The Death of Baseball

by Orlando Ortega-Medina

  Raphael sits next to her. “No, everything’s cool. We just had a few things to sort out.”

  Joanie’s face brightens, and she opens wide her clear hazel green eyes. “Praise God for that.”

  Raphael stands. “Those are for you.” He points at the pillows. “Here’s something to cover yourself with in case you need it.” He hands the sheet to Joanie and moves away. “Feel free to grab something out of the fridge if you get hungry. I’m sure my aunt won’t mind.”

  “You’re not going to bed yet, are you?”

  “I’m tired. We have to be up early tomorrow.”

  “But I wanted to finish our conversation from earlier at the dinner table.”

  “Was there more?”

  Joanie nods and pats the sofa. Raphael drags himself over to her and drops onto it with a soft thud.

  “Now that you’ve forgiven me and I’ve forgiven you,” Joanie says, “I was hoping we might be friends.”

  “That would be kind of difficult, wouldn’t it? With you in California and me in Israel.”

  “We could stay in touch and write to each other. And then, maybe I could come back in the summer to see you.”

  Raphael closes his eyes and massages the bridge of his nose.

  “We still have lots to talk about,” she says.

  “Listen, Joanie…” Raphael opens his eyes and touches her arm.

  Joanie chews her lower lip for a moment. “I know you don’t like me, Ralph.” She looks down at her knees and rubs her hands against them. “Not the way I like you. But”—she looks back up at him—“the other night, in the park…”

  “Let’s forget about that. What I did wasn’t cool. I don’t mind us being friends and everything. But my life is way too mixed up at the moment for anything more than that. So, if you don’t mind, let’s call it a night. We can talk more in the morning.” He gives Joanie a quick hug, then pads away quickly down the hallway to his room.

  Chapter 16

  Everyone in the Ades is dressed in white and smiling at him: Savta in the back of the sanctuary with the other women; beautiful Yossi in the front row; the young bearded rabbi and his grizzled sexton standing to one side of the reading platform. Raphael turns, looks through the closed doors of the ark, and sees the Torah scrolls glowing inside. The room vibrates with the murmur of prayers issuing from a thousand unseen mouths.

  Turning to face the congregation, Raphael extends his arms to the ceiling. Light emanates from his body, blinding multihued rays that fill every crevice of this house of prayer. I am the sun, Raphael hears, these people are my planets, and the Ades is my universe.

  “Oh, earth, earth, earth,” he cries, “hear the word of Adonai.”

  At the mention of the divine name, the congregation reaches out to Raphael, and he begins to float. He rises above them like a helium-filled balloon, propelled upward by a rush of photons. As the final blast of the shofar thunders through Jerusalem, he shoots through the ceiling, arcing across the sky like a shooting star, and crashing into the blinding corona of the sun.

  * * *

  “Something’s happened, Rafi. Assaf’s here. Hurry!”

  Raphael peers at Tomer out of half-closed eyes and is blinded by stabbing light blazing into the room from the window. He drags a pillow over his face and sees red-and-black spots floating behind his closed eyes.

  “Hurry, Rafi.”

  Tomer’s muffled voice intensifies as he yanks the pillow out of Raphael’s grasp. Raphael groans and sits up, rubbing his eyes.

  “What’s the big emergency, little man?”

  “Assaf’s talking to Yossi.” Tomer’s face contorts into spasms of anxiety. “Ima’s crying.”

  Raphael tosses aside his blanket and runs down the hall, followed by Tomer. He finds Assaf and Yossi in the living room conversing intensely in hushed tones. Aunt Penina hovers in the kitchen doorway covering her mouth with a clenched fist. Tomer runs to her, and she wraps her arms around him.

  “What’s going on?” Raphael asks, approaching his cousins.

  Assaf’s arm shoots out at him. “Step away. We’re having a family discussion. Go join your American friend outside.”

  “I’m part of this family too,” Raphael snaps.

  “Brother, please.” Yossi taps Assaf’s arm, and Assaf lowers it. “Assaf’s heard some rumours about the Egyptian troop movements.”

  “I knew it,” Aunt Penina says. “I just knew it.”

  “Ima, please,” Assaf says.

  “Rumours about what?” Raphael asks.

  “Assaf thinks Egypt might be preparing to attack,” Yossi says.

  “That’s enough.” Assaf glares at Yossi. “You’ve said enough.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You’re totally paranoid.” Raphael strides to the TV and switches it on. “Look”—he flips between channels—“nothing.” He jerks his thumb at the TV. “Don’t you think they’d mention something if Egypt were about to attack? And what about you guys? You’re on holiday, for God’s sake. If we were under threat, you definitely wouldn’t be standing here speculating like a couple of hysterical hausfraus. You’d be mobilised by now.”

  “I said enough,” Assaf yells. “The point is, Yossi’s not going to Jerusalem today.”

  “Why the hell not?” Raphael asks.

  “I want him to stay close to home until I feel more certain of things.”

  “Oh, so this is about your feelings, is it?”

  “Don’t defy him, Rafi,” Yossi says.

  “That spokesman from the Ministry on the news last night said the borders are well-defended,” Raphael says. “He said there’s nothing to worry about. Ask Aunt Penina. She heard.”

  “I’m staying, achi,” Yossi says in a calm voice.

  Assaf raises himself to his full height and nods at Yossi. Then he gently takes his mother by the wrist and leads her and Tomer down the hallway.

  “Don’t do this to me, achi,” Raphael says, his voice catching in his throat. “You promised Savta; you promised me.”

  Yossi squeezes his shoulder. “Don’t worry about Savta. I’ll call her and explain everything. But, I have to obey Assaf.”

  Raphael shakes him off. “But this was meant to be a special time for us. That’s what you said. ‘A fresh start’ is what you freaking said.” He punches the wall and turns away from Yossi, his knuckles throbbing. “Nothing’s even happening. Assaf’s just being paranoid.”

  Spotting a pack of Dubeks on the dining table, Raphael snatches them up and wrestles out a crumpled cigarette.

  “I’m sorry, achi. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Yossi checks his wristwatch. “There’s a bus bound for Jerusalem in twenty minutes. Your friend Joanie’s already outside. Fetch your things. I’ll pack something for you to eat in the meantime.”

  Tears stream down Raphael’s face as he lights the cigarette with trembling hands.

  “Don’t smoke in here, achi.”

  Raphael pushes past Yossi, knocking him into the dining table, and strides out of the room. “I’ll smoke wherever I please.”

  He pushes into his bedroom and finds it empty, wondering for a moment where Assaf has taken Tomer. Yanking open the lower drawer, he pulls out a change of clothes and stuffs it into his backpack, the cigarette still clenched between his teeth. Then he selects a couple of books and packs them away as well. Scanning the room one last time, he spots his movie camera on the writing desk and drops it into the drawer with a thud before shoving it closed with his foot.

  Yossi pokes his head through the doorway. “Achi, I asked you not to smoke in here.”

  “Fuck off,” Raphael spits out. “I’m leaving now anyway.”

  Yossi’s eyes ignite. He raises his hand at Raphael, and Raphael responds by holding up his chin at him, daring him to strike. Yossi’s face instantly softens, and he retreats into the hallway. Raphael listens at the door and hears the click of the bathroom door. Then, shouldering his backpack, he flicks the cigarette across the room and runs down the hall to the fro
nt door.

  * * *

  Raphael and Joanie ride most of the way to Jerusalem in silence. The bus makes frequent stops to pick up both civilians and soldiers on their way home for Yom Kippur, which starts at sundown. The bus reverberates with excited chatter. Raphael stares out the window at the passing landscape as it changes from the yellow dirt of the barren desert to the grassland of the Upper Negev. The bus passes a long stretch of farmland, then ascends the pine-covered Judean Hills toward Jerusalem.

  Unmoved by Joanie’s impassioned protestations as they disembark at Jerusalem’s Central Bus Station, Raphael points her in the direction of the Tel Aviv-bound bus, half-heartedly promising to write to her, and hops a cab to Nachlaot. The cab driver drops him off across from the Machane Yehuda market, now shuttered for Yom Kippur, and Raphael enters the nearly deserted lanes of Nachlaot.

  As he rounds the corner and approaches Savta’s house, he finds her dozing on her front porch in one of her rickety dining chairs. He tiptoes up and gives her a peck on the cheek. Bringing her hand to her face, she opens her eyes and beams a smile at the sight of her grandson. She struggles to her feet and envelops him in her big, pillow-soft arms, covering him in wet kisses, then lifts her head and surveys the walkway, expectation etched on her face.

  “Yossi didn’t call you, Savta?”

  “Call me?” Savta looks at Raphael. “When?”

  “Today, Savta. He said he was going to call you to explain.”

  Savta shakes her head. “What’s to explain?”

  “He isn’t coming.” Raphael drops onto the porch and kicks his legs out in front of him. “Assaf’s convinced him that Egypt might attack, or something like that. He ordered him to stay in Mitzpe Ramon.”

  Savta stares at the walkway for a moment as if still expecting to see Yossi appear. Then she turns and hobbles past Raphael into the house. He follows her carrying the dining room chair and puts it back into its place. Savta stands in the middle of the room, biting her knuckle and mumbling something to herself. Raphael puts his arm around her.

  “Are you feeling OK, Savta?”

  She looks at him, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m fine, Rafi.” She glances at the wall clock and moves to the kitchen. “I have to serve; the fast is starting soon.”

  They eat their final meal in silence. Every so often, Raphael catches Savta moving her lips as if she were in a conversation with someone unseen.

  “I feel terrible, Savta,” Raphael says as they start the final course. “I was cross with Yossi for not coming.”

  Savta blinks at him, then stares into the salad bowl in front of her. “This is the first time he’s missed spending Yom Kippur with us.”

  Raphael’s mouth goes suddenly dry. He picks up his glass with a trembling hand and takes a quick sip of water. “He said he didn’t have a choice, Savta.”

  “How strange he didn’t call.” Savta glances at the telephone and looks back at Raphael. “It’s not like him.” She looks again at the clock.

  “There are five minutes left before the start of the fast, Savta. I’ll call him.”

  Raphael dials Aunt Penina’s number, his heart pounding, and listens anxiously as the telephone rings and rings. He hangs up and tries again. Seeing that he has only one minute left before the start of Yom Kippur, he puts down the receiver and shrugs at Savta, who stands ready to light the candles to initiate the holiday.

  Afterwards, Raphael and Savta enter Saba’s room and recite a blessing at his bedside, then Raphael readies himself for Kol Nidre at the Ades. As he crosses the living room to the front door, the telephone rings. He and Savta look at the telephone and then at each other.

  “Ignore it, Savta. Nobody we know would call after the start of the holiday.”

  They stare at the telephone until it stops ringing. Raphael hugs his grandmother and leaves for the service.

  The next morning, the air over Nachlaot is split by a loud rising and falling siren, which continues non-stop. Raphael runs down the stairs and nearly collides with Savta as she emerges from the hallway. The two of them step out of the house and see a stream of soldiers running through the lanes of Nachlaot. A male voice booms out of a nearby loudspeaker announcing a mobilisation of all active military personnel, and ordering any remaining civilians to remain indoors until further notice.

  “Get inside, Savta,” Raphael shouts over the noise. “I’ll be back.”

  Raphael dashes into the crowd and asks a passing soldier what’s happening.

  “Didn’t you hear what they said?” the soldier answers, shifting his machine gun to his other shoulder. “If you’re not being called up, get yourself back home.” He picks up his pace to catch up with the others. “And start praying.”

  Raphael runs to the Ades. When he steps inside, he finds it empty save for a few old men murmuring their prayers. He glides up the side row looking for the rabbi and finds the sexton sitting behind the reading platform hovering over a prayer book. Raphael clears his throat, and the sexton looks up at him.

  “Where’s the rabbi?” Raphael whispers in his ear.

  The sexton pulls his prayer shawl over his head and continues praying. Raphael straightens up and looks out at the sparse congregation, the wailing of the sirens penetrating the usually calm atmosphere of the sanctuary, and he decides to return to Savta’s.

  Battling through the flow of military personnel, he reaches Savta’s house ten minutes later. She rises from the sofa when she sees him.

  “The country’s under attack,” she whispers. “Vered from next door told me. Her son works for the Ministry of Defence. He called her this morning and told her to stay home.”

  Raphael drops onto the sofa and rakes his hair with his fingers, ripping off his kippah in the process. “I feel so stupid, Savta. I told them that Assaf was paranoid. But he was right.”

  “They’ll have been called up by now,” Savta says staring out the window at the last few stragglers running past. “Assaf to the north; Yossi to the Sinai.”

  At the mention of his cousin’s name, Raphael flashes on Yossi’s machine gun, now empty of bullets, and his chest goes tight. He rushes across the room and reaches for the telephone.

  “No, Rafi,” Savta says, placing her hand on Raphael’s fingers as he dials Aunt Penina’s number and hangs up the receiver. “After Havdalah.”

  Raphael picks up the telephone and backs away from Savta. “But I have to warn him, Savta. It can’t wait?”

  “Warn who? What are you talking about?”

  Raphael’s hands shake, and he starts to cry. “I did a terrible thing, Savta.” He tries to dial Aunt Penina’s number, but his fingers stick in the dial pad, and he drops the telephone onto the carpet. “I have to warn Yossi.” Picking it up, he carries it to the dining table, stretching the cord to its limit. He tries dialling again and reaches a recording announcing all circuits are busy. He slams down the receiver, lowers his head to the table, and sobs.

  “Rafi,” Savta says, her eyes widening at the sight of his desperation, “what have you done?”

  “I took the bullets out of Yossi’s machine gun, Savta. I was upset with him. And when I saw his gun…”

  “Rafi,” Savta cries, “how could you do such a thing?”

  “I was angry, Savta. But I never thought anything like this was going to happen.” Raphael goes to the window and looks out at the empty lane. “If I could just warn him…”

  Savta shakes her head and sits on the sofa. Bringing her hands to her face, she starts to weep. Raphael rushes to her side and caresses her arm.

  “I’m so sorry, Savta. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

  Savta slowly lowers her hands, dabs at her face with her apron, and stares at Raphael with a hard expression. “You’ve always been a brilliant child, Rafi. So many gifts. But you’re also destructive. I told your parents they should give you time, that you’d grow out of it. But now I see you never will.” Savta rises from the sofa. “I’m ashamed to be your grandmother.”


  Savta’s words are an icepick through Raphael’s heart. “But it was only a stupid prank, Savta.”

  “How dare you say that?” Savta stares at him as if he were a stranger. “What you did was an act of sabotage with potentially deadly consequences.”

  The telephone rings. Raphael leaps toward it. Savta holds out her hand at him and picks it up. Raphael watches her as she listens to the caller, the expression on her face changing from anger to concern, and then to shock. She lets out a muffled scream, then mumbles a few words of thanks to the caller and hangs up.

  “Savta, what is it?”

  “That was the president of the council in Mitzpe Ramon,” Savta whispers, staring at the telephone. “He’s been calling since yesterday.” She looks up at Raphael. “There’s been an accident.”

  “What kind of an accident?”

  “A fire.” Savta sits at the table. “There was a fire. At Penina’s.”

  Raphael thinks back. Don’t smoke in here, Yossi had said.

  “Penina is badly burned,” Savta says. She brings a trembling hand to her mouth. “Three-quarters of her body, the man said. She may not survive.”

  Raphael remembers the cigarette—in the bedroom.

  “Assaf and Yossi were at the hospital all night; they had to leave this morning when the call-up happened.”

  Yossi had raised his hand at him, and he had dared Yossi to strike him. He had flicked the burning cigarette across the room.

  As if hearing his thoughts, Savta turns her head to Raphael and finally says the words she feared to utter: “Little Tomer. He’s gone.”

  Raphael collapses to the ground and screams, as the image of the burning cigarette igniting the bed sheets, fire spreading through the apartment, bores into his mind. “It’s my fault,” he cries. “It’s my fault.”

  Savta stands and watches him with a horrified look as he tears at his hair and sobs. The thought of his cousin Tomer burning to death is simply too much for him to bear. Scrambling off the floor, he screams, “Everything is my fault. I’m a terrible person. I’m the one who should be dead.” Spotting a steak knife on the dining table, he grabs it and holds it over his heart.