they descended. When they passed by a poster of a bare-breasted woman, Prudence rushed to cover Alvin’s eyes, although he continued to peek through the slits between her fingers. The large silhouettes of passengers from the floors above danced on the tiles. Alvin tried to dodge them, fearing that if he stepped on one of the silhouettes, he’d make someone upstairs trip.
They slipped into a side corridor and paused in front of three big windows boarded up with torn cardboard. Prudence started rummaging through her bags for her keys. Alvin sidled up against her legs. A bearded man in a military jacket and black Crocs staggered toward them, reaching out as if to pet his hamster-rabbit. Alvin clutched the plastic box and turned his back to him. Prudence noticed the man only after opening the door. She tried to scream but no sound came out. Alvin quickly pushed her into the dark room and shut the door behind them, barely managing to lock it. The red bags dropped from Prudence’s hands. They stood perfectly still, making themselves smaller, making their breaths quieter in the pitch-black room. The hamster-rabbit started making noise. Alvin opened the lid and tried petting her, but the animal kept dodging him. After a few minutes, Prudence turned around and lifted one of the cardboard panels hanging over the window, then peeked out into the hallway. Only when she was confident the man had left did she turn on the light, painting the room in a yellow glow. Prudence leaned against the wall, put her hand on her head, and slid down to the floor. The kettle found its rightful place alongside the pile of items crowding the floor: pairs of shoes, a few wall clocks, broken chairs, and old newspapers. Hundreds of objects Prudence had gathered from across the station in the hope of someday finding a use for each one of them.