Two Sides of Me

by Nora Sarel

They loaded Gadi’s equipment onto the rented truck and drove to the pousada at the city’s outskirts.

  Gadi sat close to Adi and enjoyed feeling her body which willingly gave in. Yet, he had a conversation about insignificant matters.

  “We mostly hiked through the rain forests. You can’t imagine what goes on in those forests, maybe tomorrow we can go on a trek with you,” Ido suggested.

  “Give me a break, let me rest for a while. Can we postpone these trips for a day? I’m exhausted.”

  The next day Gadi slept until the afternoon. When he woke up, they were already sitting around him and telling him of their experiences.

  “Did you leave anything for me to see?” he asked.

  “You didn’t miss much,” Adi reassured him, sitting by his bare legs. She leaned on them, as if by accident and said, “you can easily make up for it. If you feel like trekking with me, I cleared five days for you.”

  “That’s what I want to do the mot,” he replied, and she smiled a huge happy smile. Then she stood up to hand him the bowl of tropical fruit which she had washed, peeled and cut into thin slices while he was sleeping.

  “Look at these fruits’ gorgeous colors,” she said and placed them in front of him.

  “Taste the red Barbados, Cherries, see how sweet and juicy they are,” Ido boasted as if he were local.

  “Barbados Cherry, that’s what this fruit is called?” Gadi was surprised by all the information they had learned in his absence.

  It wouldn’t stop raining the day after. Usually it would rain in the afternoon, however, that day, the rules of nature were forgotten in Manaus and the rain decided to start pouring that very morning, the day when Gadi and Adi left, on their own, to sail down the river and join a trek route. The heat and rain burdened them a bit, but they wouldn’t let the steaming weather ruin their plans. They felt they had a rare opportunity to be together on their own.

  The further they sailed down the Rio Negro river, the more did the city disappear. The polluted port water transformed into clear water, and even the heat was not as bad thanks to a cool breeze. They both sat in the corner of the boat’s deck, under a soaked canvas, dripping the rain it had gathered throughout the day. Although they were soaking wet, they sat hugging one another.

  “When we go back to Rio I want to make a stop in Salvador and say goodbye to my birth mother,” Gadi said.

  “Can I come with you this time?” she asked.

  “Why not?” he replied, as if he regularly brought friends over to visit Nessia.

  “How was your meeting with her?”

  “Alright,” he said.

  “Is she nice?”

  “Since she’s my birth mother she has to be nice, but my real mother in Israel is much nicer.”

  Adi smiled.

  “And how did you get along with your brother?”

  “He’s my soulmate. I would never give him up and will stay in touch with him forever.”

  The rain hit the water and the boat, but they paid no attention to it. Brazilian music was playing while they were alone on the deck. It was only them and the captain, who stood by the wheel in his glass booth, wearing a uniform covered in medals. In the hind-part of the boat sat a few tourists, hiding from the rain. When they reached the port of one of the villages everyone got off to shore.

  “Come,” Gadi said to Adi while stretching his arm to help her stand up.

  Hand in hand they walked between the children, most of which were Indians. The children tried selling them necklaces made of local plants, rings set with unpolished gems, fish teeth, and straw costumes the Indians wore in the past. Mostly, trying to persuade them to take pictures with sloths or parrots, which they held tied on their wrist, while overcharging for their ‘services.’

  Everyone was barefoot and wore rags, their hair hung heavy due to the dirt in it, it couldn’t even blow in the wind.

  Adi stopped by one of the young vendors and tried on a ring with a pink tourmaline gem, handmade by Indians, “look how pretty.” She stretched out her hand for him to see. He only shook his head, signaling she should give it up and return the ring to its owner.

  A never-ending rainforest stretched before their eyes, a thick and almost impenetrable. Yet, they did not walk through it.

  “We’ll hike tomorrow,” Gadi reminded her, as if wanting to save the forest for their trek. They walked on the river banks, between the locals’ poor and unstable wooden huts, then walked back to the boat. The rain wouldn’t stop.

  In the afternoon the boat reached the crossroads between the Rio Negro river, whose waters were dark, and Rio Solomon, whose waters were light gray. Both rivers flowed beside one another, their waters not blending.

  “It’s a sight for sore eyes,” Gadi was impressed.

  “We, on the other hand, will blend,” Adi suddenly whispered in his ear and kissed him.

  “What?” he choked, “what do you mean?”

  “Are you comparing me to Rio Negro and yourself to Rio Solomon?”

  “Yes,” she looked at him lovingly.

  “Let me break it to you, we won’t blend either. We’ll flow together. Maybe this togetherness will bring on something bigger, like the Amazonas these two rivers pour into. That is how we won’t cancel out each other, but help and empower one another. What do you think?”

  At night, in the lodge in the middle of the forest, Adi slept in Gadi’s lap.

  “How I wanted to be with you, and you didn’t notice,” she said to him.

  “I did, it’s just that my thoughts were elsewhere.”

  “I was scared you wouldn’t want to.”

  “I wanted you to have me fully,” he whispered to her.

  “I love you,” she said, “now you say it back.”

  “I love you, my little pest. Here, I said it.”

  “Did you tell them?”

  “Tell who?”

  “Ido, Omri and Liam.”

  “What should I have told them?”

  “That you love me.”

  “You think they don’t know already?”

  “I want the whole world to know that you love me, because when you were gone they thought it was only me who loved you, that it wasn’t mutual.”

  “I love love love!” he yelled and the forest echoed back, along with woodland animal sounds.

  “Was that clear enough? I’ll let the guys know the first chance I get.”

  In the morning the ground was wet and easy to sink in, yet they still went trekking through the rainforest. “It’s the biggest forest in the world,” said the guide who led them, along with other German, Italian and Australian tourists. They followed him through the thicket. They walked on the river banks, which at times seemed like an ocean since they could not see its other side, met different animals, gathered medicinal herbs who the local Indians would use, soaked in the moist air and the intoxicating scent of leaves. They looked with delight at the thick greenery and listened to the birds. At night they went on a canoe to see the alligators, whose eyes sparkled in the dark and in the morning, they tried fishing Piranhas, whose teeth were alarming. They had five days of pure fun, five days of togetherness. “The scenery here is deceiving. The silence hides the problems, the situation in the forest is not as idyllic as it seems,” the guide suddenly said. “Even here there are wars,” he pointed at the top of the river. “This is where there are diamonds and gold. Local Indian miners and miners from all over Brazil, fight over it.” Yet, they did not want to hear of the problems in the forest, they wanted to memorize this place as a perfect masterpiece of nature.

  On the way back home Gadi bought Adi the tourmaline ring, and she thought it foreshadowed what was to come.

  From the very moment the boat had left on its way back to Manaus, Adi wouldn’t take her eyes off the ring. When they arrived, she quickly showed it to their friends who w
ere waiting on the dock. They smiled, as if all shared the same secret.

  The next morning, when Gadi woke up and went to brush his teeth, Liam also walked into the bathroom, and before greeting Gadi good morning roared, “Congratulations!” Right after him Omri came in, approached Gadi and said quietly, “I’m happy you made up your mind, Adi is a great girl.” Gadi didn’t answer, his mouth was full of white paste, dripping down the tip of his lips. Only after he had washed his face could ha have smiled and declare his love, just as he had promised.

  The four boys met in the dining room to plan the rest of their trip. Only Adi retired to her room, to finish reading the diary,

  Saturday June 12th, 1982

  Yesterday we celebrated Gadi’s bris.

  Everyone came. Approximately 250 people. There were people from Dafne’s office, from mine, friends, neighbors and family. We had the party on our lawn and due to the heat, we built a shed and added three bars of light and alcoholic beverages. In the house we had refreshment tables beautifully designed. We also had a clown to keep the children entertained. Gadi was circumcised by a doctor rabbi and he almost didn’t cry. Dafne looked amazing, and someone, who wasn’t aware of the situation, told her she looked great and he couldn’t have guessed she had gone through labor. Gadi was the most beautiful child there, however, he didn’t last very long and feel asleep.

  I was the happiest man on earth and was nearly drunk. It was only today that I opened Gadi’s presents and wrote about it in my diary.

  Saturday, August, 1982

  Gadi is six months by now and he’s already standing up. He can’t sit yet but is delighted when he succeeds pulling himself up and hang on to the pen’s bars. Unbelievable. The kid’s a genius. Speaking frankly, at least physically he’s very advanced. Most kids in his age don’t even roll over. I called Nili and Ori to tell them about it. “Dana is still far off,” Nili answered, a sense of worry in her tone. I calmed her down and told her that most kids don’t do what Gadi does, it’s very rare. Next time I won’t call Nili, I can tell she’s a bit worried.

  This kid makes me feel complete.

  September 82

  We decided to get Gadi a nanny. Dafne’s going back to work full-time. Until now she worked part time and my mother stayed with Gadi while she was at work. She wouldn’t let anyone touch him and thought a mother’s or grandmother’s care were the best. Gadi is developing well and I don’t see any reason why he shouldn’t do well with a nanny. We interviewed 10 nannies, at least, before we chose Mira. I promised Dafne I would come back home early from work at least twice a week so I could be a full partner in raising Gadi.

  EPILOGUE

  Sunday, February 10th, 1985

  Hi, son.

  Today you turned 3. We celebrated your birthday at daycare this morning and on Saturday we’ll celebrate at home. We invited the entire family, Nili and Ori too, with their Itay and Dana. I decided today was the appropriate date to end the adoption journey diary, which had ended a long time ago, but is yet to be complete. I waited for the right time for me to lock it up. I started writing it exactly three years ago, knowing that someday I would let you read it. I have often thought whether I should edit some of the things written, so that when the day comes, you’ll have a clear, well-organized text. But every time I want to start the process, I find myself leaving things just as they were. I think the authenticity of the diary and its truth deriving from the heart, will allow you to understand the process and how the events unfolded, although we would probably tell you about it plenty of times. Your adoption diary will take you back in time, so you can feel what we felt in the now, almost without any mitigation. The diary is yours and for you.

  I am the one who wrote the diary and not your mother. Despite and perhaps because, or so I think, she was much more goal-oriented and excited than me. She couldn’t sit down at the end of each day and put down in writing what had happened that day. When we were in Brazil, I had an inexplicable urge to document what happened each day. This diary is an exact documentation of the journey we had finding you and with you. Just as some people video the moment of the birth, so did I try and place a camera, commemorating significant moments in our life. It documented you and us from the moment you were born and until we came back home.

  I gave the diary to your mother, but she read it just once and cried. I decided not to make her face this subject again. The diary takes her back to the days where she was a barren woman, until you came along and filled her with an immense sense of motherhood. The term ‘barren woman’ or ‘barren man’ is offensive and hurtful – as if it were a person empty of purpose. We didn’t want to be known as ‘barren’, we too wanted to grow a fruit of our own. We won.

  I was contemplating whether I should write this letter when you turned six and first went to school. Or perhaps when you turned thirteen – your bar mitzvah. However, I decided to end the diary with this letter and keep it until I passed it on to you.

  I don’t know how old you will be, but I can imagine us both sitting at a nice quiet place, maybe at home, perhaps at a coffee house, or maybe even on a bench at the park. Then, I would give you the diary and you’d be excited. We would hug, pat each other on the back and I would tell you what you were about to read. I’m trying now, to ask the most difficult questions you might be asking some day. Who gave us the right to take a Catholic child and raise him Jewish? Do we think that by doing so we redeemed you from the Brazilian favelas? I’ll try answering them one at a time.

  Your adoption process wasn’t easy, and I’m not just talking about the long anticipation when we were to have you in Brazil. I’m not even referring to the long wait from the moment we got you until we left the country. You’ll read about all that in the diary. I want to tell you especially about the long days and nights until we decided to go to Brazil. Of the moments that brought us to decide to adopt and child from there and not here. We knew adopting a Brazilian child was, allegedly, emotionally harder than adopting an Israeli one. Still, we preferred not to wait in line at the Israeli “adoption shop.”

  We were young, students from normal families. I started working at our business, which I hope you would join someday. I started in marketing and your mother was already doing her internship at the Zukerman & Koresh firm, and was doing great, which later awarded her with a partnership. Theoretically, we should have been the happiest of people. About a year after we had a grand wedding, we tried having a child. However, it turned out your mother had an ectopic pregnancy and needed a complicated life-saving surgery. We couldn’t even dream of another pregnancy. Your mother, who is my best friend, suggested I divorce her so I can continue the line, since I couldn’t do that with her. I then said to her, “I didn’t marry our children, I married you.” That is what I said and how I felt. I love her unconditionally, even without children. However, she couldn’t stand the idea of being barren. She couldn’t stand seeing her friends getting married and having children. Later, she couldn’t even handle having conversations with people about this subject. At nighttime we’d weep and during the days, we, well, mostly your mother, spent hours in adoption agencies. It was the only option we had to leave the cycle of misery. However, the wait in Israel for a child is very long since there are very few children up for adoption and dozens of families fighting for each child. We stood by as time passed and wanted a child as long as we were still young, so we could jump with it, play and run.

  Then, something that would change our lives happened, one day I went to a meeting in one of the offices we were working with. I wanted to suggest they bought some compartment we brought from Denmark. When I entered the supervisor’s office, all staff was there, clinking wine glasses. When I heard the ‘Mazal Tov’ I understood they were having a real celebration.

  “What are they celebrating?” I asked, “what happened?”

  “Ethan adopted a child from Brazil,” someone happily replied.

  I was puzzl
ed for a moment and then began whispering many questions.

  “Why are you whispering?” the supervisor told me, come celebrate with us. I realized there weren’t any secrets, and everything was out in the open. I approached Ethan, who was standing in the middle of the room, with awe and reverence. His face was lit with the world’s joy, I asked if he could speak with me. Ethan didn’t know me back then, but the supervisor told him who I was and he hugged me. We exchanged some whispers. This is a moment that will stay with me forever.

  The end of the story is known. I came back home with Dona Arlete’s number in Curitiba, Brazil. I didn’t know of the existence of that city until then. Since then we kept in touch and she served us with loyalty. We couldn’t get much information through these transatlantic conversations. We did understand, however, that there is some legal difficulty in adopting Brazilian children, which is why we thought it best to fly there as soon as possible.

  By deciding to go to Brazil, we also accepted the fact we’d be adopting a child of a different race. Yet, we didn’t see it as anything exceptional. We’re all human, no matter the color of our skin (don’t forget I’m also dark) or the shape of our nose. We knew that where and how we would raise our child is what mattered.

  I once read a book called Losing Isaiah. The book is about a white family adopting a dark child. This family had a biological daughter of their own, and they still decided to adopt. The boy’s biological mother was a poor drug addict. When she was rehabilitated, she fought to get her son back, and won. After a while, however, seeing as it was in her son’s best interest, she returned the boy to his adoptive family.

  This book raised a lot of issues for me. First, how could a dark kid grow up in a white family and feel among his equals? I remember well that throughout the novel, not once did the adoptive mother consider race or color. She didn’t see him as different from her daughter. On the contrary, she fought to keep him and spoke of the similarities between giving birth to her daughter and adopting her son. She felt she had saved them both and they had saved her. I feel just like her, which is why I consider you to be a part of me, you’re my biological son, you even resemble me in character and appearance. My eyes just aren’t as beautiful as yours, your eyes are your mother’s. People say that with time a husband becomes increasingly similar to his wife, as did happen with us; it’s only been 3 years and you’re already like me, you’ve actually resembled me from the very beginning.