Here I Am

by Jonathan Safran Foer

  “We are standing atop the greatest archaeological site that will never be,” Shlomo said, “filled with the most valuable objects in the world, the place where history and religion meet. All underground, never to be touched.”

  Irv was adamant that Israel should dig, come what may. It was a cultural, historical, and intellectual obligation. But to Jacob, until those things were unearthed—until they could be seen and touched—they would be unreal. So it was better to keep them out of sight.

  What if, instead of apologizing and turning, Jacob had gone to Julia and lifted the towel, as he’d lifted her veil before the wedding, confirming that she was still the woman she said she was, the woman he still wanted?

  Jacob tried to keep the conversations with Julia underground, but she needed the end of their family to be seen and touched. She expressed her continued respect for Jacob, her desire to be friends, best friends, and good co-parents, the best, and to use a mediator and not get lost in all that was not to be cared about, and to live around the corner from each other and go on vacations together, and to dance at each other’s second weddings—although she swore that she would never marry again. Jacob agreed, without believing that any of what she said was either happening or would happen. They’d experienced so many necessary passages—sleep-training the boys, teething, falls from small bicycles, Sam’s physical therapy. This, too, would probably pass.

  They could navigate the house to avoid each other, and they could navigate conversations to maintain the illusion of safety, but there was no underground when a child was in the room or the conversation. Many times, Julia would catch sight of one of the boys—Benjy looking up in thought from a drawing of Odysseus facing the Cyclops, Max examining the hairs on his forearm, Sam carefully applying reinforcements as needed in his binder—and think, I can’t.

  And Jacob would think, We won’t.

  DAMASCUS

  The day before the beginning of the destruction of Israel, Julia and Sam were scrambling to get their things together before the Uber driver, Mohammed, was moved to give them a one-star rating, thereby sealing their fate as haram passengers. Jacob was preparing Benjy, who was dressed like a pirate, for a day with his grandparents.

  “You have everything?” Julia asked Sam.

  “Yes,” he said, unable to muster the herculean effort to conceal his annoyance at nothing.

  “Don’t yes Mom,” Jacob said, for Julia’s benefit and his own. Camaraderie had been hard to find in the past two weeks—not because there was cruelty, just the absence of direct interaction. There had been a few moments, usually triggered by a shared reflexive wonder at something one of the boys had said or done, when it felt like Jacob and Julia were once again wearing the same uniform. The day Oliver Sacks died, Jacob shared some of his hero’s life with the boys, explaining the range of his interests, his closeted homosexuality, his famous use of L-dopa with human produce, and how perhaps the most curious and engaged person of the last fifty years spent more than thirty of those years celibate.

  “Celibate?” Max asked.

  “Not having sex.”

  “So?”

  “So he was eager to take in everything the world had to offer, but he didn’t want to, or couldn’t, share himself.”

  “Maybe he was impotent,” Julia suggested.

  “No,” Jacob said, feeling the wound open, “he just—”

  “Or maybe he was patient.”

  “I’m celibate,” Benjy said.

  “You?” Sam said. “You’re Wilt Chamberlain.”

  “I’m not whoever that is, and I haven’t stuck my penis into another person’s vagina hole.”

  The defense of his celibacy was kind of funny. Referring to “another person’s vagina hole” was kind of funny. But he said funnier, more precocious things every few minutes. It didn’t feel like a metaphor, or accidental wisdom. It didn’t scratch any exposed nerves. But for the first time since she discovered the phone, it forced Julia’s eyes to meet Jacob’s. And in that moment, he felt sure that they would find their way back.

  But there wasn’t a lot of camaraderie now.

  “What did I say?” Sam asked.

  “It’s how you said it,” Jacob said.

  “How did I say whatever I said?”

  “Like this,” Jacob said, imitating Sam’s Yes.

  “I can handle my half of a conversation with my son,” Julia told Jacob. Then she asked Sam, “Did you remember your toothbrush?”

  “Of course he has his toothbrush,” Jacob said, making a small allegiance correction.

  “Shit,” Sam said, turning and hustling upstairs.

  “He wanted you to chaperone,” Julia said.

  “No. I don’t think that’s true.”

  She picked up Benjy and said, “I’m going to miss you, my little man.”

  “Opi said I can say bad words at his house.”

  “In his house, it’s his rules,” Jacob said.

  “Well, no,” Julia corrected.

  “Shit, or penis…”

  “Penis isn’t a bad word,” Jacob said.

  “I doubt Omi would like you talking like that.”

  “Opi said it didn’t matter.”

  “You misheard him.”

  “He said, ‘Omi doesn’t matter.’ ”

  “He was joking,” Jacob said.

  “Asshole is a bad word.”

  Sam came back down the stairs with his toothbrush.

  “Dress shoes?” Julia asked.

  “Fuuuuuuck.”

  “Fuck, too,” Benjy said.

  Sam hustled back up the stairs.

  “Maybe give him a bit more space?” Jacob suggested in the form of a question ostensibly addressed to the collective consciousness.

  “I don’t think I was being annoying.”

  “Of course you weren’t. I just meant that Mark can play the bad guy on the trip. If necessary.”

  “Hopefully it won’t be.”

  “Forty pubescents away from home?”

  “I wouldn’t describe Sam as pubescent.”

  “Pubescent?” Benjy asked.

  “I’m glad Mark will be there,” Jacob said. “You know, you might not even remember, but you said something about him, a couple of weeks ago, in the context of—”

  “I remember.”

  “We said a lot of things.”

  “We did.”

  “I just wanted to say that.”

  “I’m not sure what you just said.”

  “Just that.”

  “Take the opportunity to get to know him a bit,” Julia said, moving right along.

  “Max?”

  “Don’t just go off to your separate worlds.”

  “I don’t have a world, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “It’ll be fun picking up the Israelis tomorrow.”

  “Will it?”

  “You and Max can be Team America.”

  Max came down the stairs. “Why are you talking about me?”

  “We weren’t talking about you,” Jacob said.

  “I was just saying to Dad that you guys should try to find things to do together while everyone’s away.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “My folks,” Jacob said.

  “Together together?” Max whispered to Julia.

  Jacob opened the door. Benjy wrestled himself free of Julia’s arms and ran to Deborah.

  “Omi!”

  “Hey, Omi,” Max said.

  “I’ve got Ebola?” Irv asked.

  “Ebola?”

  “Hey, Opi.”

  “Cool Moshe Dayan outfit.”

  “I’m a pirate.”

  Irv lowered himself to Benjy’s level and performed what might very well have been a perfect Dayan impression, if anyone had known what Dayan sounded like: “The Syrians will soon learn that the road from Damascus to Jerusalem also goes from Jerusalem to Damascus!”

  “Arrrgggg!”

  “I wrote up his schedule,” Julia said to Deborah. “
And put together a bag with a few prepared meals.”

  “I’ve prepared a meal or two million in my day.”

  “I know,” Julia said, trying to reciprocate Deborah’s obvious affection. “I just want to make it as easy as possible.”

  “I have a freezer full of very frozen foods,” Deborah told Benjy.

  “Morningstar Farms veggie bacon strips?”

  “Hm.”

  “Fuuuuuuck.”

  “Benjy!”

  Sam came running down the stairs with his shoes, paused, said, “Goddamn it!” and turned back around.

  “Language,” Julia said.

  “Dad says there’s no bad language.”

  “I said there’s bad usage. And that was bad usage.”

  “Are we gonna burn the midnight oil?” Irv asked Benjy.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Not too late,” Julia told Deborah.

  “And tomorrow we’ll fetch the Israelis?”

  “I’m taking him to the zoo,” Deborah said. “Remember?”

  Irv held up his phone: “Siri, do I remember what this woman is talking about?”

  Sam came running back down the stairs with a belt.

  “Hey, kid,” Irv said.

  “Hey, Opi. Hey, Omi.”

  “All’s copacetic with your hate speech?”

  “I didn’t do it.”

  “You know, I once chaperoned your dad’s class on a Model UN trip.”

  “No you didn’t,” Jacob said.

  “Sure I did.”

  “Believe me, you didn’t.”

  “You’re right,” Irv said, winking at Sam. “I’m thinking of the time I took you to the actual UN.” And then, slapping his own hand: “Bad father.”

  “You forgot me there.”

  “Obviously not permanently.” And then, to Sam: “Ready to give ’em hell?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Remember, if they seat a delegate from so-called Palestine, you tell them what’s what, then get up and walk out. You hear me? Punch with your mouth, and talk with your feet.”

  “We’re representing Micronesia—”

  “Siri, what is Micronesia?”

  “And we, you know, debate resolutions, and respond to whatever crisis they manufacture.”

  “They the Arabs?”

  “The facilitators.”

  “He knows what he’s doing, Dad.”

  Three full honks, followed by nine rapid blasts—Shevarim, Teruah.

  “Mohammed is losing patience,” Julia said.

  “And it was never his forte,” Irv said.

  “We’ll go, too,” Deborah said. “We have a big day planned: story time, arts and crafts, a nature walk—”

  “—eat jelly fruit slices, make fun of Charlie Rose…”

  “Come on, Argus!” Jacob called.

  “I want to marry jelly fruit slices.”

  “We’re going to the vet,” Max explained to Deborah.

  “Everything’s fine,” Jacob said, alleviating concern that belonged to no one.

  “Except he poops in the house twice every day,” Max said.

  “He’s old. It’s convention.”

  “Does Great-Grandpa poop in the house twice every day?” Benjy asked.

  Silence as everyone privately acknowledged that, as their visits had become so rare, it was impossible to rule out the possibility that Isaac pooped in the house twice a day.

  “Actually, doesn’t everyone poop in the house twice a day?” Benjy asked.

  “Your brother means in the house, but not in the bathroom.”

  “He has a colostomy bag,” Irv said. “Wherever he goes, there his poop is.”

  “What’s a whatever bag?” Benjy asked.

  Jacob cleared his throat and began: “Great-Grandpa’s intestines—”

  “Like a doggie bag for his crap,” Irv said.

  “But why would he want to eat it later?” Benjy asked.

  “Maybe someone could check in on him while we’re away,” Julia said. “You could even bring the Israelis by on the way home.”

  “That’s what I was planning,” Jacob lied.

  Mohammed honked again, this time with the sustain pedal.

  Everyone headed out together: Deborah, Irv, and Benjy off to a marionette Pinocchio at Glen Echo; Julia and Sam to catch the bus from school; Jacob, Max, and Argus to the vet. Julia hugged Max and Benjy, and didn’t hug Jacob, but told him: “Don’t forget to—”

  “Go,” he said. “Have fun. Make world peace.”

  “A lasting peace,” Julia said, the words having organized themselves.

  “And say hi to Mark for me. Really.”

  “Not now, OK?”

  “You’re hearing something I didn’t say.”

  A curt “Goodbye.”

  Halfway down the stoop, Benjy called back: “What if I don’t miss you?”

  “You can call us,” Jacob said. “My phone will always be on, and I’ll never be more than a short drive away.”

  “I said what if I don’t miss you?”

  “What?”

  “Is that OK?”

  “Of course it’s OK,” Julia said, giving Benjy a last kiss. “Nothing would make me happier than for you to have so much fun you don’t think about us at all.”

  Jacob came down the stairs to give Benjy the last, last kiss.

  “And anyway,” he said, “you’ll miss us.”

  And then, for the first time in his life, Benjy chose not to voice a thought.

  THE SIDE THAT FACES AWAY

  They stopped at McDonald’s on the way. It was a vet visit ritual, something Jacob started doing after hearing a podcast about a shelter in L.A. that euthanized more dogs than anywhere else in America. The woman who ran it put down each and every dog herself, sometimes a dozen a day. She called each by its name, gave each as good a walk as it could handle, talked to it, stroked it, and, as a final gesture before the needle, fed it McNuggets. As she put it, “It’s the last meal they would ask for.”

  Argus’s visits in the past couple of years had been for joint pain, eye cloudiness, fatty lumps on the belly, and incontinence. They weren’t suggestive of an imminent end, but Jacob knew how nervous the vet’s office made him and felt that he owed his pal a reward, which might also serve as a positive association. Whether or not he would have chosen them as his last meal, Argus tore through the McNuggets, swallowing most of them whole. For as long as he’d been a member of the Bloch family, he had eaten Newman’s Own twice a day without any variation. (Julia militantly banned table scraps, as they would “force Argus to become a beggar.”) The McNuggets always led to diarrhea, sometimes vomiting. But that usually took a few hours, which could be timed to coincide with a walk in the park. And it was worth it.

  Jacob and Max got McNuggets for themselves, too. They almost never ate meat in the house—again, Julia’s decision—and fast food ranked just below cannibalism on the list of things not to be done. Neither Jacob nor Max missed McNuggets, but sharing something Julia disapproved of was a bonding experience. They pulled over at Fort Reno Park and made an impromptu picnic. Argus was loyal enough, and lethargic enough, to be trusted off-leash. Max stroked him as he swallowed McNugget after McNugget, telling him, “You’re a good dog. You’re good. You’re good.”

  Pathetic as it felt, Jacob was jealous. Julia’s cruel comments—however accurate, however deserved—lingered painfully in his mind. He kept returning to the line “I don’t believe you’re there at all.” It was among the least specific, least pointed things she’d said in the course of their first fight about the phone, and a different person’s mind would probably have attached itself to something else. But that was what echoed: “I don’t believe you’re there at all.”

  “I used to come here a lot when I was younger,” Jacob said to Max. “We’d sled down that hill.”

  “Who was we?”

  “Usually friends. Grandpa might have taken me a couple times, though I don’t remember it. When it was warm,
I’d come here to play baseball.”

  “Games? Or just goofing around?”

  “Mostly goofing. It was never easy to get a minyan. Sometimes. Maybe the last day of school before a break.”

  “You’re good, Argus. So good.”

  “When I got older, we’d buy beer from the Tenleytown Grocery—just over there. They never carded us.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “You have to be twenty-one to buy beer legally, so usually places will ask for ID, like a driver’s license, to see how old you are. Tenleytown never did. So we all bought beer there.”

  “You were breaking the law.”

  “It was a different time. And you know what Martin Luther King said about just and unjust laws.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Basically, it was our moral responsibility to buy the beer.”

  “Good Argus.”

  “I’m kidding, of course. It is not good to buy beer before you’re of age, and please don’t tell Mom that I told you that story.”

  “OK.”

  “Do you know what a minyan is?”

  “No.”

  “Why didn’t you ask?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s ten men over the age of thirteen. That’s what’s required for prayers to count at synagogue.”

  “Sounds sexist and ageist.”

  “Definitely both,” Jacob said, pulling a wildflower. “Fugazi used to play a free show here every summer.”

  “What’s Fugazi?”

  “Only the greatest band ever to have existed, by any definition of great. Their music was great. Their ethos was great. They were just great.”