The Book of Intimate Grammar

by David Grossman

  He stood up and stretched as though from boredom, and started pacing this way and that, wondering about that list of Yochi’s. Someday when it was all over, he would have the time to think about things, like Yochi, and historical things like the Phoenicians, or science and flights to outer space, and discoveries and inventions and animals, and the lives of Thomas Alva Edison and Abraham Lincoln, which had interested him for years only he didn’t have the time, or about Louis Pasteur and about explorers, and about the voyage of the Kon Tiki,and about the Gypsies and the Aztecs, and about dirigibles and zeppelins, the world is full of knowledge, and once again he found himself in front of the little refrigerator and he climbed in and noticed that, once inside it, he was less aware of the stink coming out of him, the stink of his breath, and he decided to go through a trial run, without actually closing the door, and then he looked around and found a cardboard box to put his rescue tools in, and set it down on one of the shelves, and, using the little Yemenite, unscrew to the left, lifted out the two small side shelves where you put the eggs and margarine and jars of sour cream and the horseradish and mayonnaise, so they wouldn’t get in the way of his elbows, in any case he could move only his left hand in there and with that he had to untie his right shoelace and remove Mama’s nail file from under the insole, since it was probably the only tool that could fit between the tongue and the metal pin. He let it drop deliberately from pretend-sweaty fingers and groped around the floor with his eyes shut; it took him at least ten seconds too longto find it again, he would have less than sixty seconds to act in a clearheaded way. Again and again he practiced dropping it, training himself to think coolly so he would know by the sound where to find it immediately. Then he went back to the rock and waited till exactly seven o‘clock. Tomorrow, he thought, it would be three weeks since Independence Day, since he said goodbye to Gideon, the waiting, the baiting, the grating, the skating; maybe Gideon had forgotten him, he had other things to think about now, at a time like this it was easy to forget some kid you knew, nobody at school seemed particularly upset that Aron hadn’t turned up in a couple of weeks; they hadn’t noticed at home, for that matter. And suddenly evening fell and it turned cold and he rushed home and burst through the door in the middle of supper; they hadn’t waited for him, they had started without him. He sat down at his place and ate without appetite, and Papa said he called his unit again and they told him to wait patiently, first they take the younger men. As if I’m old, he fumed, I could show those guys where their legs sprout from, and he swallowed an enormous hunk of bread. “Get this, Hindaleh, at work today we were listening to the Voice of Thunder on Cairo radio, and the meathead who reads the propaganda in Hebrew said Nasser’s going to make us ‘lick the bust,’ you hear? He said ‘lick the bust,’” and he split his sides laughing, spraying spit and bread around the table as Mama watched impassively. “Ah, you’re all alike,” she said. “Arabs, Jews, you’re all alike.”

  She stood up with a sigh and dragged Grandma off to bed. A few minutes later she returned, with a hasty glimpse at Aron still sitting at the table all by himself; he didn’t even bother to hide the blue-and-purple stains on his knuckles from her. Mama cleared the table. She set about baking a cake to send Yochi. She worked in silence beside him. More wearily than usual. When the silence grew unbearable she turned on the transistor. The management of the Sport Toto wishes to announce that due to the recruitment of many players to military service, all upcoming lotteries and National League games are hereby postponed. Tickets will be refunded at their place of purchase—She switched it off angrily. Aron was shocked. What did they mean, postponing the games. He shook his head in anger: It’s not fair. They’re not fair.

  Mama groaned as she cracked the first egg, and her face turned very pale. Aron watched her, not daring to move. She pressed a frightenedhand to her belly. Slowly she took off her kangaroo apron and hung it on the hook. Aron didn’t get up, and didn’t ask what happened. He saw her totter to her bedroom. He was left alone in the kitchen. He cupped his hand around his nose and mouth and smelled the stink, and he knew it came from inside him, from his putrefying brain; soon all the thoughts and words that went through it would come out sick, covered with white patches, stubbed like a cigarette butt. Nervously he switched on the transistor, heard that the Helena Rubinstein Corporation wishes to inform the women of Israel that we are doing everything possible to continue production in this emergency state, to help you look your loveliest for that special man in the army. Kibbutz Or Haner announces that the wedding scheduled for next Tuesday has been postponed until—He switched it off. Soon he would go to sleep. To muster strength for tomorrow. He looked for a clean glass to drink water from but didn’t find one. Drank from a dirty glass instead. In the sink was the egg with the big bloody spot. He felt exhausted again and sat down. He thought he could see Papa on his knees at Mama’s bedside, hugging her, his head buried in her body. Over and over he grumbled to himself, What do they mean, postponing the National League, what harm would there be in letting the players out of the army for a day, for a measly few hours, instead of shutting them in there with those stupid Helena Rubinstein people. Furiously he smacked his fist.

  And what’s that stink coming out of you? said Mama in a new voice, loud and impervious, when she came to wake him the following morning, and rudely, gruffly, raised the blinds before turning back to him for a better look. You’ve had it for a couple of days already. Notice that she’s looking straight at you, she isn’t afraid of you anymore. And he curled up and hid his face in the pillow; what’s changed her, why is she acting strange? She leaned over him and began to sniff suspiciously, from his feet up to his head, the way she used to sniff Grandma from behind, and suddenly she squinted. Aron to Aron, run for your life, danger, danger, over; he’d seen that look in her eyes before, the flash of horror that time in the kitchen after the thorough cleaning when the shit came out. Roughly she turned him over on his back, pushed away the hands he held up to guard his face, sniffed hard, then zeroed in on his nose. You’re insane, what have you done to your nose, meshuggeneh; it was bad enough without adding this chendelach to your list; in case the blind can’t see what you are, at least they’ll be able tosmell you? And the doctor at the first-aid station said there was no need to worry, that’s the smell you give off when something gets caught in your nasal cavities. Did he by any chance remember accidentally sticking something small up there? Aron only shook his head. Aron to Aron, get out, get out, run for your life, over. All around the station there was tumult. They were getting the stretchers ready, packing bandages, taking an inventory of medicines. From the corner of his eye Aron saw two seventh-graders he knew strutting around in white coats. Everyone looked busy, as though they were hurrying to an important meeting, even the children wore that expression on their faces. It’s a matter of a day or two before the thing starts, breathed the doctor, sticking a fine pair of tweezers into Aron’s nose and poking around. Aha, got it, ho there, that’s in pretty deep, here it comes, we’ll force it out of you, don’t move, it might hurt for just a second, and slowly and carefully he removed the vile-smelling glob and waved it in the air, but his smile of triumph quickly vanished as he peered more closely at the glob, smudged with letters. A boy your age, putting something up your nose, shame on you. The doctor was aghast, tilting his head at Aron, tsss tsss tsss,that’s something you’d expect from a three-year-old, not a grown-up ten-year-old. Silence. Mama froze. Now let her tell him, let her tell the doctor everything and the doctor will tell us what has to be done. This was the last chance. And maybe there was a perfectly simple solution. An electric shock or something. A moment of pain and it’ll be over. Now, please, before the war starts, because afterward who’ll care? He’s twelve, mumbled Mama, shamefaced. Aron stared at her. She didn’t set him straight. And before his eyes, caught in the tweezers, waved the letter that would never arrive at its destination. Aron to Aron, what now, over. He winced at himself. He had no right to complain about her. Wasn’t he too sta
nding here not daring to open his mouth, any more than he had when she bought him elevator shoes for his bar mitzvah. He had said nothing to her then, and hated himself for it, for having betrayed himself. Twelve and a half, she mumbled lamely, tucking her head between her shoulders, dark with disgrace.

  And the next day was the last day. At four o‘clock Aron went down to the valley wearing a clean pair of pants and a crisply ironed shirt, his hair slicked down with water. He left the house without a goodbye, for fear that the sight of them would hold him back or set something off inside. He had all his equipment with him. He even remembered thebig can opener, which he hid in his pants. He arrived at the rock and climbed up it, and at the highest point, with the help of his little red mirror, he flashed the reflected sun at Gideon’s open window; three short flashes, then three long ones, and three short ones again. Three times over he did it, his hands trembling slightly but scrupulous with the rhythm, and then he sat down on the rock again, feeling weak, curling up on Gideon’s part of the rock shelf, trying to stop what he was feeling, the draining out, and he must have fallen asleep then, wishing someone would touch him on the shoulder and say, You rang? But at exactly five o’clock he awoke all alone, and stood up languidly and flashed the mirror again three times, aiming at the ceiling in Gideon’s room, because maybe the first time Gideon was sleeping and didn’t see, and right away his knees buckled and he slipped off the rock and lay beside it; he’d had this stunned and hollow feeling, right here, the time he broke his arm; he had been crazy with despair then, much more than now, now was nothing in comparison, now was almost over. Back then he had jumped up and down for over half an hour. Maybe an hour. Waiting for just the right moment when his ofzeluchi brain would stray. When it would neglect to order his arm to bend in time. Back then he’d gone over all his troubles: Giora trying to drown him to save himself, Giora’s hand-me-downs, the looks people gave him everywhere he went, the insults, sly or obvious; and nothing helped, until he imagined round little Uncle Loniu standing before him at the bar mitzvah, repeating “Body-building, body-building,” and suddenly it happened, he heard a crack, and felt the pain, the worst he’d ever experienced, shooting through him as he realized he’d done it, he’d actually done a thing like that, and now they would never send him to Tel Aviv, and that’s when he started to get scared.

  Again he looked at his watch and saw that almost an hour had gone by. Strange how fast time was flying, and now to signal for the third time. With what remained of his strength he climbed to the top of the rock and tried to stand up straight—his legs were trembling—to flash a final SOS; maybe last time Gideon was lying on his stomach and didn’t see the moving light-script overhead, because surely if he had seen it he would be here by now, it was an unignorable call for help, even if it came in the middle of a feud. Even when they were both grown up, living apart in foreign lands, lying in bed in their new homes, or palaces even, if they suddenly saw a light flash on the ceiling, threedots, three dashes, three dots, they would leap up and pack their bags and, without so much as a goodbye to anyone, hop on the first plane and get there just in time to rescue each other. They had sworn it.

  He leaned against the rock, trying to steady himself, to put on a happy face. Why appear weak and repulsive? Trying to fill up with life from the rays of the setting sun. Let’s say he was in Komi, up to his knees in the ice, longing for this moment by the rock, but he didn’t have the strength to imagine Komi, Komi and the taiga were fading, shrinking. Aron to Aron, I’ve found something else, over; Aron to Aron, I almost forgot you were there, over; I hardly am anymore, I’m hardly there, it’s the end of the road, isn’t it, over; Aron to Aron, what did you find, over; I found, I found, deep down, under the dust, under the ground, another thing maybe you’d like to take with you, a gift, maybe it will help you, maybe it will last like the oil that burned for eight days; she used to buy a carp for the Sabbath, but it was a special carp. You’re the one who made it special, before you came along it was an ordinary carp swimming around in the bathtub, opening and closing its mouth, all fat and shiny, and you sat on the edge of the bathtub and watched it; it looked kind of silly, with its tough little body, opening and closing its mouth like a toy, swimming laps up and down the tub, and suddenly you stood up, yes, now I remember, you ran to her closet, climbed on a chair, and opened her jewelry box with the necklaces and bracelets and rings and pins, till you found what you were looking for, the shiny red bead that had dropped off, a shiny red bead, you were sure it was a ruby, and you ran to the bathtub with it, carrying it high in the air like a torch, your shiny red ruby, and then you caught the carp; it tried to wiggle out of your hands but you held it as tight as you could, though it floundered and flapped its tail and fought you, and you pushed the ruby into its mouth and down its throat with your finger, and it looked at you in furious amazement, but the ruby was in its stomach by then, and all day long you strutted around feeling proud of your secret: I have a fish with a ruby inside, and you waited for Mama to cut the carp open on Friday and find it there and make a wish, and whatever she asked would be granted instantly, so okay, it didn’t turn out the way you planned, things never do, especially not when you’re a child; it’s better not to believe in magic, so you don’t get disappointed, but now, nevertheless, on the path to the valley from the building project, here comes Gideon, just in time, at the very lastminute, walking his walk, his bowlegged walk, maybe I’m dreaming. Aron to Aron, maybe I’m dreaming, yes, maybe I am.

  Hi, Kleinfeld, what’s up?

  Hello, Gideon.

  What are you doing here, all hunched over?

  What, you saw my sign?

  No. Move over. Let me sit on my side.

  34

  … And it will be a story about an ordinary boy, like us, a boy our age, see, I’ve been planning it for a long time, I jot my ideas down in a special notebook I bought, uh-huh, seventy pages, I’m always writing, it’s full of ideas, anyway, there’s a good chance it’ll be made into a movie, no really, about a kid like us, approximately our age; I can’t tell you everything yet, it’s still secret, but I will tell you one thing, there’ll definitely be spy stuff in it, and maybe something about a circus or Houdini, for entertainment; it isn’t finished yet, it takes a while to plan, but the truth is—the lies burst out on his tongue like flaming pimples—the boy’s name happens to be Gideon, and the plot involves airplanes, he’s really keen on airplanes, this Gideon kid, maybe he wants to be a fighter pilot; I haven’t written all of this down yet, or figured out how a kid can be a pilot, because, I mean, what if they do make it into a movie, don’t laugh, the kid will have to fly a real plane. No way, forget it, I’m not using doubles in my movie, this isn’t one of your James Bond deals; in my movie, everything is real and authentic from beginning to end, when the plane crashes and the kid is wounded in the leg, the leg, the leg. Aron licked his lips and peeked again at Gideon’s bare leg bouncing on the rock, he’d run out of words. He gasped for breath, how did he get himself mixed up in such a lie when all he wanted was to ask Gideon a simple question, the question, without mentioning any names, because it wasn’t her so much as whether Gideon was still loyal, only that would save him, but now he’d botched it, though laterwhen Gideon offered a loyal helpful hand up, Aron thought, Yes, I’m sure he waited for me, and almost melted with joy and relief when he clapped him on the shoulder warmly, and Aron asked with a choked voice, So what’s new, how’s it going? remembering too late to pull his puny shoulders back, and Gideon said, Hey, it could start any minute now, today or tomorrow, and Aron asked, What could? and Gideon ignored the question and solemnly whispered that his brother Manny had told him in strictest confidence what the secret call-up code for our defense force would be, and he glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. If you swear you’ll keep as silent as a grave, I’ll tell you too. Aron groaned inwardly, the basalt stone, there was a time when Gideon wouldn’t have had to ask him to swear it, and why was he going on about the secret code, what di
d that have to do with anything now, why was he offering trivial bribes, why didn’t he just say it: Was he or wasn’t he? and Gideon looked serious and said, Red sheet. Red sheet what? asked Aron faintly, sinking, lost. So the answer was no. He wasn’t, red sheet, that was no. And Gideon laughed. The secret code, dum-dum, what’d you think I meant, and if you ask me, it’s dynamite, red sheet, like waving a red sheet in front of a bull, get it, those Arabs are going to end up like a lot of dead bulls. Aron shook his head no, he didn’t understand, what was Gideon talking about? What did all his words amount to: are you or aren’t you? And Gideon said, What are we standing here for? and raised himself up on the rock, trying vainly to cross his long legs in the niche, till he finally gave up, dangled them over the ledge, and lay on his back, and Aron heaved a sigh of relief, Gideon was talking of nothing but the war. But just when Aron thought he still had a chance, he noticed a dark shadow, new and kinky, where Gideon’s thigh met his groin. There, see, over the leg. Why are you so jumpy, I just wanted to show you where the wound is. Who’s touching you. I mean, see, it’s a serious wound, shrapnel from antiaircraft, and for half the movie his leg will be bandaged, maybe even in a cast, though come to think of it, where would he get a cast in the desert? God, I’m dumb, see, I’ll change it immediately, and he took a pen out of his shirt pocket, tremblingly, with an earnest expression, and scribbled something on the palm of his hand. Gideon watched him blankly. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Maybe he remembered that once, long ago, Aron used to have these crazy dreams that all came true. But you had to believe in them. No: not in them, inAron. In his enthusiasm. But Gideon said nothing, revealed nothing. He had truly matured in that respect, and Aron didn’t know how to read his expressions anymore; there was only one hope, it didn’t even have to be an answer in words, it would be enough if Gideon would let him see clearly and definitively yes or no, that’s all he wanted: for Gideon to be a real friend, a friend through and through. And you know, just now as we were sitting here I had this dynamite idea, maybe you’ll be the star of the movie, yes you, why not, sure, a real movie, but for that we’ll have to put a bandage on your leg or a plaster cast all the way up to there. Hey, where are you going, stay, wait a minute, man. “Man”—I’m talking like them now, talking like them and lying like them. Give me a second to explain, where were we? Oh yes, it’s like this, the kid flies south on a rescue mission and suddenly the Egyptians fire their antiaircraft guns at him, or better yet—Listen to this, his closest friend, no, his brother, he’s a pilot too, see, and when his brother is shot down over Egypt, the younger brother, this Gideon, decides to rescue him, because no other pilot is willing to risk his life. So what do you think?