by Nora Sarel
“Open up, it’s me, Bernardo,” he replied, as he began punching the door even louder.
Gadi was frightened. He jumped out of his bed and ran to open the door. “What happened, Bernardo?” he asked. He was worried to see Bernardo standing there; his shirt was wet and he looked at him red-glassy eyed, as if he had temporarily lost his sanity.
Gadi looked at his watch and added, “didn’t you say you were going to sleep? Is everything all right?”
Bernardo kept silent for a few seconds and then exhaustedly said, “Mom called, I came to tell you that she was very excited we found you.”
“What?!” Gadi asked, he wanted to him to repeat what he had said.
“Mom, Nessia.”
“And…” Gadi continued.
“What and…? Do you want to talk to her on not? You want to meet her, right?”
“Of course he does,” Ido said decisively. Yet, Bernardo waited for Gadi’s response. It failed to come.
“If you still want to meet your mother, Nessia, we can travel to Salvador, she’s waiting for us.”
Adi was first to regain her composure. She jumped out of bed and hugged Gadi. She hoped to retrieve some his physical devotion from the other day, but in vain. Ido stood up, pulled Bernardo into the room, shut the door and said to Gadi in Hebrew, “I hope it’s obvious you’re not leaving on your own, we’re coming with you.”
“We’re all coming with you,” Liam added.
“We can rent a car or take a bus,” Bernardo said laconically, his eyes directed at Gadi.
“Don’t you need to work?” Liam asked.
“I’m a receptionist at the ‘America do Sol’ Hotel. But now I’m off for the holiday,” Bernardo replied. But Liam would not let it go, “most of the work is during the carnival, isn’t it?”
“I was fired yesterday,” Bernardo confessed and looked down with shame.
“Never mind, you’ll find another hotel. Don’t worry, be happy,” Liam said, regretting he had brought up the subject. He apologetically patted him on the back and began dialing. Gadi looked around him, everyone was busy packing for their trip to Salvador, while he stood there, frozen, overwhelmed by his own thoughts. Adi hugged his waist tightly, yes, he still felt detached from the commotion in the room. A sharp pang of excitement coursing through his stomach, made him freeze.
“It’s wonderful, Gadi,” Adi said happily and kissed him enthusiastically. “I’m so happy for you, you’ll finally get to meet your mother. Do you get it?”
Mother, mother, he heard the word ringing in his head. You’ll soon meet your mother, the sentences jumbled in his thoughts. He suddenly got back to his senses and decided, “Only Bernardo is coming with me.” The room fell into a heavy silence. They all stopped and stared at him with wonder.
Liam who was already busy arranging their trip and having a businesslike conversation about the Bahia’s bus timetable, hung up the phone. Ido, who was putting his clothes on while gathering his belongings, suddenly stopped, and Omri, who struggled to get out of bed and joined them, covered himself again and stuffed his head between the pillows.
“I need to go without you,” Gadi continued. “I’m going alone with Bernardo. Maybe Anna-Maria can join us, but that’s it,” he emphasized his last words. “I’m going to meet someone who means a lot to me, and I want to be by myself. I know it’s unfair to you, you were with me throughout the journey, and I’m blowing you off at the most important part. But for me this isn’t some story of a mochileiro experiencing different adventures, this is my life. I would like to keep the climactic moment of this story to myself. I hope you can understand and see my point.”
“So, you’re bailing out on us?” Liam asked, not expecting an answer.
“We’ll meet in a week or two, I’ll join you later.”
“Where will we meet?” Adi asked.
“I don’t know, we’ll keep in touch.”
“We can go to the carnival in Bahia or maybe Rio,” Liam suggested.
“You can go wherever you like but I have to meet my birth mother on my own.”
It seemed he had thought about this moment long before they arrived, Ido thought to himself. Ido looked at his friend’s response, but Omri was still in bed and had covered his head with the thin sheet as if not wanting to hear even a shred of what was going on. Ido looked down and said, “we need to respect Gadi’s decision, it’s fair and logical. I think we should go to the Winners’ Parade in Rio and continue to Foz do Iguaçu, what do you think?”
“No,” Liam said, “on second thought, we should travel through the north first and then start heading southward, we can’t keep going back and forth. Driving in Brazil from one place to another takes a long time. We could go to Natal, or the Amazonas, maybe Bahia. If we go to the Winners’ Parade, we’re actually giving up on Manaus and the north.”
“Where is my cellphone?” Gadi cut their discussion short.
Adi quickly handed it to him. “Who do you want to call now?” she asked when she had noticed he seemed anxious.
“Home,” he said.
“I’ll dial for you,” she said and took the phone. She searched for ‘home’ through his contacts and dialed.
“Mom… how are you Mommy… where’s Dad?... I just wanted to let you know I’m going to Salvador… it’s a city in Behia… I’m meeting her there… Nessia… I’ll call you later to tell you about it… she’s waiting for us in Salvador… I’ll call you after we meet her… no, without Omri and Ido, on my own, with Bernardo and Anna-Maria… I’ll call you, don’t worry, kisses, love you so much,” he said and hung up.
“I have this feeling she’s scared of losing me and doesn’t get that it would never happen.”
“I think it’s natural,” Liam said, and asked, “is your father scared of that, too?”
“My father doesn’t show it, he’s a different type of person.”
“Your dad is the one who wrote the diary, right?” Adi asked. “Can I read it too?”
“Yes,” Gadi said without hesitation.
“Will you leave it here for me?”
“I can’t leave it, but you still have a few hours to read some of it.”
Monday, April 19th
Last week Sergio called and wanted to invite us over, but we didn’t really feel like it. The days are getting shorter and it’s almost winter. Curitiba is in southern Brazil and is quite far from the equator, which is why it’s not as tropical but actually cooler, similar to the climate in Israel, only the opposite; when it’s winter here it’s summer in Israel. Besides, the temperatures in Curitiba are extremer and the winter is much colder.
Gadi is developing nicely and has already been examined twice by Dr. Offenheimer. We’re waiting for the social worker to come and interview us so that the adoption file is approved at court. The days are sluggishly going by. We’ve already spoken a couple of times with Ori and Nili, who are slowly adapting with Dana to Israel, and call us every other day because they miss us. Sergio also calls and updates us frequently. Ofer and Miri visit us from time to time. They’ll probably go back home in a couple of days. We’re not attached to them as we are to Ori and Nili, who were with us during crises, or perhaps because they had Dana.
It’s already very cold in the evenings. We bought Gadi some warm clothes and a small duvet. We didn’t bring any winter clothing with us and needed to by some sweaters and coats – we hardly imagined we would still be here in the winter.
Sergio suggested we go freshen up and go out and he would send his children’s babysitter, so that we could see a movie or a show. However, Dafne firmly declined his proposal, and would not leave Gadi with someone else, even not for a second. Gadi already started rolling over from his belly to his back, Dafne sings to him, constantly plays and speaks to him. He listens and laughs while I take pictures. His eyes have turned even greener and I don’t think their c
olor will change by now. I can’t read a book and I hardly watch TV; my only escape is this diary which I am avidly writing. My preoccupation with the diary and documenting everything helps me process these new situations, our new reality. Sometimes I ask myself who would even read it? Would I have the courage to give it to Gadi when he turns 18? It seems so far away…
Wednesday April 21st
Today the social worker came over. A short young woman with African features; a broad nose, thick lips and curly hair. Although her complexion isn’t very dark, she’s clearly a mulatto. I was happy to see that Afro-Brazilians had high and managerial positions in Brazil in almost every bank and office. But this is not how I imagined our social worker. I thought she would be an old lady wearing glasses, perhaps lumbering, someone experienced and vigilant. Instead, this young woman appears, who isn’t married nor has children. This is the social worker who is supposed to approve whether or not we should be parents? I thought to myself, what does she know of parenthood, or the desire to become a parent? If she w Priscilla ere to decide that we were unqualified, the adoption might be all together annulled. That is why, when she came in, I realized the severity of the situation and I tried being as accommodating as possible. Since Sergio had notified us yesterday of her arrival, we made sure the maid cleaned our room and we prepared some refreshments. Dafne dressed Gadi in new clothes we had bought last week, and we both sat and nervously waited. When she came, we jumped at her, overly polite. She, in response, only smiled a small, yet warm, smile revealing yellow teeth. Before the interview began, I asked if she would like anything to drink and placed the plate of cookies in front of her.
“Priscilla ,” she introduced herself. “Do you also speak English?” we asked and were disappointed when she replied in the negative. However, she promised to speak in simple Portuguese and mentioned she had noticed that our Portuguese was almost fluent. We exchanged looks after hearing her compliment. Then, I thought to myself that the fact she didn’t speak English might be to our advantage.
“You landed a beautiful baby,” Priscilla said, smiling a larger smile exposing her ugly teeth. Then, the impossible happened and Gadi burst into tears. “He never cries,” I said to Dafne in Hebrew, “maybe he got scared.” I translated what I had said to Portuguese, “I told my wife that he must be excited to see someone he doesn’t know.”
“Well, that makes sense,” Priscilla justified his outburst and went on to speak of the matter at hand.
“What are your names? First name, middle and last?”
“We don’t have middle names, it’s not customary in Israel. My name is Dani Kaneti, and my wife’s name is Dafne Kaneti.”
“You both have the same last name? strange,” Priscilla smiled as if she was mocking us, “what is your father’s name?” she spoke to Dafne. “And what is the name of the child you’re receiving?”
“Gadi Kaneti” was my immediate answer, but Dafne corrected me, “Bernardo Gadi Kaneti, Gadi is his middle name.”
“Why are you giving him a middle name if it’s not customary in your country?”
“Because his biological mother named him Bernardo and asked that we keep his name. But since it’s not a common name in Israel we decided to give him another one, do you what we mean?” we asked to be on the safe side.
“Of course,” Priscilla said. She smiled yet another small smile at Gadi who had already calmed down, but was frightened again, and squinted his lips, ready to cry. Priscilla ignored his reaction and kept showering us with questions,
“Where do you live? I would like to have the exact address. Is your house in a city? A village? How many floors is it? How many rooms do you have? In which room will your adopted child sleep? What was this room used for? If it was used as a study, where will you work now?” she inquired.
“We’ll work from a desk we prepared in our bedroom, our bedroom is big enough,” I apologized.
“Which of you is the provider?”
“We both are,” we replied.
“What do you mean?” she asked again.
Then I realized she had no intentions or means to confirm the information we were giving her. Even if I told her I make 10 thousand dollars a month, she had no way of knowing whether or not I was lying. More so, she has no clue what was the standard income in Israel. If I tell her we have a 20-bedroom apartment, how will she know if I was being truthful? After all, she won’t send someone to check. She’s just writing down whatever it is we were saying, following orders, no discretion involved. If that’s the case, I’ll give her false information to paint a better picture. But how will I share this realization with Dafne? I wondered.
“I make 8 thousand dollars a month, and my wife earns nine thousand,” I said. Dafne gave me a strange look. I saw she had suddenly realized the rules have changed. From that moment on our answers were more palatable.
After a long, excruciating, 4-hour interview, during which Dafne fed Gadi, put him to sleep, changed and bathed and much more, Priscilla packed her papers, gave us a warm smile, apologized she didn’t speak English and complimented our Portuguese. She stood up to leave, not touching any of the refreshments, yet left Gadi crying when she pinched his cheek and gave him a goodbye smile. I tried justifying his reaction, but Priscilla said that was how children who did not know her reacted. She then disappeared into the long hall. I hope that the impression Gadi made won’t cause her to write a negative report and prevent us from being his parents.
Gadi was prepared to leave, his time running out, but Adi hadn’t finished reading the diary. The gang decided to say goodbye to Gadi and Bernardo at the hostel and allow Francisco and Antonio to take them. Adi and Gadi took an hour or so, clinging onto each other’s arms. Adi then returned his diary as he joined Bernardo and Anna-Maria who were ready for their trip. Francisco and Antonio came with them to the central station, and standing in front of the bus, hugged and waved at them.
They sat in the bus full of young travelers who were following the carnival to Salvador. The open windows let in a warm breeze, and Recife’s humidity clung to them. By the road they could see a huge sign with bold writing, “Don’t miss us – come back!” God only knows the Brazilians hung this sign especially for me, Gadi thought to himself. This clearly won’t be my last time here. There will never be a last time. Thinking of a last visit in Recife now seemed impossible.
Nessia stood at the end of the crowded bus terminal.
Her white shirt gleamed against the filthy air surrounding them and her black long hair placed on her shoulders. She wore tight jeans and her green eyes sparkled into the distance. She didn’t look like a concerned mother expecting to meet her children, but more like a high school girl waiting for her sweetheart on their way to the carnival.
As the bus slowly drove into the terminal, before opening its doors, Anna-Maria had pointed at her through the dirty windshield. But Gadi had already knew it was her.
Anna-Maria and Bernardo got off the bus and ran to their mother. Only when the bus was empty, after all the passengers had left, did Gadi pick up his backpack and step down slowly. He approached them, feeling as if time had slowed down, looking at her face resting on Anna-Maria’s shoulder and peeking at him. When she saw him coming closer, she didn’t linger with her children, but stormed to him as if they had known each other forever. Her eyes saw none of the passers by, nor did she hesitate, they were fixed on him and moved as she ran towards him. She simply knew it was him. Her arms opened wide and she fiercely fell into his, he gave in, yet was restrained.
“Meu filho bonito,” she whispered repeatedly. Her tears, soaking into his shirt, washed away her heavy eye makeup. They stood hugging for a long while. To his surprise, his legs didn’t give in nor did his heart pound quickly as it usually did when facing an exceptional situation. He tried feeling the same pangs of excitement, he wanted to feel them, tried remembering them, however, they never came.
Strange,
he thought to himself, perhaps my excitement dulled the pain. To balance what he had thought and what he had felt, he whispered to her in Hebrew with a sense of importance, “blood is thicker than water.”
“Sangue não é água,” Anna-Maria whispered the same sentence to Bernardo when she saw their mother embracing Gadi. Bernardo and Anna-Maria watched them astonished, observing the deep embrace they had never experienced.
Then, at once, Gadi broke away and said, “I can’t call you ‘Mom.’” He worried their hug might jeopardize the bond he had left back home. He repeated and emphasized, “I have a mother in Israel, do you understand?”
“I understand,” Nessia replied crying, “but I gave birth to you and dreamed about you all these years.”
“I know,” Gadi said, though with an undertone of contempt.
“Venha meus filhos– come children, let’s sit somewhere we can talk,” Nessia suggested, wiping away her tears. “Come, let’s go to a restaurant on Santo Rodfilio Street.”
“Why not your place, where you live?” Anna-Maria asked, somewhat disappointed.
“I can’t have you at my place. I live with a family and I’m not very comfortable having people over. I also think my room isn’t big enough,” she replied apologetically.
They following her, only Gadi staggering behind. He then forced himself to walk after them.
The small restaurant was located on the corner of two quiet streets, not too far from the downtown central station. It looked clean, but poorly-maintained. However, they had a view to All Saint’s Bay. But more importantly, a table covered in a plaid tablecloth, big enough for the four of them.
“I don’t know what people say in these situations,” Nessia spoke with surprising frankness, her eyes sparkled. “I haven’t told you anything,” she spoke to Bernardo and Anna-Maria. “I would like to apologize – deskolpa.” They both looked down and didn’t say a word. “I didn’t want to confuse you, I knew some day my secret would come out. There are no secrets. I knew the son I had when I was too young, would come looking for me. I knew he was better off with his family and didn’t want to hurt him, too.” Now Nessia turned to Gadi. Bernardo and Anna-Maria sat up straight, fascinated seeing the two. “I remember your birthday and celebrate it every year,” she passionately said. “You turned twenty-two a month ago. I knew that every year you were celebrating somewhere else, but I would celebrate right here, in Brazil. I was too young to raise you. I knew the best solution would be giving you to a loving family, which I did only after finding such a family, with Dona Anna from the shelter helping me.”