by Nora Sarel
Francisco examined them. Their food was served but no one ate.
“Let’s eat first and then continue,” Francisco suggested.
He’d rather avoid us again, Bernardo thought.
“Look, we agree on three facts,” Gadi delayed Francisco’s plans,
“One – you know Nessia, who is our mother.
Two – she worked for you during the year of nineteen eighty-one,
Three – she disappeared at the end of nineteen eighty-one and came back in mid nineteen eighty-two.
Now I’ll add a fact, during the first time she disappeared she had me.”
“Ok, and what does that mean?” Francisco played dumb.
“Let me go on,” Gadi said. “I’ll explain what it means. In nineteen eighty-two Nessia came back to work but disappeared again in nineteen eighty-three.”
Bernardo couldn’t hold himself and interrupted his brother, “it’s simple math, when you lived in Curitiba Gadi was born and when you lived in Recife, I was born. We have the same name and our mother worked for you around the time she had us. More so, every time you found out she was pregnant you threw her out and moved to a different city, you ran away, does that seem like a coincidence to you?”
“You would be a great lawyer,” Francisco complemented Bernardo, his eyes glistened, it seemed they were teary, yet Bernardo would not let it go.
“We can have a DNA test to reveal the truth,” Gadi suggested.
“You’re going too far,” Francisco whispered, his deep voice barely heard.
“We didn’t go too far, we want to find out the truth. We also want to restore Nessia’s honor, she believed and followed you, and was deceived. How could you throw out a woman carrying your child, when you know she had nowhere to go? You haven’t done it once, you did it twice. Even animals have kinder hearts than yours,” Gadi accused him.
“Did she send you?”
“No, I’m not even sure she knows where you are or what you do. You know what? It doesn’t matter who sent us.”
There was a grave silence. They saw how Francisco was slowly surrendering, they felt they have won.
“Ok,” Francisco said. “You have to understand; you took me by surprise. I’m confused.” He took the red handkerchief out of his jacket’s lapel, wiped his sweaty forehead, undid his tie and kept mumbling, “I don’t know what to do. You’re the only sons I have, I’m glad that now, when I’m old, I have found you. I knew you existed but over the years, haven’t shown interest in what had happened to you or Nessia. Maybe I’m a coward but I really do want you and her, especially now. I’m a widower. My wife, Zelia, had passed away from a terrible disease and was unwilling to speak about this painful subject. She just instructed Nessia to leave her house and get rid of the child she carried. The second time, when Nessia came back, I promised Zelia this wouldn’t happen again. Nessia told her she had given the baby away and Zelia thought that was it; I wouldn’t dare go near her. But she was wrong. I loved Nessia so much. It was a hopeless love. Throughout the years, I was forbidden to speak of you, so I acted like a coward and erased you. But it turns out, you exist, you reappeared and were reborn, like a phoenix. I look at you and feel you are mine; you are like me. I would like to be with you but don’t know how. I’m a senador and this whole situation might embarrass me plenty. How can make such a statement? On the other hand, if not know, then when…?”
Suddenly Bernardo and Gadi saw a different man in front of them. He was no longer elevated and powerful, yet shamed and despondent.
“What do I do?” he kept mumbling to himself, and they didn’t try assisting him.
CHAPTER 23
“We’ll meet tomorrow,” Francisco had promised. The next day he disappeared. In the congress couldn’t tell where he was, only that he had taken a leave of absence at an unknown location for an unknown amount of time. At his home a secretary told them Francisco was sick and hospitalized but couldn’t provide any further information.
“What do we do?” Bernardo asked Gadi, “I have to go back to Recife, I can’t leave Anna-Maria on her own, I need to be with her. My brothers need to be supported and I need to find a job and provide for them. I miss them, I even miss my cat. Have you noticed there aren’t any cats in Brasilia?”
“Why?”
“Because of the dry weather, they can’t live here and neither can I. We don’t have any other choice, we have to say goodbye. We almost won, but our victory slipped away. I’m going back to Recife tomorrow, I hope you’re not offended.”
“I’m going with you.”
“No, stay here and ambush Francisco. He can’t hide for long.”
“You know, there’s a saying in Arabic, ‘the dogs bark, but the caravan goes on.’ He cannot handle us and the truth and thinks we’ll keep barking until we can’t anymore, and he’ll go on, business as usual. That’s the type, a crook. He keeps doing what he always has, he never takes responsibility, let’s things blow over on their own. It doesn’t matter, we made it this far without him, and we’ll move forward all the same.”
“At least now we know who are father is, and I hope we don’t have the same cowardice.”
“I’m nothing like him, and I’m sure you’re braver, too. Maybe we got our courage from our mother? All and all she took some brave steps in her life. There are good things about her, too. Look, I never call Nessia ‘mother’ and here, I just did,” Gadi said.
“What do you really feel? Who is your first mother and who’s second?”
“Dafne is my first, only, real mother. Nessia just gave birth to me. Still, I have this feeling, every time I call home, that Dafne is afraid Nessia might steal me away and keep me in Brazil.”
“Is there any chance of that happening?”
“Are you crazy? No way.”
“My dad is a great father, too,” Gadi said, “he wrote a diary where he documented the adoption process. The diary helped me navigate through Brazil, it’s my compass. I really want to read it to you, is that OK?”
Tuesday April 27th, 1982
Time goes by and another week had passed. Having no control over our lives is starting to irritate me, but when we look at Gadi, all our problems seem to be forgotten. Today we finally got our answer from the social worker. Sergio called to say he was on his way to show us her report. “Did she write good things?” we asked. He replied, “I come read what say, no need being angry, bom?”
Truth be told we were nervous until Sergio came, even Gadi was crying for no reason. “Maybe he’s gassy?” Dafne speculated and lay him on his belly.
Sergio came in with the report in his hand, and although we wanted to hear what the social worker, Priscilla, had to say, we didn’t skip the traditional Brazilian greeting ceremony. Dafne properly kissed Sergio and I hugged him. Only then did he read the report written in articulate Portuguese. However, we were too excited to understand any of it.
“Now in Hebrew,” we asked, but we had already understood the spirit of things and were more relaxed.
“It says you almost ideal parents and that you give boy, Gadi, all the luxury children in Brazil no have. It also says you are sympathetic and that you will go soon with Gadi to Israel. Now we need vinho, bom? You have?”
It was a suitable opportunity to use the wine bottle in the fridge. I took it out and poured for the three of us. “Lechaim!” Sergio called, we all laughed, and so did Gadi in Dafne’s arms, as if he understood what we were laughing about.
As Daphne laughed, she also cried – but this time, she didn’t bother hiding her tears. I felt that hundreds of stones in my heart were rolling out of release with the laughter in a loud noise “What now?” I asked Sergio.
“Now we have all papers I think it easier at court,” he said and ran to the phone so he could ask his secretary to schedule a court hearing as soon as possible.
“You want come in the evening
to do ‘lechaim’ at our house?” Sergio asked, and we happily agreed.
Before we went to Sergio and Monika’s, we called our parents, Dafne’s sister, Mika as well as Nili and Ori. We told them we had gone through yet another step. They reminded us that back home it was Memorial Day and would soon be Independence Day.
I hope our independence would also be given to us soon.
Monday, May 3rd, 1982
The court hearing didn’t take long. We had just arrived and were quickly called in. We entered a room where three judges greeted us while adding some unclear sentences. The judge sitting in the middle, who appeared to be their senior, smiled at us with lips so thin they were barely there, yet stretched from one check to the other. He handed us the adoption papers, we thanked him politely and left. The entire thing took a minute, yet, we spent three excruciating months in Brazil for this very moment.
Here I am, holding the much-awaited documents, turning them over and over again in my hands, can’t stop looking at them, as if they were a work of art. I can’t stop telling myself, here, we made it. Perhaps since we suffered so much, we will be even more grateful for this gift and won’t take it for granted. My eyes wander from the papers to Gadi and simply melt. What pure joy, I sigh with relief and can’t stop smiling to myself. If I keep this up, my lips will be as thin as the judge’s… Dafne is looking at me and Gadi and is overjoyed. She doesn’t care about the papers. She has enough of them at work. To her, the child is what matters.
Sergio, our lawyer, promised he would get a passport for Gadi so we can take him back home.
Friday May 7th, 1982
In the morning Sergio came with the green passport. Dafne and I have blue passports and Gadi’s is green. In Israel I’ll get him an Israeli passport, and we’ll save the current one as a keepsake from Brazil. He can use it if he wants to when he grows up. His picture rests between its pages and I keep flipping through them, as if the first time I had seen a passport. This is it, we can order flight tickets. I told Sergio, and he, the man who had helped us through different crises, who rejoiced with us in happy moments, who listened and lent us a shoulder to cry on, the man who we owed so much, promised he would have our flight tickets in a couple of days.
Monday May 10th, 1982
We have our flight tickets. Sergio came over with Monika about an hour ago and gave them to us.
“Did you need extra money?” I asked.
“Yes,” Sergio replied, “tomorrow you’ll drop by the travel agency and pay them.”
“If I wouldn’t have asked, would you have told me?”
Sergio smiled and I knew the answer.
We’re leaving Curitiba on Friday. Our flight leaves at 2 PM.
“Should we have a toast?” Monika asked.
“Sure,” Dafne said, placed Gadi in his stroller and we all went to the lobby. I ordered a bottle of good Chilean wine and we toasted ‘lechaim.’ All the receptionists who were there as well as the cleaners and maids, joined us. Throughout our stay here, we felt everyone had become a part of our family and we wanted to thank them. After Sergio and Monika left, we called everyone we knew and told them when we were expected to land in Israel, Sunday at 7 PM. It’s a good thing the tickets are business class. Although it costs more, our exhausting trip back home might be a bit easier.
Tuesday May 11th, 1982
We started packing. During or three months here, we’ve accumulated some assets. We need to pack all of Gadi’s clothes in two suitcases; one shipped directly to Tel Aviv and another carry-on so we can change him. We need to pack and send the crib, side table, changing table, toys and bottles. We’re taking the stroller and three bottles with us for the road. We also need to pack all our clothes, suits, ties and shoes. I can only imagine how much overweight I’m going to pay. There’s plenty to do, and we’re doing it happily.
Dafne made a list of all the people who we were in touch with, so she could thank them and say goodbye. Saying goodbye to Sergio and Monika was the hardest. I hope some day they’ll make Aliyah and we’ll meet them in Israel.
Friday May 14th, 1982
We’re at the airport in Rio waiting for the airplane to Madrid. From there we’re taking an El-Al plane to Israel. Gadi, who’s three months old by now, is sleeping in his stroller with a pacifier that soothed him after he had cried for a long time. Usually he’s a very quiet baby, but today he wouldn’t stop crying. Perhaps he sensed the excitement and preparations for the trip, or maybe the flight bothered him. Perhaps it was because I was mugged in the morning and the chaos made him uneasy. Now it was all finally behind us and he was quiet.
The mugging happened in Curitiba when we were about to get into the taxi taking us to the airport. I felt my wallet, which was in my back pocket, being pulled out. I saw the kid who mugged me running away. I said something to Dafne and instinctively began chasing him. I left Dafne on the sidewalk with Gadi, and the driver who was loading our suitcases. I ran knowing I had no chance of succeeding and was very much prone to be injured by one of the boy’s accomplices. Only after frantically running through the streets of Curitiba, while yelling for help, did I realize it was time to go back to my wife and son who were waiting for me. Which indeed I did. When I got back to Dafne, who stood shaking with fear and Gadi in her hands, I calmed her down and contemplated whether we should go to the police. However, after checking, we saw that the passports, flight tickets and the rest of our money were all in Dafne’s bag. We realized we could make it without the stolen money and gave the idea up, realizing it would take too long. The mugger did well today, but we’re leaving Brazil even richer. Not like thieves, but as honest people who had gone through a long process, straight as an arrow.
“We’re flying together,” Gadi surprised Bernardo. “You’ll get off at the stop in Recife and I’ll continue to Manaus to meet my friends.”
“I feel uncomfortable being supported and taking advantage of your parents. I can take the bus, it’s much cheaper.”
“My parents think of you as their son, too, why wouldn’t they? If you’re my brother, then…”
Only when they were up in the air, settled in the Brazilian Tam airline blue cushioned seats, did Bernardo say, “I can’t stop thinking about the diary. About your parents and our fates. Since you read the diary to me, I’ve been crying inside.”
“Why have you been crying?”
“I would have wanted to be like you. I’m not jealous, but…”
Gadi didn’t hesitate and immediately replied, “Don’t think it’s so easy being adopted.”
“It’s easier than being a child like me,” Bernardo insisted and added, “I’m a mother-father child.”
“You might have had a hard life physically and financially,” Gadi said, “but I had emotional struggles. Not everything in life is about material things.”
“Is love a material thing?”
Gadi kept quiet.
“That’s what I was talking about; the love and support you had. I suffered both physically and emotionally. And you know it’s far from being over.”
Gadi preferred to end the conversation, which seemed too painful, especially since it was their last few moments together. That is why he kept quiet. Bernardo stopped too, each kept to himself and revisited what they had experienced together. It was then when the stewardess announced they would soon land in Recife.
They knew it was time; their journey together has come to an end.
Bernardo’s cheeks were wet with tears.
“Bernardo, enough, I’ll cry too. We’re not saying goodbye forever, we’ll see each other soon.” Gadi hugged his brother when he saw his tears.
“Send my regards to your parents and many thanks,” Bernardo said from between his tears.
“You’re my brother, as hard as you try, you won’t get rid of me. I’ll keep in touch and you’ll come visit me in Israel.”
W
hen the last passengers got off the plane, they both stood up and hugged. Bernardo wore his orange Havaianas, similar to Gadi’s. “Everyone will think we’re twins,” they laughed as they bought them.
Gadi walked Bernardo to the airplane door, right where the stewards parted from the passengers, and saw him disappear behind the curve of the jet bridge connecting the plane to the airport. No one is waiting for him on the other side, Gadi thought, but when he gets home and finds the envelope I put in his bag, he can at least put his mind at rest financially for the next few months. Gadi settled in his seat, looked through his window but could not see Bernardo. The passengers on the airplane moved impatiently. The cleaners boarded with mops and vacuum-cleaners to prepare the empty seats. When they finished, new passengers boarded on their way to Manaus.
Gadi couldn’t stop crying the entire flight.
CHAPTER 24
The four, Ido, Omri, Adi and Liam, waited for him at the Manaus Airport. They stood in a line, Adi first holding a sign she had made the evening before, “Welcome Gadi!”
She tried hard to stretch and spread the sign so that he could read it, however, the moment he stepped into the greeting hall she jumped at him with glee and the sign fell from her hands.
Gadi approached them nonchalantly, as if he had just returned from a vacation without a single worry on his mind. He dragged his feet, wearing the orange Havaianas flip-flops that had reminded him of Bernardo. On his back he carried his round backpack to which a sleeping bag and hiking shoes were tied. His face did not express all his longings and thoughts.
He hugged his friends peacefully. All the emotional excitement they had expected has yet to happen. Only Adi got a kiss. “It feels like it’s been two years at least,” he said, “I had a fascinating journey.” He wouldn’t go into detail and they didn’t ask. “When he’ll want to, he’ll tell us,” Omri instructed them before Gadi landed.