Everything Is Illuminated

by Jonathan Safran Foer

  24 December 1997

  Dear Jonathan,

  Let us not mention each other's writing ever again. I will post you my story, and I beg of you (as does Little Igor) that you continue to post yours, but let us not make corrections or even observations. Let us not praise or reproach. Let us not judge at all. We are outside of that already.

  We are talking now, Jonathan, together, and not apart. We are with each other, working on the same story, and I am certain that you can also feel it. Do you know that I am the Gypsy girl and you are Safran, and that I am Kolker and you are Brod, and that I am your grandmother and you are Grandfather, and that I am Alex and you are you, and that I am you and you are me? Do you not comprehend that we can bring each other safety and peace? When we were under the stars in Trachimbrod, did you not feel it then? Do not present not-truths to me. Not to me.

  And here, Jonathan, is a story for you. A faithful story. I informed Father that I was to go to a famous nightclub last night. He said, "I am certain that you will return home with a comrade?" If you want to know what was on his mouth, vodka was. "I do not intend to," I said. "You will be so so carnal," he said, laughing. He touched me on the shoulder, and I will tell you that it felt like a touch from the devil. I was most ashamed of us. "No," I said. "I am only going to dance and be amid my friends." "Shapka, Shapka." "Shut up!" I told him, and I seized his wrist. I will inform you that this was the first occasion that I have ever uttered anything like this to him, and the first occasion that I have ever moved at him with violence. "I am sorry," I said, and let his wrist free. "I will make you sorry," he said. I was a lucky person because he had so much vodka in him that he did not have regard enough to punch me.

  I did not go to a famous nightclub, of course. As I have mentioned, I often inform Father that I will go to a famous nightclub, but then I go to the beach. I do not go to a famous nightclub so that I can deposit my currency in the cookie box for moving to America with Little Igor. But I must inform you that it is also because I do not love famous nightclubs. They make me feel very cheerless and abandoned. Am I applying that word correctly? Abandoned?

  The beach was beautiful last night, but this did not surprise me. I love sitting on the edge of the land and feeling the water verge me, and then leave me. Sometimes I remove my shoes and put my feet where I think the water will approach to. I have attempted to think about America in regard to where I am on the beach. I imagine a line, a white line, painted on the sand and on the ocean, from me to you.

  I was sitting on the edge of the water, thinking about you, and us, when I heard a thing. The thing was nor water, nor wind, nor insects. I turned my head to see what it was. Someone was walking to me. This scared me very much, because I never behold another person at the beach when I am there at night. There was nothing proximal to me, nothing to be walking to but me. I put on my shoes and began to walk away from this person. Was he a police? The police will often make advantages on people who are sitting alone. Was he a criminal? I was not very scared of a criminal, because they do not have premium weapons, and cannot inflict very much. Unless the criminal is a police. I could hear that the person was still coming to me. I made a more rapid walk. The person pursued me with speed. I did not look again to attempt to witness who it was, because I did not want the person to know that I was apprised of him. It sounded to my ears like he was getting closer, that he would soon reach me, so I began to run.

  Then I heard, "Sasha!" I terminated my running. "Sasha, is that you?"

  I turned around. Grandfather was bended over with his hand on his stomach. I could see that he was manufacturing very large breaths. "I was looking for you," he said. I could not understand how he knew to look for me at the beach. As I informed you, nobody is aware that I go to the beach at night. "I am here," I said, which sounded queer, but I did not know what else to say. He stood up and said, "I have a question."

  It was the first occasion that I could remember when Grandfather addressed me without something amid us. There was no Father, no hero, no bitch, no television, no food. Merely us. "What is it?" I asked, because I could perceive that he would not be able to ask his question unless I aided him. "I have to ask you for something, but you must comprehend that I am only asking to borrow this thing, and you also must comprehend that you can deny me and I will not be injured or think anything bad of you." "What is it?" I could not think of anything that I possessed that Grandfather would desire. I could not think of anything in the world that Grandfather would desire.

  "I would like to borrow your currency," he said. In truth I felt very shamed. He did not toil his whole life in order that he should have to ask his grandson for currency. "I will," I said. And I should have uttered nothing more, and allowed my "I will" to speak for everything that I have ever had to say to Grandfather, for the "I will" to be all of my questions, and all of his answers to those questions, and all of my answers to those answers. But this was not possible. "Why?" I asked.

  "Why what?"

  "Why do you desire my currency?"

  "Because I do not have a sufficient sum."

  "For what? For what do you need currency?"

  He turned his head to the water and did not say a thing. Was this his answer? He moved his foot in the sand and made a circle.

  "I am unequivocal that I can find her," he said. "Four days. Perhaps five. But it could not require more than a week. We were very near."

  I should have again said "I will," and again not said anything more. I should have esteemed that Grandfather is much more aged than me, and because of this he is wiser, and if not that, then he deserves to have me not question him. But instead I said, "No. We were not near."

  "Yes," he said, "we were."

  "No. We were not five days from finding her. We were fifty years from finding her."

  "It is a thing that I must do."

  "Why?"

  "You would not understand."

  "But I would. I do."

  "No, you could not"

  "Herschel?"

  He drew another circle with his foot.

  "Then take me with you," I said. I was not intending to say that.

  "No," he said.

  I desired to say it again, "Take me with you," but I knew that he would have answered again, "No," and I do not think I could have heard that without crying, and I know that I cannot cry in view of Grandfather.

  "It is not necessary for you to decide now," he said. "I did not think that you would decide rapidly. I anticipate that you will say no."

  "Why do you think I will say no?"

  "Because you do not understand."

  "I do."

  "No, you do not."

  "It is possible that I will say yes."

  "I would give you any possession of mine that you desire. It can be yours until I restore the currency to you, which will be soon"

  "Take me with you," I said, and again I did not intend to say it, but it re-leased from my mouth, like the articles from Trachim's wagon.

  "No," he said.

  "Please," I said. "It will be less rigid with me. I could assist very much."

  "I need to find her alone," he said, and at that moment I was certain that if I gave Grandfather the currency and allowed him to go, I would never see him again.

  "Take Little Igor."

  "No," he said. "Alone."No words. And then: "Do not inform Father."

  "Of course," I said, because of course I would not inform Father.

  "This must be our secret."

  It is this last thing that he said that left the most permanent mark on my brain. It had not occurred to me until he uttered it, but we have a secret. We have a thing amid us that no one else in the world knows, or could know. We have a secret together, and no longer asunder.

  I informed him that I would rapidly present him with my answer.

  I do not know what to do, Jonathan, and would desire for you to tell me what you think is the right thing. I know that it is not necessary that there be one right thing. There may be tw
o right things. There may be no right things. I will consider what you deem. This is a promise. But I cannot promise that I will harmonize. There are things that you could not know. (And also, of course, I will have made my decision by the time you receive this letter. We have always communicated in this misplaced time.)

  I am not a foolish person. I know that Grandfather will never be able to restore the currency. This signifies that I will not be able to move myself and Little Igor to America. Our dreams cannot exist at the same time. I am so young, and he is so aged, and both of these facts should make us people who are deserving of their dreams, but this is not a possibility.

  I am certain of what you will utter. You will utter, "Let me give you the currency." You will utter, "You can return the currency when you have it, or you can never return the currency, and it will not be mentioned again." I know you will utter this because I know that you are a good person. But this is not acceptable. For the same reason that Grandfather cannot take me with him on his voyage, I cannot take the currency from you. This is about choosing. Can you understand? Please attempt to. You are the only person who has understood even a whisper of me, and I will tell you that I am the only person who has understood even a whisper of you.

  I will expect for your letter with anticipation.

  Guilelessly,

  Alexander

  AN OVERTURE TO ILLUMINATION

  BY THE TIME we returned to the hotel, it was very late, and almost very early. The owner was heavy with sleep at the front desk. "Vodka," Grandfather said. "We should have a drink, the three of us." "The four of us," I counseled, pointing to Sammy Davis, Junior, Junior, who had been such a benign tumor all day. So the four of us went forth to the hotel bar. "You are returned," said the waitress when she witnessed us. "Back with the Jew," she said. "Shut your mouth," Grandfather said, and he did not say it in an earsplitting voice, but quietly, as if it were a fact that she should shut her mouth. "I am apologizing," she said. "It is not a thing," I told her, because I did not want her to feel inferior for a small mistake, and also I could see her bosom when she bent forward. (For whom did I write that, Jonathan? I do not want to be disgusting anymore. And I do not want to be funny, either.) "It is a thing," Grandfather said, "and you must now ask leniency of the Jew." "What's going on?" the hero asked. "Why aren't we going in?" "Make apologies," Grandfather told the waitress, who was only a girl, even more young than me. "I am apologizing for calling you a Jew," she said. "She is apologizing for calling you a Jew," I told the hero. "How did she know?" "She knows because I told her before, at breakfast." "You told her I was a Jew?" "It was an appropriate fact at the time." "I was drinking mochaccino." "I must correct you. It was coffee." "What is he saying?" Grandfather asked. "Perhaps it would be best," I said, "if we acquire a table and order a large amount of drinks and also food." "What else did she say about me?" the hero asked. "Did she say anything else? You can see her tits when she leans over." (This was yours, you will remember. I did not invent this, and so cannot be blamed.)

  We pursued the waitress to our table, which was in the corner. We could have had any table, because we were the exclusive people there. I do not know why she put us in the corner, but I have a notion. "What can I obtain for you?" she asked. "Four vodkas," Grandfather said. "One of them in a bowl. And do you have anything to eat that does not have meat?" "Peanuts," she said. "This is excellent," Grandfather responded, "but none for Sammy Davis, Junior, Junior because it makes her very ill. It is a terrible thing for even one to touch her lips." I informed this to the hero because I thought he might find it humorous. He merely smiled.

  When the waitress returned with our drinks and a bowl of peanuts, we were already conversing about our day, and also our schemes for tomorrow. "He must be present at the train by 19:00 of the evening, yes?" "Yes," I said, "so we will desire to depart the hotel at lunch, to be on the side of safety." "Perhaps we will have time for more searching." "I am not so certain," I said. "And where would we search? There is nothing. There is no one to inquire. You remember what she said." The hero was not giving any attention to us, and never asked even one time what we were conversing about. He was being sociable only with the peanuts. "This would be more easy without him," Grandfather said, moving his eyes at the hero. "But it is his search," I said. "Why?" "Because it is his grandfather." "We are not looking for his grandfather. We are looking for Augustine. She is not any more his than ours." I had not thought of it in this way, but it was true. "What are you talking about?" Jonathan asked me. "And could you ask the waitress for some more of these peanuts?"

  I told the waitress to retrieve us more peanuts, and she said, "I will do this, even though the owner commands that no one should ever receive more than one bowl of peanuts. I will except you because I feel so wretched about calling the Jew a Jew." "Thank you," I said, "but there is no reason to feel wretched." "And what about tomorrow, then?" Jonathan asked. "I have to be at the train at 7:00, right?" "Correct." "What will we do until then?" "I am not a certain person. We must depart very early, because you must be at the train station two hours before your train goes forth, and it is a three-hour drive, and it is likely that we will become lost people." "It sounds like we should leave now," he said, and laughed. I did not laugh, because I knew that the reason we would depart early is not in truth because of the justifications I said to him, but because there was nothing more to search for. We had failed.

  "Let us investigate IN CASE," Grandfather said. "What?" I asked. "The box, let us see what is inside of it." "Is this a bad idea?" "Of course it is not," he said. "Why would it be?" "Perhaps we should allow Jonathan to investigate it confidentially, or perhaps no one should investigate it." "She presented it to him for a purpose." "I know," I said, "but perhaps that purpose had nothing to do with investigating it. Perhaps the purpose is that it should never be opened." "You are not a curious person?" he asked me. "I am a very curious person." "What are you guys talking about?" "Would you be content to investigate IN CASE?" "What do you mean?" "The box that Augustine presented you today. We could search it." "Is that a good idea?" "I am not certain. I asked the identical thing." "I don't see why it's a bad idea. I mean, she did give it to me for a reason." "This is what Grandfather uttered." "You don't think there's any good reason not to?" "I cannot forecast one." "Neither can I." "But." "But?" "But nothing," I uttered. "But what?" "But nothing. It is your decision." "And yours." "Unclose the lucking box," Grandfather said. "He says unclose the fucking box." Jonathan removed the box from under his seat and placed it on the table. IN CASE was written on the side, and from more proximal, I could perceive that the words had been written and erased many times, written, erased, and written again. "Mmmm," he said, and made gestures to a red ribbon that was fastened around the box. "It is only to keep it closed," Grandfather said. "It is only to keep it closed," I told him. "Probably," he said. "Or," I said, "to forestall us from examining it." "She didn't say anything about not examining it. She would have said something, don't you think?" "I would think so." "Your grandfather thinks we should open it?" "Yes." "And you?" "I am not certain." "What do you mean you're not certain?" "I think it would not be such a wretched thing to open it. She would have uttered something if she desired it to remain uninvestigated." "Open the fucking box," Grandfather said. "He says open the fucking box."

  Jonathan dislodged the ribbon, which was wrapped many times around IN CASE, and opened it. Perhaps we were anticipating it to be a bomb, because when it did not explode, we were all flabbergasted. "That wasn't so bad," Jonathan said. "That was not so bad," I told Grandfather. "This is what I said," he told me. "I said it would not be so bad." We looked into the box. Its ingredients appeared very much similar to those in the REMAINS box, except there were perhaps more. "Of course we were supposed to open it," Jonathan said. He looked at me and laughed, and then I laughed, and then Grandfather laughed. We laughed because we knew how witless we had been when we were shitting bricks about opening the box. And we laughed because there was so much that we did not know,
and we knew that there was so much we did not know.

  "Let us search," Grandfather said, and he moved his hand through the box marked IN CASE like a child reaching into a box of gifts. He excavated a necklace. "Look," he said. "It's pearl, I think," Jonathan said. "Real pearl." The pearls, if they were real pearls, were very dirty, and yellow, and there were pieces of dirt stranded amid them, like food amid teeth. "It appears very aged," Grandfather said. I told this to Jonathan. "Yes," he harmonized. "And dirty. I bet it was buried." "What does it mean buried?" "Put in the ground, like a dead body." "Yes, I know this thing. It could be similar like the ring in the REMAINS box." "Right." Grandfather held the necklace to the candle on our table. The pearls, if they were real pearls, had many taints, and were no longer resplendent. He tried to clean them with his thumb, but they remained dirty. "It is a beautiful necklace," he said. "I purchased one very much similar to this for your grandmother when we first became in love. This was many years ago, but I remember what it looked like. It obligated all of my currency to purchase it, so how could I forget?" "Where is it now?" I asked. "At home?" "No," he said, "she is still wearing it. It is not a thing. Just how she desired it to be." He put the necklace on the table, and I could perceive that the necklace did not make him melancholy, as it might be anticipated, but it made him a very contented person. "Now you," he told me, and punched my back in a manner that was not intended to hurt me, but did nonetheless. "He says I should choose something," I told Jonathan, because I desired to discover how he would answer to the notion that Grandfather and I had the same privilege as he did to investigate the box. "Go ahead," he said. So I inserted my hand into IN CASE.