Yossi nods and smiles tightly, then tosses off the duvet and, to Raphael’s surprise, crosses the room completely naked and retrieves his underpants from the corner, shaking off the dust. Raphael raises himself up on one elbow and watches Yossi amble back across the room and climb into bed.
“Are we good?” Yossi asks after a few moments of silence.
Raphael takes in a deep breath and blinks at Yossi, who stares at the ceiling. “Yeah… Very good.”
“Good.”
“So what’s next?”
“What’s next?” Yossi looks over at Raphael.
Raphael nods slowly, dazed at how quickly Yossi has wrested control of the situation away from him.
“What’s next is we’re going to go to sleep now. Tomorrow morning, I guess you’ll be praying at the Ades, and I’ll spend Shabbat morning with Savta and Saba. Then, when you get back, we’ll have lunch. After lunch, we’ll go for a nice long walk around the neighbourhood with Savta, drop in on a couple of neighbours, then we’ll eat a light dinner of Savta’s delicious adafina. You remember her adafina, I hope. Finally, we’ll pray Havdalah with Savta and Saba, and then you and I will leave for Mitzpe Ramon.”
“There’s only one problem with that plan,” Raphael says, now recovering himself and determined to regain control.
“What’s that?”
“I’m not ready to go yet. I want to spend a little more time with Savta before we leave. Plus, I’d prefer if we drove in the daytime.”
“OK, fine. We’ll leave first thing Sunday morning at the crack of dawn.” He dips under the duvet, turns his face to the wall and pulls the pillow over his head. “Goodnight, achi,” comes his muffled voice from under the pillow.
Raphael stares at his back. After a few seconds, he turns away from Yossi and faces the door, in the direction of the Kotel, the Western Wall, covering his eyes with one hand. He meditates on Hashem, on the commandments, on the Kotel and the Temple Mount above it. Then he takes ten deep, focused breaths, and recites the Shema. When he has finished, he lies back and falls asleep to the sound of Yossi’s gentle snoring.
Chapter 7
Raphael is momentarily blinded as he emerges from the cool darkness of the Ades synagogue into the late-morning sunlight. He stands blinking on the front steps, the flow of congregants moving around and past him onto the sidewalk and wishing him a Shabbat Shalom, and he wipes his watering eyes with his bandana.
Aside from a few stragglers here and there scurrying home for their Shabbat meals, the shimmering lanes of Nachlaot are deserted. Raphael looks across the road at the usually bustling Machane Yehuda market, now barricaded for Shabbat, and smiles at the sight of a dusty pair of calico street cats playing tug-of-war with a chicken’s head. Before long, another cat comes along, its face scarred and missing half an ear, and wrests the ragged chicken head from them, then squeezes through a narrow opening at the bottom of the barricade into the market, carrying its prize between its teeth.
Raphael spins around at a clanging metal-on-metal racket. He sees the guest rabbi, a thin, black-suited man in his early thirties, securing the gate. The rabbi wraps a chain around the bars and slaps a padlock on it. He glances at Raphael and wishes him a Shabbat Shalom. Raphael lowers his sunglasses to make eye contact with the rabbi and returns the greeting. They exchange a few words about Raphael’s family, whom the rabbi doesn’t know as he recently moved to Jerusalem from Haifa. He assures Raphael that he and his wife will look in on Savta and Saba from time to time and invites him to spend the High Holidays at the Ades, promising to allocate to him the reading of the Akedah, the Binding of Isaac, on Rosh Hashanah. Raphael is thrilled to accept the honour, especially as the Akedah is one of his favourite passages in the Torah. The rabbi shakes his hand and hurries down the lane.
Trickles of sweat stream down the sides of Raphael’s face as the hot sun reaches its zenith. His stomach rumbles, and he wonders why he’s still standing in front of the synagogue. His thoughts turn to Yossi, who was still asleep when he got up to perform his morning ablutions. Even though he tried to keep the noise to a minimum while he dressed, he nevertheless banged around a bit, dragging his heavy suitcase out from under the bed. But Yossi continued to snore away, pushed up against the wall, the pillow over his head.
Up until now, by sheer force of will, he’s been able to keep the image of Yossi’s body out of his mind so as to allow himself to properly participate in morning prayers. But now that the service is over and he is facing the prospect of seeing Yossi again, the image of those powerful, hairy legs striding across the room within easy reaching distance of his fingers pushes its way back into his mind.
The thought of Yossi sets his heart to hammer. He falls back against the thick wall, feeling suddenly lightheaded as he replays the scene from last night in his mind. Hot tears of anger sting his eyes at the realisation that Yossi played him, and that he fell for it. He was off guard. That must be it. What with seeing Savta after so long, after finding out about Saba’s deterioration and hearing about how kind Yossi has been. Then seeing for himself how loving Yossi was with them and with him, too. By the time he arrived back after his evening stroll, he was utterly under Yossi’s spell, no longer in control. That must be it. But as attracted as he is to Yossi, regardless of how kind Yossi is to him, he swears he’ll never allow him to play him like that again. From now on, he determines, he’ll be in control of his relationship with Yossi.
When he swings open Savta’s front gate, he is greeted by the meaty aroma of her adafina emanating from the house. As he expectantly steps through the front door, the bottom drops out of his stomach at the sight of Joanie Smith nervously pumping her long legs on the sofa. Savta is sitting across from her in one of the dining chairs, and Yossi, looking smart in a pair of khaki chinos and a crisply pressed white dress shirt, is leaning against the wall and staring down at her. They all look up as Raphael enters the room, and Joanie stands, a broad smile breaking out on her face.
“Ralph!” She crosses the room and throws her arms wide.
Raphael takes a step back. “What are you doing here?”
“You know this girl, Rafi?” Savta asks in Hebrew.
Yossi takes a tentative step in their direction.
Joanie frowns and looks over her shoulder at Savta, then back at Raphael. “You said I could come look for you,” she says in a lowered voice, holding out the piece of paper on which Raphael had jotted down his details.
“It’s OK, Savta,” Raphael says. “She’s someone I met on the plane.”
Savta exchanges a glance with Yossi, who puts his arm around her shoulders and draws her close.
Raphael nods at Joanie and flashes a tight smile. “You caught me by surprise, that’s all. It’s Shabbat. You know, the Sabbath. For Jews.”
“Oh, sorry. Everything was so quiet. I figured I might find you at home. Should I leave?”
“Stay for lunch,” Yossi says.
Raphael shoots Yossi a look that Yossi bats away. Savta turns to Yossi and searches his face for a moment.
“There’s plenty of food for us all, right, Savta?” Yossi says.
Savta looks first at Raphael, then at Joanie. “Yes, young lady, please stay. Be our guest.”
Joanie raises her eyebrows at Raphael, and Raphael, surrendering to the inevitable, smiles at her and nods.
“I’m going to serve now,” Savta says, moving to the kitchen.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Joanie says.
“Let’s sit,” Yossi says, pulling out a chair at the table. “This one is yours,” he says to Joanie.
Joanie obediently sits in the chair and flashes a smile at Yossi, a glint of metal from her braces reflecting the light streaming from the open window.
Raphael rolls his eyes and drops into the chair opposite Joanie.
“That’s mine,” Yossi says. “You sit here, please.” He pats the chair next to Joanie and steps away from it.
Savta enters the room with the open pot of adafina and places it on
the table.
“That smells delicious,” Joanie says.
“It’s called adafina,” Savta says. “Sabbath stew. My grandmother’s recipe. From Aleppo.” She disappears back into the kitchen.
“Savta’s adafina is legendary,” Yossi says to Joanie, stepping over to where Raphael is sitting. “You’re in for a treat.” He taps Raphael on the shoulder and points at the chair next to Joanie. Raphael holds his place, determined not to give in to Yossi and planning his next move.
Savta returns with a bowl of chopped vegetables and places it on the table next to the steaming pot of adafina, then she sits in the chair to the left of Raphael.
“What’s your friend’s name again?” Yossi asks Raphael.
Raphael glances up at Yossi.
“I’m Joanie.”
“Hi, Joanie. My name’s Yossi.”
Joanie extends her hand to Yossi who grasps it and pulls gently on it, lifting her out of her chair.
“Joanie, please sit here.”
Raphael watches in amazement as Yossi guides Joanie into the chair next to him. A hot current of anger flows into his face, and he glares at Yossi, who calmly reaches for the decanter of red wine and pours a glass for each of them.
Yossi explains to Joanie the blessing for the wine, and they raise their glasses at his direction. The ritual reminds Raphael that as the oldest male, it’s Yossi’s place to lead, which calms him down and allows him to surrender to tradition. There would be plenty of time to assert himself with Yossi once Shabbat is over.
“That was so cool,” Joanie says, as she and Raphael stroll the lanes of Nachlaot after lunch a few paces behind Savta and Yossi. “I’ve never seen anything Jewish before. You do that every week?”
“Yep, every week.”
Raphael watches as Yossi and Savta stop to chat with a shrivelled old woman sitting on a bench under a massive carob tree. Her thinning white hair is dirty and unkempt and the multicoloured, embroidered poncho she wears is threadbare and full of holes. He stops walking to avoid being drawn into the conversation.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the wallet,” Joanie says.
Raphael blinks at her. “What wallet?”
Joanie reaches into her handbag and extracts the flight attendant’s fat, brown patent leather wallet. “This one.”
An unseen fist wallops Raphael in the chest, knocking the air out of him, and he grasps Joanie’s wrist to steady himself. Joanie steps forward, closing the gap between them, now standing close enough for Raphael to smell the cardamom lingering on her breath from the tea, and deliberately shielding the wallet from anyone else’s view. Raphael locks eyes with Joanie, forcing all expression from his face. Then he looks down at the shiny brown wallet in Joanie’s trembling hand, his mind working at light speed.
“I’m sorry,” Joanie says, her eyes moist. “I lost my nerve. I just couldn’t do it.”
Raphael grabs Joanie by the shoulders. “Listen to me.” He looks over at Yossi and Savta, who are still chatting with the old woman. “We’ll figure something out. You and me, OK?” Yossi straightens up and glances in their direction, and Raphael turns to block his view. He takes hold of Joanie’s wrist once again, this time more gently, and smiles at her. “Put it back in your purse for now. OK?”
Joanie cocks her head and looks down at Raphael’s hand.
“You’re not angry?”
“No way.” Raphael guides Joanie’s hand toward her handbag. “I totally get it. Let’s just deal with this later.”
Joanie nods and pops the wallet back into her handbag. “When?”
Yossi calls out to them, asking them to join him and Savta under the carob tree. Raphael waves at him and turns back to Joanie.
“Can you get away tonight? We can meet at 9 p.m., right outside the gates of your hostel. We’ll go someplace quiet and talk and stuff.”
Joanie smiles. “I’d like that.”
“But I need to spend some time with my family right now if that’s all right with you. I haven’t seen them in years. So…”
Joanie’s smile evaporates. “You mean you want me to leave?”
“Yeah, if you don’t mind. We’ll have our time together tonight before I take off for Mitzpe Ramon in the morning. Just you and me.”
“Hey, guys, seriously.” Yossi moves in their direction. “Step it up!”
Raphael waves at Yossi and turns to Joanie. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
“But I have to thank your grandma for lunch. And Yossi, too. I can’t just take off like that. They’ll think I’m rude.”
Raphael’s chest tightens at the sound of his cousin’s name in Joanie’s metallic mouth. A flame ignites in his eyes, which he focuses on Joanie, ready to let loose a scathing retort when he is suddenly startled by a hand clamping down on his shoulder. He spins around and finds Yossi standing there, holding him fast.
“What’s up with you two?” he says.
Raphael dips his shoulder and pivots away from Yossi.
“We were talking about something private,” Joanie says.
Raphael’s hand shoots up toward Joanie. “I’ll handle this if you don’t mind.”
Yossi shakes his head at Raphael. “Looked more like you two were dancing.”
“We were,” Raphael says. “What’s it to you?”
“I’ve got to get back to my hostel,” Joanie says, looking at Raphael, who nods his agreement. “But first I want to thank your grandma for lunch.”
Yossi extends his arm in the direction of Savta, and Joanie starts toward her. As she moves away, Yossi stares at her back for a moment. Then he sidles up to Raphael and whispers, “You’re interested in this girl?”
Raphael turns and looks at Yossi. In the bright afternoon sunlight, Yossi’s close-cropped hair is shiny and black, his sideburns groomed to right below his ears. His prominent eyebrows frame his soulful hazel eyes, his beautiful eyes. His nose is absolutely perfect, strong and prominent, but well-proportioned in comparison with the rest of his face. And his lips… his lips are full, dark red, and moist, hinting at pleasures to be given and received. Raphael finds himself wondering how Yossi is able to keep his lips so full and moist living in the harsh desert climate of Mitzpe Ramon. And suddenly, the thought of Mitzpe Ramon is no longer as daunting as it was before.
His eye travels down past Yossi’s chin and his lovely Adam’s apple to a thin gold chain that graces his powerful neck, now visible thanks to the fact Yossi hasn’t fastened the top two buttons of the untucked white, linen shirt that looks so nice against his dark skin. By the time Raphael’s eyes reach Yossi’s chinos, his breathing has slowed… way… down. He is dazed by how fine they look on Yossi, how they hug his muscular legs, how they end right above his new white trainers, a hint of dark skin showing at the ankles.
Raphael looks back up at Yossi. His skin is glistening with perspiration that reflects the warm colours of the afternoon sun. He is close enough to kiss him. All he has to do is bend forward at the hips. And Yossi would probably let him just to trap him again. But Raphael is determined to keep control, to resist demonstrating further any visible signs of his attraction to Yossi.
“Why are you so interested anyway?” he asks. “Don’t tell me you like her.”
Yossi laughs and punches Raphael in the arm, then jogs in the direction of Savta, who is sitting on the bench next to her ancient neighbour, both of them shielding their eyes from the afternoon sun with their hands as they stare up at Joanie, who is gesticulating flamboyantly. Raphael lets out a groan, drags himself in their direction, and leans against the cool trunk of the carob tree. He remains quiet and alternates between staring at Yossi, who is standing behind Savta massaging her shoulders, and listening to Joanie drone on and on and on about how much she loved Savta’s adafina, about how grateful she was for her hospitality, about how much she enjoyed the Jewish rituals, about how lovely her house is… praise Jesus.
After a while, Raphael tunes them out and focuses instead on the single tooth
left in the old woman’s mouth sticking up from her lower jaw, a yellowed claw emerging from a petrified sliver of redwood. He wonders why she hasn’t just yanked it out.
Chapter 8
The night air feels thick and humid as Raphael pushes through the crowds jamming the Jaffa Road on his way up to the Old City. The streets, sidewalks, and plazas are heaving with people emerging from their Shabbat hibernation. There are street performers, and falafel vendors, and trinket sellers, and tourists and locals queuing to get into restaurants and Judaica shops. Amplified music blares from cracked speakers set up at Zion Square. Drivers lay on their horns, zigzagging to avoid collisions with pedestrians who jet across the road without regard for signs or signals.
Raphael breaks free of the press at the Shlomo Ha-Melech intersection and jogs up the hill rounding the ancient city wall, now dramatically illuminated with spotlights. He accesses the Old City through the Jaffa Gate and immediately has to dodge a stream of tourists passing under the ceremonial arch on their way to the street party raging on the Jaffa Road, then continues down the road toward Joanie’s hostel. When he reaches the black iron gates, originally built to accommodate crusader-era pilgrims, Raphael checks his watch and sees that he’s a quarter of an hour early for his meeting with Joanie.
Stepping into an Arab shisha lounge a few metres from the hostel, he orders some fresh mint tea and baklava and sits at a table below a speaker from which emanates the hypnotic voice of Fairuz singing an acoustic version of “Al Bostah,” accompanied by an oud, a buzuq, and a riqq. The sound of a mijwiz floats high above the mix as a counterpoint to the melody, adding a sense of aching melancholy to the piece.
Raphael closes his eyes and breathes in the minty aroma of the tea, which mingles perfectly with the apple-scented smoke wafting through the air from several nargilehs being smoked around him.
He focuses on the words of the song, an ode to a lover’s eyes in Arabic. The words transport him to earlier in the evening at Savta’s.
He recalls staring across the double flame of the twisted Havdala candle into Yossi’s eyes as they recited the blessing over the fire at Saba’s bedside, while in the background behind them Savta caressed the forehead of their beloved grandfather. Yossi had stared at him through the flame and held his gaze. There was genuine affection in Yossi’s eyes, and Raphael felt disarmed by it at that moment. And when they all hugged at the end of the ritual that brings Shabbat to an end, Yossi had pulled him close and kissed him on the cheek—an unexpected, lingering kiss—and whispered into his ear: “A good week, cousin.”
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