Raphael had quickly excused himself once the ceremony was over and ascended the stairs to the upper floor to change into his evening clothes, a dark blue body shirt, tight, pegged black jeans tucked into a pair of black lace-up boots, and a set of red braces.
Pulling out his makeup kit, he’d peered at himself in the mirror, ready to apply some eyeliner, when Yossi entered the room and sat on the bed behind him. Raphael looked at his cousin’s reflection in the mirror and studied his neutral expression. His lack of reaction bothered him.
“You all right?” Yossi had asked.
“Of course, I’m all right.”
“Where are you going?
“For a walk.”
“To meet the American girl?”
Raphael had shaken his head.
“You said you wanted to spend more time with Savta. That’s why I delayed our return to Mitzpe Ramon.”
“Change of plans, sorry.”
Raphael returned to drawing a perfect line under each eye with one expert sweep of his hand. He stepped back to check out the effect and felt satisfied at how the eyeliner made his blue eyes pop.
“What do you think?” he’d asked Yossi, spinning around to face him.
Yossi had stood and regarded Raphael, focusing first on his boots and looking up at the rest of his outfit. He’d stepped forward and gently tugged on the braces. “You’re dressed like this for a date?”
Raphael had pushed away Yossi’s hand. “I’m dressed like this because I like it.”
Grabbing a black military-style beret out of his bag, Raphael had placed it on top of his kippah, securing it with a bobby pin. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Yossi still staring at him.
“What are you looking at?”
“Has anyone ever told you that you can sometimes be a bit of an asshole?” There was no challenge in Yossi’s voice.
Raphael felt a hot flash of anger blaze into his face. He whirled on his cousin, ready to respond with a blistering retort when he met his eye. But his expression was gentle. There was no arrogance, no anger. Only affection. The same warmth Raphael had seen in Yossi’s eyes as they stared at each other across the flame. The effect on Raphael was unexpected and immediate. Emotion swelled inside him, bringing him close to breaking down in tears. Staggering backwards, he had felt the bureau at his back. His mind was a jumble. He struggled to find a reason for his inability to defend himself against Yossi’s comment.
“I’ve gotta run,” he had whispered hoarsely and bolted from the room.
Yossi’s words played a loop in Raphael’s head as he stumbled out of Savta’s house into the darkness of the suffocating autumn night, and as he pressed through the surging crowds on his way to his rendezvous with Joanie. He imagined them emblazoned on the Old City walls, etched in fire by the finger of God Himself—mene mene tekel upharsin. He was Belshazzar the King, revelling amidst his plunder and stupid with arrogance, and Yossi was Darius the Mede moving in for the kill.
Yossi’s words echo in his mind still as he sits nursing a glass of fast-cooling tea, enveloped in a cloud of blue smoke issuing forth from a half-dozen or so nargilehs, his chest aching at the memory of Yossi and his beautiful eyes.
The aromatic smoke roils around the cavernous shop and ascends to the vaulted ceiling. Raphael tilts back his head, following one smoke trail in particular, and deliberately focuses on it, working to regain control of himself. But the harder he tries, the stronger the image of Yossi staring at him from across the flame becomes.
Just then, the hypnotic rhythms of “Al Bostah” give way to the strident violins of a tune Raphael doesn’t recognise. The sudden shift in the music jars him, and he sits up and blinks in the semi-darkness. The shop is now filled almost entirely by groups of young Arab men in their late teens and early twenties, each group huddled around a shared water pipe and conversing in hushed tones. He glances at his watch and speeds out of the shop.
In the distance, he sees Joanie sitting on a retaining wall next to her hostel, staring up at the Tower of David. She is wearing a red T-shirt, faded bell-bottom jeans, and a pair of red-and-white high-tops. Raphael glides up next to her and taps her on the shoulder; Joanie hops off the wall, a gloomy expression clouding her face.
“Sorry I’m late.”
Joanie looks away from Raphael for a moment, then looks back at him. “I was scared you wouldn’t come.”
“Of course, I was coming. Actually, I was here already. Sitting over there having some tea.” Raphael lifts his head at the shisha lounge. “I lost track of time, that’s all.”
Joanie nods.
“But, I’m here now.”
Joanie flashes a shy smile. “That’s cool.” She looks at Raphael as if for the first time. “I like how you’re dressed.” She reaches up and touches Raphael’s beret.
“Did you bring the thing?” Raphael asks.
“What thing?”
“You know. The thing you showed me this afternoon.”
“Oh, yeah.” Joanie pats her handbag. “It’s in here.”
“Good,” Raphael says. “Come on. Follow me.”
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere private.” He points at the Jaffa Gate. “That way.”
They exit the city walls and take a shortcut down the hill and across the fields toward the start of King David Street. They pass the old Muslim cemetery on their right, which looks especially creepy in the dark, and Joanie grabs Raphael’s hand, holding it tight as Raphael guides her up the street in the direction of the YMCA tower looming in the distance.
When they reach the King David Hotel, Raphael stops for a moment and tells Joanie the story of how Jewish resistance fighters blew it up when Palestine was still under British rule. Joanie responds by smiling and nodding, which irks Raphael. He turns on his heels and moves down the pavement running along the side of the hotel. Joanie chases after him and follows behind as Raphael passes the hotel gardens and turns into a dark, solitary park behind the hotel complex, in the centre of which is a roped-off archaeological excavation of first-century tombs. He strides across the grass and drops onto a bench under a large tree across from the site, stretching his legs out in front of him. Joanie catches up and sits next to him. They stay quiet for a while in the near-total silence of the park.
“I had a great time today at your grandma’s,” Joanie says, breaking the silence. “She’s adorable.”
Raphael looks at Joanie and nods. “That she is.”
“Your cousin’s nice, too. Before you got home, he showed me his machine gun.”
“I’ll bet he did.”
“You’re lucky to have such a loving family. I hate to say it, but mine are a bunch of ignorant rednecks.”
Raphael scoots close to Joanie and leans against her. “Let’s not talk about our families, OK? This is supposed to be about us.”
Joanie goes suddenly quiet.
“You OK?” Raphael asks.
Joanie nods.
“Are you sure?”
“I think so.”
“You know what we’re doing here, right?”
“Sort of. Something about the wallet?”
“Nah, that can wait. Right now we’re just getting to know each other better. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“I want us to be friends.”
“Right.” Raphael pulls a pack of Marlboros out of his back pocket and lights one up. “Want one?”
Joanie shakes her head and crinkles her nose. “I didn’t know you smoked.”
“I do lots of things.” Raphael takes a long drag on his cigarette. He draws up his legs and sits Indian-style on the bench and blows a series of smoke rings. “Sure you don’t want to try?”
“The body is God’s temple,” Joanie says. “It’s a sin to pollute it.”
Raphael chuckles. “Try it. Nobody will know.”
“Maybe another time,” Joanie says, fanning the smoke away with her hand. “Besides, I don’t want them to smell it on me when I get bac
k to the hostel.”
“Suit yourself.” Raphael stuffs the pack back into his pocket and takes another long drag. “So, Joanie,” he says as he lets out the smoke, “we were talking about sex.”
“We were?”
“Yes, we were. Yesterday on the plane, remember? You were surprised I’d had sex, and you told me you hadn’t done it yet. Don’t play dumb.”
“I’m not playing dumb.”
“Do you remember or don’t you?”
Joanie looks away for a moment and looks back at Raphael. “Yes, of course, I remember.”
“Good. Now, I want you to take a good look around at this park and tell me what you see.”
Joanie looks around and shrugs. “I don’t see anything. Just an empty park and those ruins over there.”
“That’s right, it’s empty.” Raphael put his hand on Joanie’s leg. “It’s just you and me.”
Joanie looks down at Raphael’s hand.
“You don’t have to wonder what sex is like.”
“I don’t?”
Raphael tosses aside the cigarette, leans forward, and kisses Joanie on the cheek.
“It’s a sin,” Joanie whispers.
“So what,” Raphael says as he takes Joanie’s chin, pivots her head toward him, and kisses her on the mouth. Joanie closes her eyes and opens her mouth to receive Raphael’s tongue.
As their passion builds, Raphael removes her T-shirt and unhooks her bra and buries his face in Joanie’s small breasts. He unbuttons his jeans and guides Joanie’s hand onto his underpants. She responds by tentatively slipping her fingers between the elastic band and his hairy lower belly. Raphael reaches his other hand into her bag and extracts the flight attendant’s wallet. Then he abruptly releases Joanie and backs away, leaving the young woman gasping for breath, searching Raphael’s face for some explanation for the sudden end of their petting.
He retrieves her T-shirt from the grass and holds it out to her as she quickly puts her bra back on. She pulls the T-shirt over her head and stands to adjust her clothes, watching as Raphael lights another cigarette, her face darkening.
“How was that?” Raphael asks. “Good?”
“Why did you stop?”
“That was just a taster.” Raphael takes a short drag on the cigarette and tosses it aside. “Let it settle in. Process it for a while. If you want more, let me know. If not, don’t sweat it. You didn’t do anything besides the kissing. So you have nothing to feel guilty about.”
Joanie lunges forward and throws her arms around Raphael, kissing him again on the mouth. Raphael slips out of the embrace, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and holds up the wallet. Joanie screams and grabs for it, and Raphael puts it behind his back.
“So, here’s the deal,” Raphael says, stepping forward. “I’m not going to let you blackmail me with this.”
“I wasn’t blackmailing you.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Miss Born-Again Christian. You wanted to see me again, and this wallet was your insurance. That’s why you didn’t turn it in at the airport.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is true. But what you didn’t think about was that by not turning it in, you became an accomplice to theft. Now, there’s something to feel guilty about.”
Joanie sits on the bench and begins to sob.
“If I ever decide to see you again,” Raphael says, “it’ll be because I want to. Not because you have anything over me.”
He pulls a bandana out of his pocket and wipes the wallet clean of fingerprints, then walks across the grass and pitches it into the excavation. He walks back to Joanie. “All gone.” He holds out his bandana to Joanie, who takes it and wipes her face.
“You can keep that,” Raphael says. “Consider it a souvenir.”
Joanie leaps off the bench and punches him hard in the chest. “You jerk!”
“Hey, that hurt!” He massages his chest, wincing at the pain. “Are you crazy, or what?”
“You used me. Twice. Once at the airport and now.”
He moves away from her. “I’ve got to go, sorry.”
“What do you mean you’ve got to go? You’re not planning on leaving me here like this, are you?”
Raphael shrugs. “Sorry. I’ll wait for you.”
Joanie grabs her handbag from the bench, her hands trembling as she shoulders it. She looks up at Raphael and shakes her head. “You’re a real jerk, you know that?”
“Let’s drop it, OK?” He turns his back on her and walks away. “I’ll show you the way back, and we’ll call it a night.”
Joanie rushes him from behind and shoves him into one of the hedges. “Fuck you, asshole,” she screams.
Raphael pulls himself out of the hedge, his forehead scratched and bleeding, and Joanie slugs him in the face, knocking him to the ground. She pounces on him and pummels him with her fists, screaming obscenities at him, and Raphael tries to fend her off with his hands. Just as she reaches for a large stone, three young men appear on the scene, grab her by the arms, and lift her off him. She kicks at them, screaming and cursing, and Raphael scrambles away, exiting the park and limping all the way back to Savta’s.
Chapter 9
The sun bursts over the Judean Hills as Yossi’s Saab station wagon skirts the slopes of Mount Scopus and starts its descent toward the Dead Sea. Raphael stares out the window at the tortured landscape, paying close attention to the Bedouin tents in the distance and the herds of goats foraging on the hillside.
As they head south along the edge of the Dead Sea, Yossi breaks the silence by pointing out the caves of Qumran and its partially excavated ruins and explains to Raphael about the Essene Community and the Dead Sea Scrolls. Raphael nods and rubs his chest, bruised purple where Joanie punched him. Yossi pulls to the side of the road.
“Why are we stopping?” Raphael asks.
“Let me see that.” Yossi points at Raphael’s chest.
After a moment of hesitation, Raphael unbuttons his shirt and pulls it open. Yossi lets out a whistle on seeing the bruise and palpates the area, making Raphael cry out. He pulls aside Raphael’s hair and exposes the scratches on his forehead.
“Don’t ask, please,” Raphael says, backing away and buttoning his shirt.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Yossi says. “It’s none of my business. Only, I think you’re going to need to have Assaf examine that when we get to Mitzpe Ramon. It looks nasty. He’s a medic.”
Raphael nods and looks away from Yossi. “Thanks, achi.”
He is thankful Savta didn’t see him before they left for Mitzpe Ramon, having said his goodbyes to her the night before. She wouldn’t have accepted his explanation of having gotten into a fight with some drunken tourists as easily as Yossi. Not that he imagined Yossi actually believed his story. But at least he hadn’t pressed him for the truth.
Yossi pulls the car back on to the tarmac and urges it forward as fast as the winding road will allow.
“Why did we come this way?” Raphael asks as they pass the ancient hilltop fortress of Masada looming high above the shores of the Dead Sea. “Isn’t this the long way round?”
“It’s only thirty minutes more. The other highway is green all the way to Beersheba. I want your eyes to get used to seeing the desert.”
“Gee, thanks.” Raphael pulls a granola bar out of his backpack and offers half to Yossi, who finishes it off in two bites. He fishes out another one, unwraps it, and hands the whole thing to Yossi.
“Can I ask you a question?” Raphael says.
Yossi wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve and takes a swig of water from a canteen. “Fire away.”
“I was thinking about when we used to live here, all crammed together at Savta and Saba’s like a big clan.”
“What about it?”
“You used to disappear, and everyone would go mad looking for you, especially your mother.”
Yossi laughs and presses down harder on the accelerator. “You remember that, do you?”
Yossi nods. “She can be over-the-top sometimes, my Ima.”
“Tell me about it. Like when she attacked Abba in front of everyone at Uncle Shimshon’s funeral, peace be upon him.”
“That was different.”
“A different reason, yes. But, still, the same crazy reaction. Whenever we found you, or you decided to turn up, I remember she’d slap you down and drag you around the house by your hair and scream at you. But you didn’t care. You always kept quiet and took whatever crap they gave you. The amazing thing was you’d do it all again, that disappearing act of yours.” Raphael smirks. “We all thought you were retarded.” Raphael regrets the comment the moment he says it.
Yossi urges the Saab toward Dimona and increases his speed to 110 kilometres per hour. He glances at Raphael, who is frowning at the floorboard. “What was your question?”
Raphael looks up at Yossi and, feeling a sudden urge to touch him, stretches his arm along the back of the seat stopping short of his shoulder. “Where would you go when you disappeared?” he asks. “And why would you take off?”
Yossi smiles. “That’s two questions.”
“I may have more, sorry.”
“No worries. Sometimes I’d go to the children’s zoo to feed the goats. Other times I’d wander the halls of The Shuk looking at the incredible variety of produce there. It seemed like those food stalls went on forever. Some of the vendors would give me samples to eat. That was fun. Most of the time, though, I’d find a park or a field to sit in and spend a few hours staring up at the sky.”
The Death of Baseball Page 19