Motti (11 page)

Well, something happened. Something happened that's impossible to ignore. There was the gathering up and there was the rinsing in water, there were the bleach and the rag that was also thrown into the garbage, to cover up the remains, and even before all this there had been the hamster's rapid heartbeats, his instantaneous, absolute terror, the pain when those teeth were sunk into him, his cry, the additional pain when what was torn was torn, his last heartbeat, the absence of pain, the darkness if there was darkness. And already a new hamster in the cage, far above on the table, no one will know that anything happened here, Edna won't say a thing, why upset the children—but all these things were, definitely were, but where are they now, what are the ramifications for the plot, this is not known.

And if I had the talent for it, I wouldn't make a story out of all this, but a dollhouse instead. Look: this is Sarah's empty room, who dressed warm, ate something small, drank a cup of coffee with Sweet'N Low, then left the house and that's all. And here, in a different room, a metal doll in the shape of Edna lies in bed, and she dreams a bad dream. It doesn't seep into Menachem's sleep, who lies beside her, since dreams don't seep anywhere. She dreams, for example, about her son who has yet to be born, he stands in the middle of a field of smoke, behind him are trampling war machines and chunks of earth rise up in the air because of the bombing, and Edna looks at him with an indescribable sadness as he calls to her as if nothing happened even though his shirt is soaked in blood and tissue, completely torn up in the places where once he had arms and now there are only shreds of flesh that he raises as he calls to her laughingly, “Look, Ma! No hands!” This a very common dream in this country.

In another room, out of scraps of dark paper: sky-darkening trees, a ground carpeted in needles hiding sharp rocks, perhaps later a moon lacking color rising above, and amid all this the river from Guard B's stories flows along in fog, and in the background his friend Tom stands, whose parents had a store in State Square, he was probably the first child in Israel with this name. And he had a brother named Lace and another brother named Crane and a sister, Thrion they called her, and all of them very much loved exciting adventure stories.

Another room will be the prison cell. And another one, on the other side of a thin partition, made perhaps out of popsicle sticks, will be the empty abode of Motti in his home. High, high above, far off in the sky, a plane will pass by. There will be another room there, another whole wing, a giant library containing Motti's marvelous future. In the meantime, he isn't too involved with the world, tries hard to avoid it, but in the future he'll get involved—now he isn't a father, but he'll even be a father then. Establish rules, attend to things. And not arbitrarily. Not the way we punish a kid and say to him, and so to ourselves as well, this is a learning experience, when actually we mean: this is what our own father did to us, in his day—and we still don't really get the point.

A doghouse will be there too, in this dollhouse. It too is empty, since Laika was never forced to live in a doghouse. Her whole life she will sleep next to beds and even on them, and people will pet her at night.

But it's also possible to make a different shape in space, in place of this story. To make out of papier-mâché or even clockwork various tracks that people could hurry down, like those cardboard decoys dogs chase at the races, but, in this case, each one magnetized to the others (I mean, the rushing cardboard people). And in fact it's lucky that the speed of the cardboard people is greater than the force of attraction, so that each one still stays on its track. Otherwise, they would crash into each other with all the terrible force of their acceleration, and nothing would remain of them.

Motti saw, on his small stool, really saw, with his own eyes, how he and the chubby Ariella (because of her pregnancy) would stroll and hold hands in the street, and then, even better than this, don't hold hands directly, but rather each one of them holds a hand of the small girl who walks between them, and every three steps they lift her in the air, hup, hup, and by now she's choking from all the excitement of this familiar occurrence, every three steps—look, two more, one more, and now—being lifted up into the air and then returning to the ground and so on again and again. Galit, they'll call her. The girl. The three of them will walk in the street and Ariella with her tummy. A lollipop, too, he would put there, in this picture, if it weren't for the fact that Galit's two hands are busy with their hands, so they can lift her. Maybe the lollipop will be in her mouth, if so. The three of them will go to a puppet show, let's say. And he and Ariella will be just amazed at her trust, amazed at Galit's uncompromising acceptance of everything that happens on the tiny stage. It will astound them how the children sit there truly hypnotized, they don't pick up on a single one of the production's contradictions, giving themselves like this to the pleasure, none of them being the least bit restless, whereas he, Motti, it seems to him that he always was a problematic boy, even as a boy he was a problem, never once really enjoyed himself, always stealing a glance to the side to see how people expected him to have fun, and then tried to look as though he was, but no, not now, there's no place here for this self-pity, for this futile, idiotic longing. This isn't his second chance. This is her first chance, what's her name, Galit. And how much fun she's having! On the stage is a mouse, a mouse puppet, with a knight's sword and a crown. And the children, as one person, laugh in the right places, hold their breath in the right places, breathe again right after. And then the three of them will leave, at the end of the performance. After they applaud until their fingers almost hurt, such a wonderful play it was, they'll come again to see it next chance they get, and at home they'll cut up a cardboard box, make a window in it, and Ariella will sew small curtains, and in the evening, instead of television, they'll put on small performances for each other. The heart breaks, it does.

On his little stool he sees all this. All these worlds open up to him. And then the voice of Guard B invades. His nasal, annoying voice. “And then we set sail!” he says. “Would you believe it? Me and Jimbo sail down the Yarkon River inside a small boat. The immigration police on his trail—but we're in the boat. Like it's the Mississippi, I swear.”

“Uh huh,” says Motti politely but grudgingly. Galit dissolves, as does Ariella.

“And we're there,” continues the guard. “Rowing like crazy in that little boat, I swear, I think about it now and see us like in a movie, makes me laugh, you know. But then, how scared we were then, you can't imagine.”

(No, wait. Here it is nonetheless, a tail to grab hold of: the mouse's tail, the mouse, the mouse puppet, puppet theater, they'll all sit in the living room and laugh, they'll make popcorn even, in a big pot with a glass lid, and watch it pop. And on Fridays they'll go out to eat in a restaurant, this will be their weekly treat, and Ariella, she'll order…)

“And all around—fog! Fog like you've never seen before! And I'm carried away on this raft in one direction, and Jimbo in the boat, who knows where he is. And I called out to Jimbo. But quietly, so the police won't hear. And he, like an idiot, he screams back to me…”

(…and ice cream for dessert. And when she grows up a bit, Galit, he'll be one of those fathers who embarrass their children at restaurants. Joking with the waitress, and when she asks how this or that dish tasted, he'll tell her honestly. And Galit, she'll say, ugh, Dad! Can't go out with you anywhere! And that's just the beginning. At class parties he'll volunteer to supervise, he'll sit in the kitchen with one of the other fathers, and from time to time stick his head through the door, are you behaving nicely, children? And Galit will no longer say ugh, Dad! nothing, just her face will say, c'mon, you're embarrassing me, go, go away already! And he'll return to the kitchen, and the two of them sitting there will say, how they've grown! How they've grown! I remember like it was yesterday…)

“And in the end I get there, totally wet, feeling like I swam from here to Nahariya, who knows how long it took, maybe ten minutes, but then it felt like a week to me. Climb onto the boat and what do I find? Jimbo sitting there asleep, got tired of looking for me, poor guy, definitely thought I drowned and was done for. And me, after I wring out my wet shirt, I say to him, Jimbo, Jimbo, what, you fell asleep? And he wakes up, did he ever wake up, jumps, almost cap-sized the boat on us, and he hugs me, says to me…”

(And so too at the end of high school. He'll sit there, in the crowd, with a camera—and rejoice. When she graduates college he'll no longer embarrass her. She'll understand him, understand the not-at-all-simple position of fathers in this world. And how he'll cry when she gets married! He and Ariella will each help hold the
chuppah
.)

“No, seriously, I'm telling you. For sure you dreamed it. Fog on the Yarkon? Whoever heard of such a thing. Thanks for worrying about me in your dream too, I joke. And he nods like this, thinking. We sit like that in silence for a minute or two and then suddenly his eyes stop on my shoes. Wait, he says to me. If I only dreamed it, where did your wet shoes come from? I thought I was going to piss from laughing, but he didn't laugh. Just said to me, you wouldn't do a thing like that…”

(They'll be the best grandfather and grandmother in the world, that's clear. There will be a cupboard full of sweets at home, and the grandchildren will be allowed to stay up until late, to jump rope in the living room, to eat in front of the television, to play with the computer until two in the morning even.)

“I was a boy, you understand? I didn't think he'd be so insulted. I thought, all told, we'd laugh a little.”

(And in the shed, in a crate, after their death she'll find the doll, the curtains, and will remember that she had wonderful parents. Wonderful.)

“So I went there and apologized to him, I nearly kissed his black feet. And even today it bothers me, burns me here in my heart, because I work in a prison, you know, and every day hear about horrible, ugly acts, but this ugly act of mine, I swear, up till today, I still don't forgive myself for it.”

“Uh huh,” says Motti.

“Yeah, well,” the Guard clears his throat. “That's how it was. Hard to believe, huh?”

“Uh huh.”

“You wouldn't believe the sorts of things that happened afterward,” says Guard B and hesitates. “You wouldn't believe them, I'm telling you. But I've got to go now, excuse me,” he's embarrassed. “Remind me sometime, I'll tell you everything,” he says, as if trying to salvage his dignity, to cover up the insult, for he's tried to put his life in someone else's hands, and was refused.

Daddy, Daddy, Galit will say when they stand on the porch and raise their arms to sky, or David will say, if it's a boy. Daddy, Daddy, the stars are so high! And Motti will say, right. They're way up high. And Galit or David will say, yes! Way up high! And will add in a serious and responsible voice, way up high! But not allowed without Daddy and Mommy!

He and Ariella will smile at each other above the head of the boy or the girl. Right, they'll say. But not allowed without Daddy and Mommy. And they'll hug and raise him or her up into the air, hup, hup, and give them a big, exciting spin around and around.

He'll never sit alone in his home with weak arms, veins drawn out under his skin in terminal blue, and hearing the door open ask, alarmed, who is it, who is it, I'm calling the police, who's there, who? Not like that. Because if the door is opened, when it's opened, certainly it will only be to admit people dear to his heart. He'll never fall in the street, trip over a stone sticking out in the sidewalk (someone, man or woman, will hold his hand, they'll walk with him calmly, they won't be impatient, won't make an issue of their ability to still move freely, won't make an issue of their still-flexible limbs). He won't sit alone—immersed in the shadows of his fading vision—on a street bench, longing for some passerby to ask him, need some help, Gramps? He won't sit there, fearing the rough voice, the rough hands that will grab his bag, that will rummage through his clothes to take his wallet. Won't try to string together a hopeless conversation with a nurse at the HMO office, a clerk at the post office or the national insurance, a receptionist, a telemarketer. If he suddenly wants to talk, to tell about his memories even (to leave them in someone's hands, so they won't be lost when he dies), if this is what he'll want, his loved ones will be with him to listen, to chat, to talk about things that happened, to ask his advice, perhaps even to laugh together. Way up high! he'll remember and tell them and they'll smile together. Way up high! But not allowed without Daddy and Mommy!

 

He toils over his love as others toil over the construction of a ship in a bottle. They have a whole table with lots of tweezers and small glue bottles and fine brushes. And the tweezers, this one is for the boards of the deck and this one is for the little sail, this one is to pull tight the ropes that will raise the sails and then the ship will sail, but where will it sail to, sealed in a bottle, that's not a problem, just seal it with a cork and throw it into the sea, such adventures await there.

I took them yesterday, said Menachem.

Fine fine, said Edna, who's already late for work. So take them today, too. You already know the way.

Very funny, said Menachem and didn't laugh. It's your turn today, c'mon. I'm late too.

What's this with my turn today? Edna got angry. This is a home here, not an amusement park. There's no line for rides. And where are you late to anyway? I swear.

The way you talk, you'd think that I just sit around here all day, Menachem got angry. It's going to take all day to finish this project. I'm already late anyway.

C'mon, said Edna, and I'm not late?

(Daddy, Daddy, said Avi. Look what I painted! Very nice, sweetie, said Menachem without looking.)

Edna repeated again, And I'm not late, Menachem?

If you got up early you wouldn't be late now. Menachem was annoyed. My day is organized to the minute. You know that. You'd think that I…

I'd think that you what? asked Edna. And Menachem answered, you'd think that I do this for the fun of it. I'm trying to support us here.

And what am I doing, excuse me? Edna asked angrily.

Don't start with me now, said Menachem. You know very well what I meant. And when we organized the days for driving…

When we organized the days for driving, Edna interrupted him, we organized them like that so it would be convenient for the both of us. And today isn't convenient for me. This isn't a contract with a lawyer here, Menachem, she said and swept her keys, wallet, and cell phone into her purse.

What a shame, said Menachem.

Really a shame, Edna said angrily. Because then I would insert a clause, the signee is prohibited from being a lazy ass who isn't even willing to take his children to daycare.

Don't make this into more than what it is, said Menachem.

I'm not making this into anything whatsoever, said Edna. They're your children too, you know. You're always complaining that you don't spend enough time with them, so here, you got more time. Now just do me a favor and take them and that's all, okay?

Fine, fine, said Menachem and got up from the table, finishing the rest of his coffee in one gulp and then making a face because of the grounds. But you owe me.

Sure thing, said Edna. Okay, I'm off.

Give us a kiss, said Menachem.

She gave.

Daddy, asked one of the children, are we going already?

We're going already, answered Menachem, who was still getting dressed in the bedroom.

Daddy, can you make me a sandwich?

We're already late, said Menachem, who returned to the kitchen and tied his shoes.

But I'm hungry.

We'll buy you something on the way, said Menachem. Let's go, let's go, late already.

Daddy, can we do piggyback to the car?

Not today, said Menachem and grabbed the keys. It's already very late.

They got into the car and drove off.

Daddy, his son Avi asked him when they arrived at daycare, do you miss Grandpa?

Of course, said Menachem.

I miss him too, said Avi.

That's great, said Menachem and closed the car door.

And after he left the kids at daycare, after he returned home and peeked into the secret box and sat down to work, he didn't know that, in another ten years (ten years from now), his daughter would come home hurt and with filthy pants, and straight from the shower would get into bed, and wouldn't leave it for maybe two days, and regardless, now he was wasting time answering emails and surfing back and forth between news sites, and in spite of this he still managed to finish the project, his insufficient time was nevertheless enough, and he forgot to go out with Laika, but she held on until evening. Good girl.