He noticed blood from his nose and charged wildly. I stepped easily to the side, bullfighter style. He charged again, throwing a flurry of whipping blows. I blocked all of them by use of the 360-degree defense--all but one. This landed in my ribs and I doubled over. I was in this position when he delivered an uppercut that sent me reeling across the room.
I backpedaled around the room to recover and kept backpedaling close to the walls to keep him centered and in view, except that I could not find him. I could not see him, the poor sucker. He was gone. I wondered what did it. Something from before?
I felt fine. The dizziness was natural and so was the nausea and the fogginess. I felt fine, and then I felt kicks and blows to my head, groin and chest and this last one, to the chest, took my breath away and I collapsed.
I came around, possibly from shock, from the awareness that a killing was about to take place. He continued to kick me as I lay there and it was obvious that compassion was not one of this man’s flaws. He was an Amelekite. Do not forget.
I struggled upwards and managed a lunge at his mid-section, which merely served him my head. He grabbed me in a headlock and this, I could tell, was his finish, as those massive arms continued to squeeze and squeeze until I felt my eyes jamming my brains. Hell, defense against a headlock had never been my specialty and was, in fact, what had kept me from the black belt, and I tried to sort it all out in mind, what was left of it.
That special move against the headlock--what the hell was that sonofabitch thing? Avro had taught it to you a hundred times. Even warned you, “You must know this.” This wasn’t even brown or black belt material. It was white belt, what they taught you in the very beginning. That was perhaps the trouble. It had been so long ago. I never took it seriously because it was one of those street-fighting grabs. I didn’t think of the headlock as a death-hold. I placed my mind on rewind and got back to Pardes Chana and imagined it was Avri holding me like this, not Ibrahim.
“Step out with the other man’s momentum,” Avri said. “Step wide.”
Now it came. The whole thing. All I needed was the beginning. I stepped out wide, making his movement mine. As I inclined downward I slapped him in the groin with my right palm. He loosened and as he did I straightened and pulled his head back with my left, coming around back by his hair.
He was open. I came across with a right-hand blow to the neck, wheeled back taking his right arm with me, clasped the hand in my “69”-shaped palms and twisted the wrist until he went down, down, down, down to his knees, terrible affliction rising from the heat of his face.
The good old Cavalier.
“Am I doing it right?” I said.
Pathetic, having this god down on his knees, all mine. Two voices shouted inside my head, the one saying compassion the other saying kill him. Kill the son of a bitch. A kick to the throat and finis.
Remember, I thought, who this is. You know who this is. He is from now and he is from before, he is from here and he is from everywhere. Remember their compassion.
“Am I doing it right?” I said, turning it up a notch.
Let flash before you all that your young eyes have seen and all that your ancient soul has witnessed.
Up another notch.
He tapped his leg. Over and over again. The pain had him gasping, his mouth fishing for air.
Then it was too late. We both heard the snap at the same time. His wrist went limp.
A horrible cry rose up from the depths of his throat.
But I was out of time. I heard them at the door. I rushed for the balcony. The handle refused to give. I stepped back and booted it ajar. They were in the room now. Down there was the ocean, the waves coming up big. I wound up and as I did I yelled out, “Kadima, kadima!” Then I heaved the cassette and hollered, “Alley.” Plunk. Made the first wave. They had me surrounded and were about to do something but Ibrahim stopped them.
“Not him. Not him. The film. The film.”
They cleared out and dashed for the elevators.
I also decided it was time to go.
Chapter 22
THEN THERE was Sy Rodrigo. I owed him. I went up to him by way of the same elevator that had trapped me. The bad elevator. But it was not so bad now. Sy’s secretary said he was on the phone. Before, that would have made no difference, but now I was commanded to remain in the outer office. So I waited, and I waited.
“He’s very busy this morning,” said the woman.
“I only need a minute.”
She disappeared into his office. When she came out she said, “He’ll see you now.”
Sy was not his usual self. So formal all of a sudden.
“Rough morning,” he said. “But you know how it is.”
“Yeah, I had a rough morning myself, Sy. You know how it is.”
“I heard you were in our dispensary. Listen, I did not mind comping you to a room again. But I am curious. I mean, you’re welcome here and all that, but why are you here? Is Joan with you?”
“Joan is back in Philadelphia, Sy. She also had a rough morning.”
“Rough all around, huh?”
“Mind if I sit down?”
“I can only give you a minute, Josh. I’ve got a speech to get out.”
“Then I’ll stand. Do you mind if I stand?”
“No need to take that tone with me, Josh. What’s up?”
“Who’s the speech for?”
“Oh Stavros, our president. He’s giving a talk to a group of visiting travel agents. The usual.”
“You’re writing the speech?”
“I wish you were. You’re an expert.”
“I’m very good at writing speeches.”
“I just said you were. What’s going on?”
“Yes, I would like to write that speech for you, Sy.”
“Thanks, but it’s my problem. You don’t know what to say, anyway.”
“Oh, but I do. Like the truth, maybe. Wouldn’t that be a change?”
“You know a truth, Josh? Remember it’s me you’re talking to. Your friend Sy. I know all the truths. You know how? By knowing all the lies.”
“Can you still tell the difference?”
“I don’t need this from you, Josh. Please leave.”
“Do you know the difference?”
“Maybe I don’t. Maybe there is no difference anymore.”
“I’m here to tell you that there is.”
“Good for you. Now please go. Let’s keep this friendship.”
“I could lose my privileges, couldn’t I?”
“Yes, yes you could. Why are you doing this?”
“No more freebies, huh?”
“Come on Josh. What happened?”
“Something happened, Sy.”
“Obviously.”
“Something very bad happened. People were hurt.”
“An accident?”
“On purpose.”
“Well don’t come here laying the blame on me. I didn’t do anything.”
“I didn’t say you did and I’m not here to lay blame.”
“So what do you want?”
“I’m a high-roller now, Sy.”
“Oh? Congratulations. Hit the jackpot?”
“Maybe you even know how.”
“No, I don’t know how.”
“Isn’t that what I mean? You don’t know a truth from a lie.”
“We traffic in lies, Josh. That’s my business.”
“Speaking of business, here’s what I intend to do. I intend to deposit a million dollars in your bank, right here in the Galaxy. I may gamble none of it, or I may gamble it all. In either case, I’d be the highest roller you ever had, potentially speaking.”
“Yes, you would be.”
“I mean, high-rollers, that’s what it’s all about.”
“Correct. That’s what it’s all about.”
“Who do I see about depositing this money?”
“Me.”
“You don’t seem surprised by my new wealth.”
“Suppose I went directly to Mr. Stavros.”
“It’s your prerogative.”
“What would he do to net a quality player like me?”
“Anything.”
“So we’re finally talking price, Sy. You and me. A million dollars. Would that be his price?”
“Stavros?”
“Yes.”
“A million dollars? Yes, I’d say that’s his price.”
“He’ll do anything for that money.”
“Anything.”
“Would he betray a friend?”
“We’re close.”
“Well that’s the price, Sy. That’s the exchange.”
“What’s the exchange?”
“You, Sy. You for a million dollars.”
“Me? You want me fired?”
“Absolutely.”
Terror emptied his face of all expression. Saliva dripped from his mouth. Now it was plain to him and it was plain to me, too, how frail he was--him and all the rest of us.
I had him now, the man who had sold me and my wife to buy Ibrahim. Now Sy was mine, mine to buy and sell. That had been King David’s prayer. Make me wiser than my enemies. Well, I was no wiser. I just got lucky.
Ibrahim had said it for me. Luck is everything.
This was supposed to be the end of the line for Sy, this job. No more shilling for wrestlers and roller derby queens. Public relations director for an Atlantic City casino hotel--that was a satisfying conclusion to a checkered career. He was home.
No more chasing after newspaper columnists. They now came to him. He even had comping rights, so everybody came to him. He had power. Now that power was turning on him.
He said, “I concede that you have the power to ruin me, and I’m sure you have your reasons. But will that make you happy, Josh? Will it make you happy to ruin me?”
A moment ago, yes, it would have made me happy. I had been so sure. Now, however, I was convinced that no revenge would be the greater revenge. Spare him, I thought, and let him know that money is not first. Something else is first. Something else.
Chapter 23
WHEN I GOT HOME she was in her favorite place, the shower.
“Is that you?”
“Yes,” I said. “Is that you?”
“Cute.”
“Is it coming off?” I said.
“I didn’t hear that remark.”
She came out wet, shiny, naked and happy, and after she got dressed she said, “Where were you?”
“I had business.”
“Hmm,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
“Whatever you want it to mean.”
“When you say hmm it means something.”
She said, “Of course it means something, silly. But I won’t tell you what it means.”
“It’s very sexy when you say hmm.”
“Hmm.”
“What happened?” I said.
“To me?”
“Yes you.”
“Ha!”
“What happened?” I said.
“You’re something.”
“I want to know what happened.”
“Of course you do,” she said.
“So?”
“Nothing. Nothing happened.”
“Nothing happened.”
“I told you. Nothing happened.”
“I know different.”
“Oh you know everything,” she said.
“Just some things.”
“I suppose he told you.”
“He didn’t have to.”
“You believe what he tells you? He’s a liar. They’re all liars. What were you doing there anyway? Look at you! You had a fight, didn’t you? Why are men such boys? Did you beat him up? Did you beat him up good?”
“Broke his wrist.”
“Ha!”
“I did.”
“That make you the champ?”
“You’re being a million-dollar bitch.”
“Aha.”
“Say hmm.”
“Go wash up. I’m making dinner.”
“Just like that, you’re making dinner.”
“Take a shower.”
“We’re supposed to sit here and eat dinner.”
“Yes,” she said, “like ordinary people.”
“Like nothing happened.”
“Nothing happened.”
“I saw the movie.”
“What movie?” she said.
“He made a movie.”
“Baloney!”
“He made a movie. I saw everything.”
“You did not. You saw nothing.”
“Everything.”
“Good,” she said. “I fulfilled my end of the deal. All right? All right?”
“All right,” I said.
“I did what I was paid to do. All right?”
“Fine.”
“Where’s the movie? I want to see that movie.”
“I destroyed it,” I said.
“How?”
“I just did.”
“There was no movie. You’re bluffing. You’re a bad bluffer. There was no movie.”
“All right. There was no movie.”
“But you hate me,” she said.
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, you don’t know. Wonderful.”
“It’s too soon,” I said.
“I guess so. It’s too soon for me, too.”
“This will take time.”
“You bet,” she said. “But don’t take too long.”
“Is that a threat? Are we talking divorce?”
She said, “I thought we promised never to use that word. Remember? We said there were certain words you must never use because when you use them they have a way of becoming fact.”
“So is it fact?” I said.
“I didn’t say divorce.”
“All right. I said divorce.”
“What about all that money we suddenly have--split down the middle?”
“If it comes to that, sure. The money...”
“I don’t want to hear about the money.”
I said, “You brought up the money.”
“You brought up divorce.”
“What’s the difference?” I said. “We’re rich.”
“Aren’t we happy to be rich?” she said.
“Very. I cannot tell you how happy I am.”
“You sound very happy,” she said.
“That’s because I am very happy.”
“So am I. I’m so happy.”
Later I said, “Joan, I don’t know where we go from here.”
“How about a suicide pact?”
“Now there’s a word you should never use.”
She said, “You don’t know where we go from here!”
“Where do we go?”
“Where everybody else goes,” she said.
“Where’s that?”
“I don’t know. You just go on. People just go on.”
“Where? I want to know where?”
“You’re crazy,” she said.
“Go where?”
“There’s nowhere to go, Josh. You just go on.”
“I see.”
“You see?” she said.
“No I don’t see.”
“We pretend nothing happened.”
“Pretend?”
She said, “Survivors pretend. That’s how they survive.”
“Pretend what?”
“Pretend nothing happened. Like Holocaust survivors.”
“This was no Holocaust, Joan. Don’t give it that honor.”
“All right, it was a small Holocaust. But it was ours.”
I said, “You can’t live a lie.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. It’s what they say.”
“Sometimes a lie is good,” she said. “Sometimes a lie is better than the truth, if it’s
a lie of compassion. Compassion is better than the truth, if it’s a lie of compassion. Right now, Josh, we don’t need truth between us. We could use compassion. Now am I still your shiksa or what?”
Jerk, I said to myself, tell her she is.
“Too soon,” I said.
“You’re a schmuck,” she said.
Chapter 24
IN THE DAYS that followed she repeatedly asked me about the movie and I assured her I had only been bluffing, there was no movie, but it had her troubled. I was sorry to have brought it up and justified it on my indignation, the urge to get even. I reminded myself, when the fire of my moods subsided, that all the real getting even had been done, and besides, the vengeance I pursued had no face, no shape, no name.
But my moods were terrible and I hated life. I tried music and it failed. Even Beethoven turned German on me. I tried reading and found this from David’s son: “I Koheles was king over Israel in Jerusalem. I applied my mind to seek and probe by wisdom all that happens beneath the sky--It is a sorry task that God has given the sons of man with which to be concerned. I have seen all the deeds done beneath the sun, and behold all is futile and a vexation of the spirit. A twisted thing cannot be made straight and what is not there cannot be counted.
“I said to myself: Here I have acquired great wisdom, more than any of my predecessors over Jerusalem, and my mind has had much experience with wisdom and to know madness and folly. I perceived that this, too, is a vexation of the spirit. For with much wisdom comes much grief, and he who increases knowledge increases pain.”
Joan accused me of self-pity and I agreed, saying it was good. It was realization of the ultimate truth--you against the world. But, I said, I pitied everyone.
“Does that include me?” she said.
“Of course.”
“Does that mean you forgive me?”
“In time.”
“Well I forgive you, Josh. I have no hard feelings.”
That was the difference between us. I pitied everyone. She forgave everyone.
A whisper told me if I played the tough guy much longer she’d turn tough herself--and when they turn tough it’s over.
She wanted to go back to work. Instead she stayed home. She redecorated the house and cooked meals that took her three hours to prepare. We spoke but not much. She kept eyeing me.
On Sunday with Frank he sang about this thing that died, a little thing called love, and she rushed to turn off the radio. Then she started cleaning the house again and I remembered that TV station I once had worked for, always last in the ratings, and how they kept changing the newsroom set.
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