All Backs Were Turned

by Marek Hlasko

  “Yes,” Israel said. “I agree completely. But I wouldn’t have been able to put it that simply. You were born here and you were taught everything in a very straightforward manner: this is bad, this is good. I was taught differently: this is very bad for some, but good for others. Actually my teachers taught me nothing that could be useful to me here.” He got up from his chair, walked over to the mirror, and peered at his face. “Yes, they taught me nothing useful,” he said again.

  There was a knock at the front door and Dov moved back to his makeshift bed.

  “It’s probably that guy from the airport I promised some dough for letting me put up my notice,” Dov said. “I asked him to come in the evening. Tell him I’m not here. Or that I’m asleep and you don’t want to wake me up. He’s probably in such a hurry to collect his money he won’t want to wait until tomorrow. But tell him he has to. And tell him it’ll be just as hot tomorrow as it was today. I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear that. We shouldn’t have turned the light on.”

  Israel opened the door. He froze in the doorway, looking at the woman standing in front of him, at her slender face and tired eyes. She still wore her jeans, now covered with fine red dust.

  “I wanted to leave on the afternoon plane,” she said, “but there was nobody here. And I couldn’t leave without apologizing to you. I just couldn’t.” When he didn’t say anything, she added, “Your house was dark all evening.”

  “I’m not eager to show my face. Though I don’t really know why.” He took a step in her direction. “So how do you like your husband’s native land? Too bad you can’t write him and share your impressions. Unfortunately, there is no postal service between here and there.”

  “I don’t know what came over me,” she said. “I can’t understand why I did what I did. I had been standing there, watching them beating you—”

  He placed his hand over her mouth.

  “Shhh. I don’t want Dov to find out what happened. You owe me that.”

  She took his hand away from her mouth, but didn’t let go of it.

  “Can you forgive me?” she said.

  “I can do better; I can explain it all to you,” he said. “What good would my forgiveness do you? Nobody has every really forgiven anybody, and yet life goes on.”

  “Please, forgive me,” she said.

  “There isn’t all that much to forgive,” he said. “I understand why you behaved the way you did. It was because your husband was a Jew and you loved him. Your tender heart made you hit me because I wouldn’t defend myself. Love is by no means simple, but it’d be hard to live without it. Love justifies almost anything. It’s one of man’s greatest inventions.”

  “Don’t speak that way,” she said. “I don’t want to understand why it happened. I want to ask your forgiveness. If I do something wrong, I want to make up for it.”

  “Better don’t,” he said. “Too many people have been hurt by good deeds and good women. Better go back to Europe tomorrow. And try to remember only the good things.”

  “That’s what I plan to do,” she said. “I’ll take the morning flight to Tel Aviv and from there I’ll fly to Athens. Then I’ll decide what to do next.” She reached into her pocket and took out some bills. “Here’s your money,” she said. “We both forgot about it. I owe you for the ride.”

  He stood still for a few seconds, then reached out his hand for the money and stuck it in his pocket.

  “Yes, I can accept it now,” he said. “You saw something, after all. My conscience is clean. And, as Dov said, we need the gelt.”

  He could feel her body moving closer to his, yet he remained still. He felt her lips on his, and then he felt her hands pulling him after her. He took a step forward and began to follow her in the direction of the light coming from the open door of the neighboring house. He stopped in the doorway to look back at the lighted window and the silhouette of a man leaning on the sill. It seemed to him he could see Dov’s heavy shoulders, which were covered with sweat, even though the big man wiped them regularly with the towel that hung, gleaming whitely, over his arm. Israel stood there for a moment touching his bruised face and breathing hard. He looked at the dark mountains over the desert and at the sky over the bay; then he went in and closed the door.

  HE WAS SITTING NEXT TO URSULA ON THE WARM SAND; it was noon. The beach was empty except for the two youngsters he saw descend from the plane the other day, now in their scuba gear, seeming not to mind the stifling heat.

  “They look like visitors from Mars in those masks and with those air tanks on their backs,” he said. “I hope they know there are sharks around here. I don’t think either of them speaks Hebrew.”

  “Look!” she said. “It’s unbelievable.”

  “What?”

  “That old couple from the airport,” she said.

  He moved his head and saw the old woman leading her husband. The man was walking stiffly, playing with the microphone of his hearing aid. As before, they were both dressed in black. The only difference was that the man wore no hat today and his head had turned red from the sun; he was looking much worse than yesterday, and his eyes had sunk deeper into his skull. He said something to his wife—it seemed to them that he wanted to rest a minute—but the woman pulled him on in silence.

  “Old people, when the notion gets them, there’s no telling what they’re gonna do,” Israel said. “They were supposed to leave yesterday on the afternoon plane.”

  “Maybe they like it here,” she said.

  “Do you believe that?”

  “Why not?” she asked. “Eilat is the most beautiful place I’ve ever visited. And it looks different every half-hour. The mountains change as the sun climbs over them. And at night it gets so dark you can’t see anything three steps away.”

  “There isn’t much to see here,” he said. “They should see Dov; then they can leave.”

  “There’s your Dov,” she said.

  She pointed to the jeep coming fast along the edge of the sea; three terrified passengers clung to their seats.

  “Has he gone mad?” she asked. “Why is he going so fast? Those people will go crazy with fear.”

  “Everybody enjoys driving fast here,” Israel said. “Don’t worry, no one’s gonna get hurt. The worst thing that can happen to them is a spill into the bay. I think that’s what Dov wants. I know him. His sense of humor is different from other people’s. But you can get used to it.”

  “I don’t think he has any sense of humor,” she said, staring after the departing jeep. “It seems he doesn’t like anybody and is angry at everyone.”

  “His wife left him,” Israel said. “That’s when he began acting odd. It happens to men when their women leave them. To some of them.”

  “It also happens to women when men leave them.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’ve heard a lot of stories. All very moving. But with Dov’s wife it’s different. She’s going to have another man’s kid. And the worst thing is almost everybody knows about it and keeps reminding Dov.”

  “And you’re the only one helping him?”

  “It’s he who’s helping me,” he said. “He’s always helped me find work; this jeep was his idea, too. He brought me here. I’m staying in his brother’s house.”

  “Yes, I know that,” she said. “But that’s not the problem, your living in his brother’s house, is it?”

  “What problem are you talking about?” he asked. “For the past few hours I thought I had no problems. Please, don’t disillusion me.”

  “I don’t think you want to live in his brother’s house,” she said.

  “No?”

  “I think you want to live in Dov’s skin,” she said. “You wish you were like him.”

  He looked at her and smiled, but his eyes didn’t move.

  “That’s not funny,” she said.

  “People are always funny,” Israel said. “Even if they say or do terrible things.”

  “I hadn’t meant to offend you,” she said. “And I coul
d be wrong. But I don’t think a man can change that much; I don’t believe you can become a Dov. And I don’t see any need for it.”

  “So what do you think I should do?”

  She didn’t answer him, only lifted her hand; he looked to where she was pointing and saw a plane coming in for a landing, its undercarriage out; then the plane flew over their heads and Israel lowered his gaze. Their eyes met.

  “Why think about it?” he said.

  “You don’t have to think about it,” she said. “Just go back to it, that’s all. Try studying; it’s still possible.”

  “Over here they don’t like people who go back to Europe,” Israel said. “Actually, it’s more than just a question of liking. They say about them: these people are going down. And about those who come here, they say they are going up.”

  “And what do they say about someone who makes his living driving tourists around for a few measly pounds? Just look at him. Couldn’t he be doing something else?”

  Dov drove past them again and again they saw the tourists’ terrified faces.

  “No,” Israel said. “Let Dov stay here and do whatever he wants. I can’t imagine this country without him. And Dov would die if he had to go away. I’m sure of that. Just like old peasants die when they have to leave their farms and move to the city.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” she said. “Let everybody go to pot his own way. Where can I get something cold to drink?”

  “There’s a stand by the hotel,” he said. “It’s run by a guy named Jack who speaks six languages. Unfortunately, he has nothing interesting to say in any of them. Put your sandals on: you can cut your foot on something walking barefoot.”

  He watched her walk away, then picked up a newspaper. A moment later someone touched his arm; he looked up.

  “Israel Berg!” a man said. “Don’t you recognize me?”

  “Sure,” Israel said. “We worked together in Herzliya. You’re a bricklayer, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” the man said. “Now I work here. Where’s Dov Ben Dov?”

  “Here, in Eilat. He just drove by with some tourists. Didn’t you see him?”

  “No. What’s new with him?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell him I’m here.”

  “I will.”

  “Don’t forget, okay?”

  “I won’t.”

  “Do you remember my name?”

  “I’ll tell him I met that bricklayer from Herzliya. Dov will know who I mean. He’s got a good memory.”

  “What makes you think he’ll remember me?”

  “I didn’t say I thought anything.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because thinking is my weak point,” Israel said. “Look, I’d like to take a nap now.”

  “How can you take a nap if you’re with a woman? That would be rude.”

  “Then I won’t take a nap,” Israel said.

  “What’s that woman like?”

  “Like other women,” Israel said. “Though I’m sure she thinks herself different.”

  “Where’s she from?”

  “Europe.”

  “You’ll go to bed with her?”

  “I already did.”

  “And how was it?”

  “Great. That’s why I’m so tired. I’d like to take a nap. For at least five minutes.”

  “I’ll leave you then.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’ll tell him, won’t you?”

  “Sure.”

  “You won’t forget?”

  “No.”

  “You’ll tell him it was me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, I’ll be going then,” the man said. “Hey, I just realized something. You know what?”

  “No,” Israel said. “But I’m sure it must be important.”

  “I just realized that that woman and Dov would make a fine couple,” the man said.

  Israel raised himself on his elbows. “You think so?”

  “Yes,” the man said. “Dov is a big man, and she’s rather petite. They would look nice together. My mother was also shorter than my father, and my sister is much shorter than my brother-in-law. Has Dov seen her?”

  “Yes.”

  “And? What did he say?”

  “He told her his name and that was it. You must have forgotten that Dov has a wife.”

  “Had a wife.”

  “Dov still has a wife,” Israel said. “And she’ll come back to him when he wants her to. He won’t even have to whistle to make her come running. It’ll be enough if he just thinks to himself that he wants her back; she’ll know.”

  “How come you’re so irritable? A young man like you? Well, I’ll be going now. Just tell Dov I’m here, okay?”

  “I will,” Israel said.

  Israel did not look again at the man who stood before him hoping their conversation would continue; instead, he looked toward the hotel where he could see Ursula walking back in his direction, then he moved his gaze to where the jeep was and saw Dov drinking a bottle of beer. Finally, the man left; Israel placed a newspaper over his face and lay down on the sand. He heard Ursula approach and sit down next to him.

  “Are you asleep?” she asked him softly.

  “No,” he said. “I’m thinking. I’m thinking about leaving Israel and getting back to studying planes. It won’t be easy for me to leave. I’m trying to imagine Dov’s reaction. We’ve been together a long time.”

  “He can’t stop you,” she said. “He’ll just have to accept your decision.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “He’ll have only himself to blame.”

  “Dov can’t understand why his wife left him,” Israel said. “He spends a lot of time mulling over it, but I know he’ll never find the answer. Is he really to blame himself for that?”

  She looked at him, at his slim body and handsome, alert face, then turned her head away.

  “So it’s like I thought after all,” she said. “You want to be like him. Like Dov Ben Dov. Maybe with time you’ll manage to adopt or emulate all his good points and virtues. But you’ll never have his vices. And you’ll have only yourself to blame for that.” She stood up and held out her hand to him. “Come, let’s go have some coffee.”

  They left the beach and started walking toward town. They stopped at the nearest café. Ursula sat down at an outdoor table and Israel went inside. There was nobody there; a red beaded curtain hung stiffly at the end of the room.

  “Does anybody run this place?” Israel asked loudly after standing by the bar for a while.

  The red curtain swung open and a portly man stepped behind the bar. He placed his elbows on it and looked at Israel.

  “I run it,” he said.

  “You don’t run it well,” Israel said. “You should stand behind the bar and wait for customers. Give me two coffees.”

  “There’s no coffee here,” the man said.

  “What do you mean?” Israel asked. “Your coffee-maker is hot.”

  “You’re mistaken.”

  Israel touched the espresso. “It’s hot,” he said.

  “You’re that friend of Ben Dov’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t want you to drink coffee in my place,” the man said.

  “Why?”

  “That’s my business. Just like this place is mine. Don’t you understand Hebrew, mister? How long have you been in this country?”

  Israel didn’t answer.

  “I want to know why you won’t sell me coffee,” he finally said. “You don’t think you can insult me for no reason, do you?”

  The man began to walk away, but then came back and faced Israel. He was heavy, fat, and white, as if the sun beating down on everything for fourteen hours a day had never touched his skin.

  “I don’t like your type,” the man said. “Does that satisfy you?”

  “No.”

  “I was with Abraham Stern. Do
you at least know who that was?”

  “Sure.”

  “No, you don’t,” the man said. “He was a man who wanted to fight. Who waited all by himself on the rooftop while police surrounded the house.” He paused and then said, “There was no way they could have gotten him alive.”

  “I don’t see what this has to do with my coffee,” Israel said. “Everybody in this country knows that Stern was a hero.”

  “But there is no street named after him,” the man said. “What happened to your face?”

  “Is that what’s bothering you?”

  “Not only that. Don’t ever come here again. Neither you nor Ben Dov. I don’t want any brawls in my place.”

  “Should I tell him that?”

  “Why ask? Don’t you tell him everything? You tell him to settle your scores for you, don’t you? But I don’t like it when a Jew is hit in the face and he won’t defend himself. It reminds me of something I left behind. Something I don’t want to go back to. You can tell him all that. I’m not afraid of him. I was never afraid of anything or anybody.”

  “Did many people see me yesterday on the beach?” Israel asked quietly.

  “Some,” the man said. “And everybody will tell you the same thing. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

  “No,” Israel said. “You’re not sorry at all.”

  “All right, I’m not. Now go away.”

  “Okay,” Israel said. “But you can at least do one thing for me. Tell me who spread the story around.”

  “Do you know the name of the prettiest girl in town?”

  “No.”

  “Then ask your friend’s brother,” the man said. “He’ll know. He married her. Now go away.”

  Israel went out into the sun and stepped up to Ursula, a smile on his face. She didn’t see him; she was looking toward the bay and the white houses of Aqaba.

  “Ursula,” he said, “we won’t get any coffee in this bar. But I have some news for you. I’ve decided to leave on the earliest plane possible.”