“Right. Shams … and you wanted to train us to survive his interrogations … You really had a thing about spies and traitors.”
“I still do, I guess.” Aron giggled. “And remember, nu, what was I going to say, oh yes, sometimes I still wonder about that guy they said looked like a kibbutznik, the one in prison, with the private cell?”
“They said it was hard to believe anyone who looked like that would want to spy against Israel.”
“And where was Simon Kramer from?”
“Hey.” Gideon smiled. “Remember the time you made us believe you were a double agent?”
“Uh-uh. Simon Kramer was from Rishon LeZion. He crossed the border into Gaza and joined Egyptian intelligence.”
“You were always pretending you knew spy secrets … you’d draw marks on the sidewalk, to signal planes …” Something flashed in Gideon’s eyes, and Aron turned hastily around. “You’re wrong,” he said. “I drew those marks for a different reason. I thought them up in fifth grade, after our big fight.”
“Ah, I remember!” cheered Gideon, misled. “Right, we had this big fight, but what was it about? We thought the world had ended.” It had. And when they made up again, the friendship changed: from a habitof childhood it became an earnest choice. They laughed together quietly. They laughed too much. A farewell sigh wafted in the words. Aron wasn’t certain what had happened in the last few minutes, he only hoped that Gideon would take pity and relent.
“Right,” Gideon recalled, running his hand through his hair. “You worked out some complicated system of signs; seven signs, remember?”
“Did I?” asked Aron cautiously. “Funny, I don’t remember anymore.”
“Sure, you must: that red T-shirt from day camp, you said that if an emergency came up while you and I were feuding, we could hang the shirt on the laundry line and then the other would see it and know to hurry down to the rock. Our feuds never lasted for more than a week, you made sure of that.”
“Hmm. Anything else?”
“We were supposed to tear the three bottom leaves on the ficus plant in the hallway. That was the first sign. And on Mondays there was a different one … Oh yes, leave the tap dripping in the back yard; if one of us saw that, he’d rush to the rock, no matter what. As soon as we woke up from our naps, you said, at four o’clock sharp.”
“See that, I can’t remember anything,” said Aron, choking.
“Sure! You used to draw tails on the sidewalk arrows, don’t you remember?”
“No. Remind me.”
“And … we’d pour sand into the holes in the sewer caps. I can’t believe you’ve forgotten that.”
“It’s beginning to come back to me now, wait, wait.” He dragged out the suspense. “Wasn’t there one last sign that would rally us from the ends of the earth?”
“I’m amazed at you, forgetting that, with a mind like yours.” Aron squinted at his moving lips. “If one of us was in bad trouble all he had to do was climb on the rock and SOS with a mirror. Flashing at the other’s bedroom ceiling.”
“Hmm … do you still remember how to SOS? I’m sure I don’t.”
Gideon knitted his brow. “Like this: dot dot dot, dash dash dash, and dot dot dot again: fast, slow, fast. Morse code is something I will never forget.”
“That’s terrific,” said Aron, leaning back, breathing deeply.
“The ideas you used to have.”
Shut up now. Control yourself. “Better than James Bond, I can tell you that”—he went and spoiled it.
“Those were the days …” sighed Gideon. And Aron echoed, Those were the days. Again the silence interrupted them. Gideon yawned broadly, and Aron stared into his open mouth; why is Gideon so exhausted all the time, Mr. Stashnov wanted to know. Shut your mouth, Aron begged silently, and burrowed into his thoughts, looking for something to distract him from his guilt and shame, to fan the tiny flame that had flickered between them a moment ago. What would he say? He knew a blow was coming at the end of this conversation. Full of anguish, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the coin. Gideon studied it: “Seems like it’s been rubbed with a stone.” “But maybe it’s a rare coin?” said Aron. “Looks obsolete to me. Ask my dad to take a look. He has a coin collection.” “Right, a coin collection. I forgot. See how forgetful I am today.” He was playing for time. Again he mustered the strength to say, What do you think, should we throw it to Morduch, and with a wavering smile he added that he knew it wasn’t right to cheat a blind man, and Gideon, carefully looking away, said Morduch wouldn’t know the difference, and Aron whispered, That’s true, he wouldn’t know the difference. He blesses you no matter what you throw into his cup, said Gideon. Right, no matter what, Aron repeated listlessly, drawing out the endings of Gideon’s pithy utterances, as if secret caresses emanated from them.
They continued this game of peek-a-boo, then stopped and fell silent. Aron’s head drooped between his shoulders, revealing his slender nape, and still he waited, but Gideon said nothing. Aron was too tired to wait anymore. He couldn’t understand why Gideon seemed so strange and threatening. Absentmindedly he touched the knapsack, stroked the puppylike padding inside. Gideon glanced at his fingers in surprise. Aron pulled them away.
“Now that we finally have the chance to capture a genuine spy, or maybe even a hired assassin, you want to drop out, well thanks a heap …” He didn’t know why he was talking such nonsense. He tried to act the injured party, but his voice sounded too whiny and high-pitched, and his face appeared suddenly devoid of itself, revealing his strange, dejected depths. If only Gideon had looked at him just then, he would have seen into the heart of his anguish. But alas, with the egotism children need in order to survive, with the amazing detachmentthat maintains their loyal friendships, and with a vestigial sense of caution, Gideon turned away and was spared. He looked out into the distance, remaining sensitive and decent. And Aron knew that all was lost.
“Zacky says he’s getting sick of your make-believe.” Gideon embarked on his mission, tossing off “make-believe” with dignified haste.
He might have said “babyish” instead or, worse, “childish.” And Aron, both grateful and humiliated, knew that Gideon had taken it upon himself to break the news and shield him from Zacky’s tactlessness.
“I was making up adventures for you,” whispered Aron, his lower lip trembling.
“Adventures are fine …” Gideon squirmed, and in the silence that followed Aron reached into his pocket, touched the onion strip that reveals the invisible workings of the mind, and heard Gideon thinking: But we’re about to set off on the greatest adventure of our lives. Aron dropped the onion strip as though burned.
“So what, are you saying you don’t want to do the Houdini act anymore either?” Better to hear it now, the bare truth; he had always secretly felt protected, having Gideon there to lock him in and tie the ropes.
“Okay, but explain one thing,” said Aron, perishing. “I want to understand, because maybe I’m a little slow, so tell it to me straight, why did it used to be fun to sneak into a strange house two years ago and now suddenly it isn’t anymore? What’s changed?”
“I don’t know, it’s just different now.” Gideon was evasive again, and a warning flashed from the tower of his self-control.
What’s different; who’s different, oh God, please let there be a spy this year, that’ll show them, that’ll clear this whole big mess … Here’s Gideon, pursing his lips with the heartrending expression of a gladiator forced to kill his own brother before a bloodthirsty mob, but where is the mob, who are the invisible spectators goading them on, and where is the emperor; and Aron looked up and for one last moment saw the bird of Gideon’s love for him fluttering across his features, as though trying to rouse him. Get up, Aron, get up, it whispered behind the mosquito netting draped over the sleeping child. Get up, we’re going on a long journey, as Aron curled around himself, bloodless, fleshless. If you were loyal to me you would wait as long as it takes, and Gideonretreated furthe
r into the brightly lit corridor, where a sturdy truck or tank appeared, and on it, in a blinding light, he distinguished his classmates, noisy boys and girls with their knapsacks and ropes and poles and pocketknives. No, no, I can’t come yet, he whispered, his eyes filling with regret. You see, I’m going away for a while, I’m entering the chrysalis phase of my disaster, Aroning into a cocoon. “Will you listen to me for a minute, Ari.” It was his caution and tact that made Aron decide. “For your own sake, just listen to me, you have to, you have to get hold of yourself—”
“To hell with you!” screamed Aron savagely. “To hell with all of you. I’ll go in alone! All alone!” And he stood up and ran away, with one last shriek in Gideon’s dumbstruck face, racing blindly through pitch darkness, into the huge black maw of the valley, sobbing and choking and screaming inside that he would never stop, he would break into strange houses, and escape out of boxes and trunks and cars, he would stay as he was, himself, forever.
13
One pleasant winter morning, the Sabbath of his bar mitzvah, Aron was called up to read from the Torah. As soon as he saw the scroll spread open with the tufted symbols, his nerves were calmed and he chanted jubilantly: Then flew unto me one of the seraphim, with a glowing stone in his hand, which he had taken with tongs from off the altar; Papa was standing beside him, looking clumsy in his prayer shawl, his red face bobbing after the rabbi’s finger as Aron quavered: And He touched my mouth with it and said, Lo, this hath touched thy lips, and thine iniquity is taken away, and thy sin is expiated. The diminutive rabbi kept a vigilant eye on him, every pore on his face squeezed shut with concentration. Maybe he remembered that impertinent question Aron asked about Divine justice; narrowly suspicious, he watched the radiant son dance before his father with outstretched arms in the shower of sweets pelting down from the women’s gallery, and Aron, at the height of his rejoicing, felt the sudden sting of the rabbi’s eyes upon him.
Afterward the family went home and found two Orthodox Jews waiting at the door. They’d wheeled an old baby carriage all the way from Mea Shearim with a huge pot of noodle kugel swathed in towels to keep it warm. Mama hurried to the kitchen with Yochi, to cut the kugel and make last-minute changes in the refreshments, and Aron went to his room and sat in the window, one foot on the heater, looking out at the street, stabbing himself over and over with the daggerlike memoryof his rabbi’s side glance. When Shimmik and Itka’s Volkswagen pulled up, Aron jumped off the windowsill and lay supinely on his bed.
Two weeks before the bar mitzvah Mama took one of his shoes to the Persian cobbler in the market and gave him precise instructions, but the idiot made the shoes too big and Aron had to wear insoles. Mama bought him a pair of thick new socks, too, and when she rolled them around his fist to check the size she saw they were too big, but just this once, she asked, he could wear them, couldn’t he? Aron looked at the sock around his fist and said he’d heard that a person’s heart is the same size as his fist. Mama took one look at his fist and grabbed the sock, tfu, don’t believe everything you hear. When Aron put on the shoes he felt suddenly taller. Bending down he discovered they were elevator shoes. Mama was preoccupied with a speck of schmutz she’d found on her blouse, which she tried to rub out with a little spit. Aron was quiet. So, already he was starting to betray himself; how he despised himself for keeping silent.
Two by two, some trailing children, the relatives assembled in the salon. From time to time, Yochi peeked in to smile at him encouragingly and bring him the presents that had been left for him at the desk, as she put it. He received A Thousand Historical Characters and An Answer for Every Question; the Kapa’i Kipnis Hebrew-English dictionary; two army mess kits with plates and cup; the six volumes of the collected works of Winston Churchill; and from Itka and Shimmik the Guinness Book of World Recordsthey’d promised him long ago, when he was interested in that stuff. What would he do with it now, though? From the salon he heard a great commotion, but he made up his mind to stay in his room a little while longer. To pull himself together. He felt hot in his choking bow tie, in the heavy sweater Mama had knitted especially for him, in the outlandish jacket they’d bought him with the shoulder pads; Mama would skin him alive if he dared take anything off before the last of the guests left. He lay on his bed, joylessly leafing through the Guinness Book of World Records, exactly like the one at Gideon’s, which he already knew by heart, and thanks to which, you might say, he was top of his class in English; now he read about a farmer who stuffed a goose till it weighed fifty-eight kilos, and about bonsai trees in Japan, and about Robert Wadlow, the tallest man in the world, who died at the age of twenty-three because people of that type have a short lifespan, and he yawned as hard as he could for emphasis. The doorbellrang and Aron heard Mama and Papa merrily welcoming Ruja and Loniu, the parents of his cousin Omri, and after them, Efraim and Gucha, who had arrived from Tel Aviv. He waited a moment, yes, no, yes, no, but it was yes. “Efraim!” said Mama in a tight, sweet voice, “I see that Giora’s left you flatfooted!”
Aron pulled back the sleeves of his jacket and sweater and shirt, and glanced at the wristwatch from Grandma Lilly, a big heavy Duxa, with two movable metal rings. The idiot cobbler had pierced another three holes in the leather band, so the watch would fit snugly. Grandma Lilly didn’t even know she’d bought him such an expensive gift out of the savings Mama put aside for her. In honor of his bar mitzvah Mama had reupholstered her Pouritz, and tied her down with a colorful Bukharan shawl, to keep her from falling, she explained to everyone. Most of the guests were seeing Grandma in this state of rapid deterioration for the first time, and Mama finally opened her heart to Ruja and Rivche and told them what a gehinneh-geheinam she and Papa were living in, it was impossible, and for the first time she admitted to an outsider that one day they might be forced to put her in a home or the geriatric ward, not at Hadassah Hospital, where they don’t know the meaning of responsibility, but in Bikkur Holim Hospital, where the family had a little protectzia; there they would take good care of her, and watch her during the day and especially at night. Aron, in his room, sat up on his elbows and listened, but none of the guests seemed to object to their packing Grandma off. Even Yochi, who was standing in the kitchen so Mama knew she heard—that Yochi, she never misses a thing—even she resigned herself in silence to Grandma Lilly’s banishment, and none of them standing in a circle around the Pouritz asked whether a specialist had been consulted, whether she had had all the necessary tests, not that Aron asked either, he knew doctors only want to chop the patients up for diploma practice, and yet, in the hush around Grandma, who sat among them with bowed head, he longed to hear a voice ring out, the innocent voice of a child asking why they didn’t try to find proper treatment for her, maybe there were new medicines available, she wasn’t that old, sixty at most, and at her age a person could still be saved, but the silence around her grew heavier, and even without touching the onion strip he could hear them sigh and say, When it comes, it comes, it’s the will of God, man is a fly-by-night, here today, gone tomorrow.
And the doorbell rang and in walked Rochaleh and Gamliel. Mamahadn’t spoken to Gamliel for the twenty years or so since she married Papa, and now everyone was happy again, there were kisses and cheers and compliments all around, and Grandma’s doom was sealed. Aron in his bedroom let out a startled laugh: That’s it! It’s over. Finita la commedia.He rolled over on his side and pressed his knees to his stomach and made a stomach muscle with all his might. Gradually he relaxed. Straightened out. In the watch that Grandma gave him there were two more tiny watches: when you press the left button a blue space opens up and the watch tells the depth of the sea—to hell with the sea, he wasn’t going to Tel Aviv again this year even if they killed him—and when you press the right button you see what time it is in Alaska and New York and Moscow and Tokyo. He’d worn the watch for a week already and was living according to New York time, which is seven hours later than here, and seven hours is an eternity.
Soon he’ll go out. H
e can hear them all crowding around, having a good time. Yochi enters with another gift. Gamliel and Rochaleh brought him Fisher’s The History of Europein three volumes, which they bought at a discount from their union, a present to match their faces, said Mama later that evening, as they were making a list of what everyone gave; they already had one set from Yochi’s bat mitzvah, and in any case, books go straight to the storage loft so they won’t bring dust into the salon. Yochi kneels beside him and gently strokes his sweat-moistened hair, careful not to intrude on his privacy. But next year she’ll be in the army, and he’ll be alone. She’s breaking out again with red and yellow pimples and Mama made a crack about it, why didn’t Yochi mention that the bar mitzvah date fell on her curse, now she’ll stay that way forever in the family photographs, she should have known, it comes like clockwork, you have to plan ahead. Yochi blows on his cowlick, trying to make him laugh. She gave him the most wonderful present of all, a Yamaha guitar; three years after the crummy one cracked and all the strings broke, and his parents refused to have it fixed, she took out her savings and bought him a brand-new professional guitar. It was incredible: he, who spent a lifetime entering contests so he could get a Yamaha, had just received one for his bar mitzvah! Yochi follows his gaze back to the black case. “Will you play something for me?” “Later. When they’ve gone.” They giggle. He looks into her eyes. Her face has changed. Once, she was a pretty little girl. She had a great sense of humor. Nowadays you rarely hear a peep out of her.She eats and she sleeps and gets fatter and fatter: she has Papa’s appetite and Mama’s constipation.
“Brace yourself and go out, Aronaleh.” “I can’t handle those people.” “Hey, you want a massage?” “A massage? What, now?” “A fast one. To relax you.” “No.” He recoiled at the thought of anyone touching his body just then. “Aron.” “What?” “Sooner or later you’ll have to go out.” “One more minute. Don’t go.” “Everyone loves you out there.” “Yeah.” They were silent again. “Yochi?” “Yes, sweetie.” “What did you mean that time, about knowing how to survive around here?” “It’s not important.” “It is important.” “Not now. They’re waiting for you.” “Yochi.”
The Book of Intimate Grammar Page 13