by Nora Sarel
Everyone was excited. It was 5 A.M. and it was still dark, however, Dafne wore her sunglasses. She would wear them whenever her eyes were teary, regardless of where she was or if it was dark or not. There were tears also in Grandma Zipora’s eyes, but she wore them proudly, and didn’t wipe them with her handkerchief. Dani stood close to Gadi, trying to hide the storm within. The whole gang stood together in a circle and tried exhausting their last moments together. However, only Dani was quiet, hung on to his son like a shadow and caressed him, hugged him every now and then, but mostly looked at him, just as he did when they came back from Brazil two decades ago.
The luggage was already on the rail, and the final arrangements at the counter were completed. Yet, Gadi and his friends stayed with everyone a while longer, hugging, kissing, talking, laughing and crying some more. They promised they would be careful and won’t mess around, and that they would call home whenever they could.
“We have mobile phones and internet nowadays,” Grandma Zipora said knowingly. The friends who had come to see them off smiled when they heard the modern grandma and confirmed what she said.
Tamara didn’t come, Gadi thought to himself, not that I need her, but I was sure she would come. She didn’t even call to wish me a safe trip. On the other hand, Dana was here, he said to himself and approached her. “She is my best and oldest friend ever since my happy Brazil days” – he would like to say when he introduced her to someone. Since everyone knew about his relation to Brazil, even though he never spoke of it, they wouldn’t keep poking at how they became friends. Dana and Dafne were hugging, leaning up against each other. Dana was taller than the rest and Gadi had noticed that, although different from Tamara’s, her beauty was just as remarkable.
“Don’t worry, Dana, I’ll search for you too, trust me, you know me,” Gadi whispered into her ear as he hugged and kissed her. Dana smiled with her pearly teeth which glowed against her tanned face.
“Here, in case you need it,” she said and gave him a sealed envelope.
“What about your brother?” he asked her, “it’ll work out,” she replied. Gadi could understand that her brother’s problems were still unresolved.
The announcer’s seductive voice rang through the halls, making everyone fall silent and listen, “This is the final boarding call for passengers of flight five three four. Please proceed to gate six immediately.”
“We’re off,” Omri said.
“One last hug,” Grandma Zipora asked and Gadi bent over and hugged her gently.
Omri and Ido had already gone through security and disappeared up the escalator.
“Come on.” They called, but Gadi stayed close to his father who fell on his shoulder and cried.
“Dad what happened? Now you? It’s very unlike you, we’ll be in touch, Dad, I love you. If it’s too hard for you I’ll come back right away, Dad, they’re waiting for me, I have to go.”
They walked into the airplane, looked for their seats and tried settling in, despite them being narrow. They put down their bags and waited. However, they did not utter a word to one another. They all knew exactly what the other was thinking.
A sense of relief spread through Gadi’s body. He was facing his future and leaving behind 22 years of uncertainty. He was especially happy to leave behind the last period, which wasn’t easy for him.
And perhaps, I’m actually facing my past, he thought in a mixture of happiness and sadness. After all, I am looking for my history. Hopes and fears overwhelmed him.
Not long ago, he watched a nature show, where the animals, using their navigation skills, looked for their natural habitats. Every creature looks for, and eventually finds, its natural environment. Migrating birds fly for miles just to be surrounded by their own kind, fish swim up and down streams just for the sake of joining their school. And what about me? Gadi wondered. I’m like a lost puppy, who was separated from his pack, searching through the dark for the right path, undecided through mazes and crossroads, unsure of my way. Only that I’m nothing like a puppy in nature, he negated himself, I’m a hybrid of the woman who gave birth to me and the one who raised me. His thoughts about the show took him back to his own story. He tortured himself as he examined different periods of his life. He knew that since he insisted on finding out and understood he came from a faraway land, beyond the ocean, he felt differently about his parents. When I realized I was of a different race, Gadi thought, I was mad at them, yelled, cursed and rebelled… only lately I calmed down and realized I should be thanking them. They suffered but never gave up on me.
The airplane was starting to rise into the sky, leaving the ground. Gadi felt his breath was taken away. The child sitting in the seat in front of him, distracted him relentlessly. He would peek at Gadi and each time yell “kookoo!” while laughing aloud. Gadi was happy to play with him and made silly faces at the toddler. When the game was over, he looked through the bag by his feet. He took out the adoption diary, not before he confirmed the tickets and money were there. He caressed the brown leather binding, flipped from the beginning till the end. Then, he stopped on one of the pages and dived into it,
Tuesday, March 16th, 1982
Nothing happened until noon. No one called and no one came. Despite all this, we felt today would be the day. Positive energy was the in air. Yesterday’s meeting seemed promising. We sat in the hotel lobby and waited. We didn’t know for who or what for? We drank Café com leite which is coffee with milk, and we appeared to be calm. However, the storm within us would not rest, on the contrary, it grew. There was a couple in front of us sitting with a Brazilian man who spoke to them enthusiastically. It seemed from the few words I could pick up, that they also came to Brazil for adoption purposes. I tried to listen closely and understand what they were talking about and suddenly I heard them speaking in Hebrew. I told Dafne, but she said it was just my imagination. Many times, when we’re abroad, I think I recognize Israelis speaking Hebrew, but I’m usually wrong. This time I was sure of myself, so I stood up and approached them. It turned out I was right. “Israeli tourists?” I asked. “Not exactly,” was their reply. I mustered the courage to ask them if they, too, came to Brazil for adoption. They smiled at my question, left the Brazilian man who sat with them and joined us. That’s how we met Ori and Nili. Meeting them helped us a lot, firstly, we got an idea of what happens with others – and not just any others, they were experienced as this was their second adoption; and second, we could relax and realize the slow process was not just in our case, but a regular Brazilian pattern. Misery truly loves company.
Nili and Ori told us they were from Jerusalem and they were using the same adoption agency they used in the previous round. They arrived at Curitiba after staying for three weeks at a small town by Santa Catarinain southern Brazil, where they couldn’t find a baby girl. That’s why they were advised to come to Curitiba where they hoped to find what they were looking for. They were older than us and already had a one-and-a-half-year-old which was also adopted from Brazil. They were familiar with the process and weren’t concerned by every bump in the road. We were happy to hear they were satisfied and already expected a second child.
We sat with them until 4 PM and couldn’t feel the time passing by. We asked a lot of questions and they both answered in length and detail. We were comforted by the fact that we don’t have to adopt in Curitiba, there are other places and we can look in the small nearby towns. If we see we’re unsuccessful here we could offer Dona Arlete to move to another city. And maybe we could use Nili and Ori’s agency.
We were very happy to find Israeli friends who we could share beautiful, and not so beautiful moments with, because only those in the same boat could understand one another.
“What are you reading?” Omri asked Gadi, who was wiping away a stubborn tear.
“Interesting book, really good, I’ll let you read when I’m done,” he replied.
“What’s it called? Who�
�s the author?”
“Gadi’s adoption journey, by Dani Kaneti ,” Gadi said with embarrassment.
“Your dad?”
Gadi didn’t reply, only nodded and kept reading.
Exactly at 4 PM, Sebastião walked in with a big familiar smile on his face. I’m not buying into that smile, I thought and was indifferent. “Como vai – how are you?” he asked and didn’t wait for an answer, just said casually, “Vamos,” meaning, “we’re going.” I immediately understood there were good things coming our way, changed my expression and smiled. We said goodbye to Nili and Ori, who seemed lost for a moment, and walked after him without asking questions.
While walking, Sebastião explained to us that one of the girls from the shelter had a beautiful, healthy six-pound baby girl this morning. We we’re going to see her at the “Hospital dos Trabalhadores,” which was far from the city. Sebastião added that speed was of the essence, and that’s why we should be there as close as possible to the time of birth. “There will always be other parents waiting for the child and other agencies competing for the same children,” he told us.
Dafne was excited to meet the girl, and already started thinking of names for girls because we had a boy’s name in mind.
Maya, Ela, maybe Gali, she thought, choosing a name and then changing her mind. Finally, she decided, “We would call her Dana, Because that way her name would start with the same letter as ours, Dafne and Dani.” Besides,” she said, “Dana is the female version of Dani and all its letters were in Dafne’s name. She would be a part of me,” her eyes sparkled. I was happy for her.
We parked by the emergency room entrance and when Dafne, saw the S.O.S sign, she immediately asked if something happened to the baby or the mother. Sebastião understood that his choice of parking spot startled her, so he started the car again and slowly parked in a nearby parking lot. It was hot all day and suddenly a cool breeze blew, as if predicting our joy. We felt the world was embracing us. Although located in the heart of a green, beautiful, well-kept garden, the hospital looked poor. When we got in, we immediately noticed the differences between this hospital and the public ones in Israel. I hope private hospitals in Brazil look better. The halls were dark and so were the rooms. There was a smell of Lysol in the air. The rooms were huge, as large as concert halls, and each had dozens of patients crammed together without any privacy or intimacy. We couldn’t even see the nurses in their pristine uniform. I thought to myself that I wouldn’t have wanted my first daughter to be born in such a place, but I tried keeping my thoughts to myself because I didn’t want to worry Dafne. I leaned over to her and told her it doesn’t really matter because tomorrow or the day after we would take her and provide her the best life we can. Sebastião saw our looks and sensed what we were saying. He stopped for a moment and told us this is what public hospitals looked like in Brazil, and that to get to the maternity ward we have to go through all other wards, where there were patients of all sorts. He added that we would be happy to know that the delivery rooms were more pleasant. “They don’t have any problems there,” he said, “only presents.” He added that they weren’t even allowed to be there, but Dona Arlete’s agency arranged everything, that is how we gained access to see the baby. We tiptoed behind him and then entered the holiest of places, the maternity ward. Indeed, the rooms looked different here, they were bright, painted in white and very clean. The walls almost gleaned and the hall leading to the ward indicated we were in another realm, it was like finding a lily in a swamp. The head nurse, who apparently knew Sebastião, immediately pointed at a baby in a metal cot, I thought she was the most beautiful of all. She was wrapped in a thin gray-wool blanket, her brown hair was combed to the side and oiled and her big black eyes looked at us with curiosity. “Look,” I told Dafne, “look how smart she is. She is not even a day old and she’s already examining us.” Dafne asked to hold her and the nurse picked up the baby and gave it to her. Then, she brought a bottle with a bit of milk and asked Dafne to sit and feed her. Dafne did it very skillfully, as if she had raised many children. She kissed the baby’s tiny fingers and whispered to her in Hebrew, “I love you, my beautiful girl,” so that only the three of us could understand. Dana was a real beauty. The nurse who put her back in the cot explained that tomorrow the baby will go through medical examinations, and we’ll get her in a couple of days. Before we left, the nurse gave Dafne a diaper and asked her to change the baby. Dafne didn’t waste any time and changed her without hesitation. She gently undressed the baby, wiped her tiny bum with a towel she dampened with tap water, not before she made sure the water was warm enough. Then she picked her up and showed me that her umbilical cord was still attached. She brought little Dana close to her nose and smelled her perfect body, turned to put her back in the cot, changed her and lightly kissed her toes. It was a sight for sore eyes. Like a human pup licked and groomed by its mother. “Did you count her fingers?” I asked as I knew that every mother who holds her baby for the first time, does so. “No,” she replied, “I just kissed her, without thinking.”
In truth, Dafne really surprised me. I didn’t think she would take on this role so naturally. It would probably take some time before I dare change Dana’s diaper. We said goodbye to the baby and both kissed her with great love.
We came back to the hotel late that evening. Dafne wanted us to call home and tell everyone that we have a daughter named Dana. But I stopped her and told her we would tell people only after she will go through the medical examinations and be given to us. We were too happy to sleep and Dafne had already planned how she would buy pink clothes tomorrow and rent a cot. We brought formula with us because we were told there wasn’t any in Brazil. Today we know this was false information.
When we lay awake in bed, Dafne whispered to me a sentence I would remember forever, “except for the day I met you, this is happiest day of my life.”
CHAPTER 8
It wasn’t their first time going on a mission, however, this time they were together and their destination was strange and unknown.
Their track was planned out to the very last detail, but Ido went over it again. Gadi was well aware that he would have to wait at least four months before they arrived at Curitiba so he could start his search. It made him a bit nervous. He was unsure whether at some point he would feel he couldn’t wait any longer. Would he leave them and keep on his own, or stay with them at any cost?
When they landed in Rio de Janeiro, his heart pounded more than ever. He breathed in the Brazilian air with passion, trying to find a sense of familiarity. He dragged his feet and could barely take his first few steps in Brazil, like an infant learning to walk.
“Quanto? – How much?” they stopped a taxi to go to the city.
“Reais ou dólares– real or dollars?” the driver smiled a toothless smile.
“Dollars,” they replied simultaneously.
“Eighty-two dollars,” the driver signed the number with his fingers. They decided to try another taxi.
The second driver didn’t ask any unnecessary questions but simply said, “a hundred reais.”
“Almost half the price,” Omri calculated the difference, and all three quickly got into the taxi.
The ride was fast and winding like a racetrack. The driver tried talking to them in Portuguese, but it sounded to them like a Slavic language. The taxi reeked of alcohol and they exchanged worried looks.
“What do we do?” Ido was first to speak, “let’s hope we don’t get to Rio in an ambulance.”
“Relax,” Gadi laughed, “it’s not the driver who drank alcohol, but the car. They use alcohol instead of gasoline here, it’s cheaper.”
The taxi drove on one of the many long multi-leveled bridges where cars moved at lightning speed. The driver stopped talking and they were even more worried. The radio filled the car with foreign sounds and Gadi tried catching a few words, perhaps some familiar sounds. Omri wanted to break the tension by
whistling an army song, his notes blended with the Brazilian tunes.
Gadi, who went back to reading in his travel guide, found an excerpt about the bridge they were driving on and read, “‘the bridge is part of a bridge system, whose construction was expedited for the Eco exhibition in Rio in 1990. The bridge is called ponte vermelha – the Red Bridge.’ I wonder why they call it that?” he inquired.
“Maybe the bottom bridge is painted red,” Omri tried making sense out of it.
“Someone suggested they build such a bridge in Israel to separate ours and the Palestinians’ roads connecting Gaza to the West Bank,” Gadi said knowingly.
“So, where would we drive, on the upper or lower bridge?” Omri asked and replied, “Probably on the upper road, so we would have the advantage of height and they can’t throw stones at us.”
“It’s not that simple,” Ido, who was silent with fear until now, sounded the voice of reason. Only after the taxi was off the bridge did he allow himself to participate in the conversation, “Israeli farmers work the fields by the road. It would be better if the Palestinians were on the upper road, so they have a direct route from the West Bank to Gaza and back, since the road under them would connect to other roads. I think it’s best we build them an express train, with no stations and sealed windows.”
On both sides of the bridge were located Rio’s favelas, the impoverished and dangerous neighborhoods, replete with drugs and crime.
However, Gadi brought their attention to a different direction, “Hey, look, it’s the Korkovado, can you see the statue of Jesus? Wow, it’s amazing.”