by Marek Hlasko
Israel returned the bottle to him.
“I won’t stand it here much longer,” Dov said. “I have to leave.”
“We’ll both leave.”
“But each of us will go his own way.”
“That’ll happen only if you want it to happen,” Israel said. “Otherwise I’ll stick with you.”
“Don’t you want to go to Europe anymore?” Dov asked. “Don’t you want to start a new life?”
“No,” Israel said. “I have to let this one run its course first.”
Dov didn’t say anything; he threw the bottle into the dark and must have hit someone with it, because they heard a curse.
“You’re still young,” he finally said. “Maybe elsewhere you could lead a better life. I don’t know. I can’t advise you. It could work both ways, you know. I can’t say. I’ve never been to Europe.”
“I’m a Jew,” Israel said. “That’s what they ask you about first, and only then about your age. I was in Europe, so I know.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Nothing. I’ll stay here. We both will.”
“I want to go away,” Dov said. “I’m fed up with Eilat. I’m fed up with my father, my brother, his crazy wife. I want to get drunk.”
“Wait for me,” Israel said. “We’ll get drunk together.”
“What about Ursula?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she’ll get drunk with us.”
“If I had the money, I’d get this whole town drunk,” Dov said. “The whole goddamn town together, the rabbis, the mayor, and the three hundred miners working in King Solomon’s mine. And all those fucking tourists who come here and pretend they like my country, I’d get them drunk, too. So they’d all feel awful tomorrow. The way I do today. I slept three hours last night, that’s it. And tonight I won’t sleep any more than that. I’ll get this whole goddamn town drunk, and then we’ll go away.”
“Where to?”
“I don’t know yet,” Dov Ben Dov said. “I haven’t thought about it. We’ll decide on the way.”
HE WAS WALKING DOWN THE LONG HOSPITAL HALL WITH the doctor, a young blond man with a heavily tanned face. It was six in the evening.
“Don’t you have anything that makes a man full of pep after he has drunk too much and slept too little?” Dov asked.
“No,” the doctor said. “If I did, I’d take it myself. So, what happened last night?”
“I don’t know,” Dov said. “We went to a bar—my friend, his girlfriend, and I. We had a few drinks and then she left, saying she was sleepy, and we stayed on and drank some more. Then my friend said to me: Let’s leave the jeep here and walk home. If a cop stops us for drunk driving, we’ll be in big trouble. So we walked home and went to bed. I fell asleep almost immediately and slept for about two hours when some men came to our house to tell me my brother had been beaten up by some fishermen and taken to the hospital. After that I slept maybe another three hours.”
“Do you know why they beat him up?”
“No, I don’t,” Dov said. “Maybe he started the fight himself. There’s been a lot of bad blood between them. Actually I had been thinking it wouldn’t be too bad if one of them gave him a good licking; it might be a lesson to him.”
The doctor didn’t say anything. Dov looked at him.
“Hey,” he said, stopping and taking the doctor by the arm. “It’s nothing serious, is it?”
The doctor gently disengaged himself. “He’s in here,” he said. “Be nice to him.”
“Is it serious?”
“Be nice to him,” the doctor said again. “And then come to see me.”
He gave him a gentle shove and Dov walked into the room. Little Dov had the room to himself; Dov approached his bed.
“Hi, Dov,” Little Dov said. “Why didn’t Esther come with you?”
“I don’t know.” Dov said. “Somebody from the hospital dropped in and asked the old man to visit you. But he wouldn’t because today is Friday. So I came instead.”
“I don’t feel well.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t know. Ask one of those white coats. I got slugged a few times and I lost consciousness.”
“Was it those fishermen who fixed you like that? What made you pick a fight with them?”
“I didn’t, Dov. I was walking along the beach, sometime around six, not even looking where I was going, when suddenly these three guys jumped me and started pummeling away. I began defending myself and threw a few good punches before one of them whacked me on the head from behind and I just folded up and went to sleep.”
“Why did they attack you?”
“I don’t know,” Little Dov said. “I wish I did. I’ll ask them myself as soon as I leave the hospital.”
“Do you want to know what they said at the police station?”
“Yeah. Shoot.”
“They said you ruined their boats,” Dov said. “Ruined the engines.”
“They’re crazy. Why would I do anything like that?”
“Who else would? You and they are the only fishermen here. And you were squabbling constantly. Who else could have done it?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Little Dov said. “I didn’t do it. You know I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Were you on the beach last night?”
“I go to the beach every night,” Little Dov said. “With Esther, so that you can sleep. So that you can feel at home in my house.”
“Can you swear by the Ten Commandments that you didn’t do it?”
“Cover my head with something and I will.”
“Okay, you don’t have to. I believe you. Then who did it? And why?”
“I don’t know,” Little Dov said. “And it’s none of my business. I’m neither a snoop nor a cop. I’m a fisherman, because that’s what I wanted to be and that’s the trade I learned.”
“But you were on the beach at night, weren’t you?”
“So what? Anybody can go to the beach at night. Haven’t you ever gone to the beach at night?”
“No,” Dov said.
“Then you can start going now,” his brother said. “And I’ll stay at home with my wife, in bed. She has counted all the stars in the sky by now, and the outdoors is beginning to bore her.”
“I wonder who could have done it,” Dov said.
“What do you care? Are you a cop? Let the fuzz work it out. What do you care?”
“You’re acting like a child,” Dov said. “Things don’t look good for you.”
“Esther is my witness.”
“I don’t know if the court will accept her testimony. She’s your wife.”
“Look,” Little Dov said, “this is beginning to bore me. Leave the guesswork to the cops and the courts. That’s what they’re there for. I know nothing. I don’t follow anybody around. I don’t go running to Israel to tell him I saw his girlfriend on the beach last night. It’s none of my business.”
“Who was she with?” Dov asked. “Some guy?”
“No, she was alone. When I saw her, I pulled Esther deeper into the shadows. I had no desire to talk to her and didn’t want her to bother us.”
“Are you sure it was her?”
“I’m bored with all this,” Little Dov said. “And I feel sleepy. I guess they must have given me something.”
“Okay. Do you want anything? Maybe something to read?”
“I want Esther to visit me,” Little Dov said. “You know, I’m all bandaged up.” He pulled back the blanket; his lower abdomen and his thighs were covered with bandages. “I feel dead down there,” he said. “As if I didn’t have anything. I want to see her. I know that when I touch her my body will come alive.”
“All right,” Dov said.
“You know,” Little Dov said, turning his face to the wall, “I haven’t had her for three days now. I don’t know what’s come over her.”
“Remember Esther is a woman. Maybe she has her period.”
“Esther is my
wife,” Little Dov said. “Her period never stopped us before.”
“I’ll tell her. And I’ll tell her to bring you something to read.”
“I don’t want anything to read. I want to touch her.” “Okay, I’ll tell her you want her to visit you and you want to touch her.”
“And when I get back home, I’ll say to her what one American soldier said to his wife when he came back from Korea. He took her to the window and said, See those trees over there? See how beautiful they are? See how beautiful the sky is? Well, have a good look, because the only thing you’re going to see for the next two weeks is the ceiling. Good night, Dov.”
“Good night,” Dov said. “Sleep well.”
He went out and began to look for the doctor, and finally found him by the stairs, smoking a cigarette.
“Well? How is he?” the doctor said.
“That’s what I expect you to tell me,” Dov said. “You’re the doctor.”
“Dov, do you remember that the doctors declared you temporarily insane after you killed that man you found with your wife?”
“So even you know about it?”
“Dov,” the doctor said, “the fact that they declared you temporarily insane was the only reason you didn’t go to jail. But that can happen only once. I’m telling you this as a doctor, not as a cop.”
“Why are you telling me this at all?” Dov asked. “I’m okay now. You should be worrying about my brother.”
“The reason I’m telling you is so you’ll know that if you do anything rash, nobody can help you. Your brother will never be a man again, Dov.”
“I see,” Dov said softly. “That’s why he feels dead down there.”
“We give him morphine, Dov,” the doctor said. “And we’ll keep him on sedatives for the next few days. And then we’ll have to discharge him. And only then will he find out the truth.”
“How did it happen?”
“One of those men was wearing spiked shoes,” the doctor said. “And when he started kicking your brother he did irreversible damage to the tissue.”
“You mean my brother will never—” Dov began, but he couldn’t finish.
“Yes,” the doctor said. “Never again.”
“What about his wife?”
“After some time he’ll stop caring.”
“After how long?”
“I don’t know,” the doctor said. “Nobody knows.”
“And what if he never stops caring?” Dov asked. “What if he thinks about it constantly and suffers all the time? What then?”
“I don’t know,” the doctor said again. “And neither do you. Nor does he. Only God knows, but nobody can make God tell him the answer. Can you?”
“No,” Dov said.
“I can’t either. I did all I could so your brother wouldn’t suffer. And I’ll do all I can so that he’ll find out the truth as late as possible. But that’s all I can do. The rest is up to you. His family.”
“I’d like to go now.”
“You can go. Just remember what I told you. I told you that as a doctor, not a cop.”
“Then, as a doctor, tell me one more thing: what will happen to those men? What will happen to them for doing what they did?”
“They’ll stand trial.”
“Charged with what?”
“Accidental mayhem.”
“And what sentences will they get?”
“I don’t know. Maybe five years each. Maybe ten.”
“And then they’ll come back to their women,” Dov said. “To their wives, their whores, and enjoy themselves with them, doing things he’ll never be able to do again as long as he lives. Isn’t that so?”
“I don’t think anybody can make the charge of intentional mayhem stick,” the doctor said.
“If you were a real doctor,” Dov said, “you’d know there’s only one thing you can do for my brother. If you were a real doctor who understands people, and not just a man in a white coat.”
“Shhh,” the doctor said. “This is a hospital. In each of these rooms there’s some poor wretch who believes we can help him. Even if you don’t.”
“Have they been arrested yet?”
“No,” the doctor said. “The police are waiting for my report, the medical evaluation of your brother’s injuries.”
“When will you have it ready?”
“It’s ready”
“Give it to me,” Dov said. “I’ll take it to the police station.”
“You really will?”
“Yes,” Dov said. “That sexless thing lying in that room used to be my brother.”
“Maybe it’s only now that he’ll begin to be your brother,” the doctor said. “Now that he’ll need your love, your help.”
“You said that,” Dov said.
HE STOPPED OUTSIDE THE HOSPITAL, HOLDING THE large, sealed envelope. It was already dark. Without looking behind him, he tore the envelope into pieces and threw it away. He checked his watch; it was eight. He drove slowly through town, gazing at the dark sky, the first stars over the bay, feeling the first breeze begin to blow. He stopped the jeep in front of his brother’s house, but he didn’t go in. For a while he stood there, breathing hard and looking at the lighted window.
“Esther!” he called quietly.
She came out a moment later.
“Esther,” he said, “bring me that picture of Dov that’s hanging on the wall. And get me my leather wrist straps. You’ll find them in my bag.”
“Why don’t you come and get them yourself?”
“Bring me everything, Esther,” he said softly. “I’m tired. I never asked you for anything. But I’m asking you now.”
She came back a short while later; he held out his hands and she fastened the bands around his wrists.
“What do you want to do?” she asked.
“I have to go after a few fish for my brother’s sake,” he said.
“And why do you need his picture?”
He took his brother’s picture from her and looked at it for a moment. “You’ll never be like this again,” he said, and smashed it against the wall.
“What happened to him?”
“Nothing, Esther. You’ll find out. With time everybody will. Now come closer.”
When she did, he drew her against him and kissed her hard, making her part her lips, and felt her body cling to his, passing on its warmth—now that the day was over, had burned itself out in the sweltering heat. He felt her hands pulling his head closer and he pushed her gently away.
“I needed that,” he said. “He’s my brother.”
“I don’t care about him,” she said.
He moved back a step.
“You don’t care about him?”
“No,” she said. “You can hit me if you want. He was right.”
“Who was?”
“Israel, your friend.”
“What are you talking about, Esther?”
“It wasn’t that woman who was after you,” she said. “It was me. I wanted you! If anything’s happened, it’s my fault.”
“Do all you women have to be like this?” he asked. “Can’t you even pretend to feel shame?”
“I speak only for myself,” she said. “But no, I can’t pretend to feel shame. And I can’t pretend to feel love. Ask your brother.”
“He loves you,” he said. “And he’s waiting for you.”
“But I love you,” she said. “And I’m waiting for you.”
“Do you know, Esther, that I could have you now if I wanted? I really could?”
“You could have had me always,” she said. “You could have had me the day you came to this house.”
“I won’t walk into this house again,” Dov said. “I won’t enter it until I fix those men like they fixed my brother.”
“We don’t have to go in,” Esther said. “You can have me anyplace, anytime.”
He gazed at her for a moment, then climbed into the jeep.
“Tell my father that he’s old,” he said. “And G
od will take pity on him and take him away.”
“And who’ll take pity on me?” Esther asked.
“Go in and wait,” he said.
“Now that you’re wearing those wrist straps I’ve nothing to wait for,” Esther said.
She turned around and walked back into the house. He could still feel the warmth and smell of her body; driving down the dark side streets he thought of her firm young lips, and it was harder to bear than pain. He parked the jeep a hundred yards away from the garage and approached the low building on foot. He walked inside and looked at the man sitting in the grease pit and drinking beer. Then he looked at the man’s shoes.
“Do you know what’s happened?” he asked.
“Not everything’s happened yet,” the man said.
“Where are the others?”
“They left.”
“They left or ran away?”
“They left,” the man said. “You can’t run away. There’s nowhere to run to. I spent five years in Auschwitz; I know. But they weren’t there, so they might not know.”
“Why didn’t you go with them?” Dov asked.
The man looked up at him. “I was waiting for you,” he said.
“And what would you do in my place?”
“Same thing as you’re going to do, Dov.”
“Do you know he’ll never be a man again?”
“I didn’t want that,” the man said. “That’s why I stayed. I’ve been waiting for you for hours.”
“Give me some beer,” Dov said. “I’m thirsty. Throw me your bottle.”
The man tossed him the bottle and Dov caught it. The beer was warm; he took a mouthful and gave the bottle back.
“Why didn’t you leave with them?” he asked again.
He was already sitting in the GMC truck and driving slowly toward the man standing in the shallow pit; then he turned on the headlights, blinding him. The truck’s front bumper touched the man’s breast.
“If you live, we’ll meet in jail,” Dov Ben Dov said. “We’ll be doing time for the same thing. Accidental mayhem. And then we’ll come back to our women.”
He closed his eyes, let in the clutch and with all his force stepped on the gas. For a moment he heard the screech of tires turning in place, and then—with his eyes still closed—he backed the truck out from over the pit, switched off the headlights, and drove out of the garage into the yard.