All Backs Were Turned Page 4

  “Where is it?”

  “Over there.” He directed them to the pit. It was short and narrow; the walls along its sides were so close together the men had to climb over the back to get out of the jeep. Dov lowered himself into the pit; it was barely three feet deep. He hit his head against the bumper while removing the oil-pan plug with a spanner.

  “Fucking hole,” Dov said.

  “Don’t blame me, I’m not the one who’s running this country,” the owner said, tossing him two one-gallon cans of oil and a filter. He didn’t go away, only stood there regarding the three men with a hopeless, disappointed stare. “I dug it out myself. I had two inspections from the town council and each time they told me I had to make it deeper.” Suddenly he gave them a happy smile. “Quite a few guys have busted their heads in my pit.”

  “So will you one day,” Dov said. “And your wife will be free at last to marry your partner. They’ve been planning it for years.” He backed the jeep out. “Hop in,” he said to Israel and his brother. “Do we eat at home or should I stop by a restaurant?”

  “Let’s go straight home,” Little Dov said, getting in.

  They drove slowly, raising a cloud of reddish dust. The sun was climbing over the mountains, which didn’t look so red anymore; they were dark and distant.

  “Now turn left and stop,” Little Dov said, and when Dov parked the jeep in front of a small house, he added, “and try not to provoke the old bastard.”

  “That won’t be easy,” Dov said. He took the canvas bag from the back seat and slung it over his shoulder. “One day he’s going to bite his own hand and die of rabies.”

  They went inside. Little Dov opened the door to one room and let them through. An old man sitting at the table lifted his eyes.

  “Look, Pop, look who’s here,” Little Dov said. “And he seems to be in top form, too.”

  “Where is Dina?” the old man asked.

  “I don’t know, Pop,” Dov said.

  “You come to me, your old father, and you can’t tell me where your wife is?”

  “She’s a bad woman, Pop,” Dov said. He spoke with an effort, his eyes fixed on the old man who had begun to tremble with anger. “Forget her.”

  “Women aren’t good or bad,” the old man said. “But some men just don’t know how to handle them. I spent thirty years with your mother, and for thirty years she did what I told her. And thought what I thought. Where is Dina, your wife?”

  “She’s with another man,” Dov said. “She’s going to have his bastard.”

  “You come to me, your old father, and tell me you married a whore? Is that why I fled to this land to father you, so you’d be born free? Is that why I swore to God that I’d give my children freedom, and paid for it with my health and years of hard labor?” He threw Dov a wild, maniacal look. “Where is Dina, Dov?” he yelled.

  Dov picked up a glass of water from the table and took a sip. His teeth clinked against the glass.

  “You’re old, sick, and mad,” he said to his father. “That’s all I have to say to you. You’re cruel like a child. But you’re old, and soon you’ll die.”

  “Have you finished drinking?” the old man asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then put the glass back on the table.”

  When Dov did, the old man picked it up and threw it against the wall with all his strength. The three men leaped aside.

  “And so it will be with anything you touch in my room,” the old man said. “Don’t ever come in here again until you go back to Dina or she comes back to you. You’re not a man, Dov. Now go away, all of you, and close the door.”

  They walked out of the room and filed into the kitchen. Little Dov took three beers out of the refrigerator and placed them on the table.

  “What a charming man our Pop is!” he said. “Too bad he’s a Jew. If he wasn’t, he could play the tooth fairy in plays for little kids.” He turned to Israel. “How do you find the old bastard?”

  “I feel sorry for him,” Israel said.

  “I don’t,” said Little Dov. “My wife often cries because of him.”

  The door opened and a young woman entered the kitchen.

  “My wife, Esther,” Little Dov said. “And this is my brother, Dov.”

  “I’ve been hearing all kinds of stories about you,” Esther said, stopping in front of Dov. “But I’m glad you’re here.” She held out her hand and he took it gently, surprised how slim and fragile it was. “I’m glad you’re going to help us.”

  “How can I help you, Esther?” Dov asked. He was sitting tiredly on a chair; he had pulled off his shirt, and they could all see his hard bronzed shoulders.

  “It’s got to do with my fishing, Dov,” his brother said.

  “You’re the fisherman, not me. I hate fish. I’m sorry, but I never liked them. I do like herring, but only when I’m drinking vodka. And you don’t drink. Don’t ever start. You’ll save yourself lots of trouble.”

  “Dov,” his brother said, “do you know how much I made this year? Two thousand eight hundred pounds. And the season is almost over. I don’t think I’ll make four thousand this year. You know how much I made last year? Eleven thousand.”

  “I told you I’m not a fisherman,” he said. “I can try lending you a hand, but I don’t think I’ll be of much use.”

  Little Dov walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside. “Come here, Dov,” he said to his brother.

  Dov stepped up to him, a bottle of beer in his hand; he leaned against the wall and then quickly drew away from it. They all saw the dark stain on the wall where he’d touched it with his bare back.

  “I don’t need to admire the view,” he said. “I know Eilat. I was here in nineteen forty-eight, when we took the place.” He took a swig of beer from his bottle and placed it on the table. “Our whole force consisted of fourteen army jeeps.”

  “Look at that truck, Dov.”

  “It’s an old GMC. We had them in the army.”

  “It belongs to some guys who fish here, Dov,” his brother said. “They’re stealing my fish and my money. They didn’t come to Eilat of their own free will, like I did. They were sent here by the police. For them, fishing is a nice cozy job. They’ve got motorboats; they can catch as many fish as they want. My fish. And now they bought this truck and make more money than they ever dreamed of in jail.”

  “The sea belongs to everybody,” Dov said. “It can’t be fenced off with barbed wire. I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

  “Those guys know you.”

  “But I don’t want to know them.”

  “They know you, and they fear you.”

  “That’s silly,” Dov said. “They shouldn’t be afraid of me. I mean them no harm.”

  “I thought—”

  “I know what you thought,” Dov said. “You thought that when your big brother came, he’d beat them up for you. Nothing doing. I’m almost forty. I want peace and quiet. And one more thing: if I start even the tiniest brawl, they’ll put me behind bars for a few years. Remember, I’m on parole. If anything happens, I go right back in the slammer. If I jostle somebody in the street, it’s all they need to lock me up.” He took the bottle of beer his brother was holding in his hand and finished it with one gulp. “Look, if my presence in this house bothers you in any way, just tell me. I’ll move to a hotel.”

  “No,” Little Dov said. “You’re my brother.” He paused. “You really won’t help me, Dov?”

  Dov raised his tired eyes.

  “See that bag in the corner?” he asked. “Do you see it?”

  “Yes,” Little Dov said.

  “That’s all I have. The jeep isn’t mine. Try to live differently than I did.” He slowly stepped up to Esther and pulled her into the center of the kitchen, into the circle of light. “You have a beautiful wife.” He placed his heavy hands on her shoulders. “You don’t want to lose her. Try to live differently than I did, that’s all I can say.”

  “I heard those guys want to buy anothe
r boat,” Little Dov said. “If they do I might as well pack my bags and leave Eilat.”

  “So leave. You’re young and you have a beautiful wife. All you need to be happy is a bed and neighbors who sleep hard.” He went to the corner and picked up his bag. “Where will we sleep?”

  “I thought I’d put you up in Pop’s room,” Little Dov said. “But now I guess you’d better sleep with us.”

  “In the same room with you and Esther?”

  “You’re my brother.”

  “Yes, I’m your old, worthless brother who is unable to help you. I’d like to get some sleep now. We didn’t sleep at all last night.”

  “Fine.”

  They went into the bedroom. Israel pulled out two blankets from their bag; Esther gave him two more.

  “These will be enough,” Dov said. “Here, in Eilat, almost everybody sleeps on the floor. Are you two going to bed, too?”

  “No,” Little Dov said. “I’d like to borrow your jeep and take Esther to the beach.” He paused. “I don’t have a car.” He walked over to the window and closed it. “Can’t they park that goddamn truck somewhere else?” He paused again. “Can I borrow the jeep?”

  Dov gave him the keys and said, “Good night. Good night, Esther.”

  She didn’t say anything. For a moment she stood in the doorway, then turned and left. Soon afterward Dov and Israel heard the roar of the jeep’s engine. They turned off the light, but neither of them could fall asleep at once.

  “Tiles again,” Dov said. “Last night I was looking at them, now I have to lie on them.”

  “Think about something else.”

  “Too bad we don’t have any sleeping pills. I won’t be able to sleep. When Dina was with me, I never needed any pills.” He propped himself on his elbows. “You know, sometimes I would drop off to sleep on top of her, and she’d lie like that half the night, not moving so as not to wake me.”

  Israel didn’t say anything. They lay in the dark listening to their own breathing. Through the wall they could hear the monotonous voice of Dov’s father, praying.

  “He’s such a contrary bastard he even says his prayers at night and not in the morning,” Dov said. “He does everything he can to make people hate him. And he quarrels with everybody, even God.” He pounded the wall with his fist. “Let us sleep! Maybe you don’t need your rest, but others do!”

  They heard the old man’s steps coming down the hall. Dov jumped up, picked up a chair from the floor, and lifted it over his head. Israel threw himself against him. The old man entered the room and pointed at Dov with his hand entwined up to the shoulder with a leather strap from his phylacteries.

  “I would listen to you, son,” he said in his shrill, old man’s voice, “if you were a man. But you’re not. I don’t know what it is you lack, but you must be lacking something if your wife has left you. If you want something from me or your brother while you’re in this house, ask. Never tell us what to do.”

  He left, closing the door softly.

  LITTLE DOV DROVE SLOWLY; IT WAS DARK NOW ALTHOUGH the moon was still out, suspended over the mountain range—the desert lay shrouded in darkness and quiet, without light, without sound, and yet they could still smell it, smell the invisible waves of heat it sent out tirelessly. He drove toward the beach, swerving to the right a little awkwardly and too sharply whenever a car came from the opposite direction.

  “Do you want to swim, Dov?” Esther asked.

  He turned to her; it seemed to him that he could see her profile in the dark—the high forehead, the short, straight nose, the strong neck. “No, I don’t,” he said. “I didn’t say anything about swimming.”

  “Dov,” she said, “we did it twice already today. Please, Dov, no more.”

  The right-hand wheels rasped against the sand as he pulled her to him. “Did we really? I have a bad memory, Esther. Like all men who work too hard.”

  “Please, I just can’t,” she said.

  “You won’t know that for sure until you try.”

  Near the airport he turned left off the highway. They began bouncing up and down as the jeep made its way over the rough terrain. Esther caught his arm.

  “No, Esther,” he said. “Put your hands around my neck and hug me.”

  “Yes,” she said. She did what he asked, but even in the darkness she felt embarrassed.

  Little Dov stopped being aware of the smell of the sea: he inhaled only the smell of her skin, gentle and strong like the scent of fresh bread. He felt her breath on his neck, hot and clean like a child’s. Unable to go on driving, he stopped the jeep, jumped out, and held out his hand to her. “Come.”

  “There are people here, Dov.”

  “Don’t be ashamed, Esther. You’re pretty and clean, and you smell like fresh bread.”

  He knelt on the sand and so did she, then he lay down next to her and started peeling off her dress and her swimsuit.

  “You’re like an animal, Dov,” she said. “It’s really a miracle that you can speak and read. And that you have a kind heart. Yes, you’re an animal.”

  “And you’re my wife, Esther, and I love you,” he said. “Do you think many men love their wives? Think about it, Esther.”

  He could feel her hands pushing his belly away; weak, hot hands that couldn’t put up much resistance.

  “Dov,” she said. “Dov, I hurt all over inside. If you really love me—”

  “Don’t worry. When you get hot and moist, it won’t hurt.”

  “But I’ll scream, Dov. You know I always scream. I can’t control myself.”

  He got up, unsteady on his legs, and went to the jeep. He pulled the starter and the engine roared into life.

  “Now you can scream all you want, Esther. All you want.”

  He felt her hands tighten on his back, and then a great joy began to mount in him, he was getting closer and closer to something he could never reach and where he could never stay, and then his head was empty of all thought and he heard the sound of his own teeth grinding sand. He lay exhausted, feeling her hands on his face, brushing it clean.

  “Esther,” he said after a while, looking at her face, now pale and tired. “You know how to make me happy. And you always will.”

  Suddenly he heard footsteps. He got up and lit a cigarette, feeling the weight and awkwardness of his own hand.

  “Dov?” someone said in the dark. “Anything wrong? You need help?”

  “No, I don’t need help, damn you.”

  “Then why is your engine running?”

  “That’s what it’s for. I didn’t invent it. Now leave me alone, okay?”

  The man went away. Little Dov sat down next to Esther; she gazed up at him and watched his crooked mouth inhale the smoke.

  “Why is your mouth always crooked, Dov?”

  “When I was a kid, I fell and busted my septum. A surgeon could have fixed it, but my father wouldn’t hear of it. I had to twist my mouth to breathe normally. My nose healed with time, but this leer remained.” He tossed the cigarette butt away and lay down beside her; the sand was as hot as during the day. He started to move his hands over her body and again felt his jaws begin to clench.

  “No, darling,” she said. “I can’t. I’m hurting all over inside.”

  “Esther,” he said quietly, “go into the sea and swim around a bit. And then come back to me. I can’t throw my brother out. And I don’t want to make love to you with him there.” He reached for her swimsuit and helped her put it on. “Now go for a swim.”

  “Dov,” Esther said.

  “Yes, baby?”

  “I don’t know if I should tell you this, but I’m afraid.”

  “Of what, Esther?”

  “Your brother.”

  “Don’t be afraid of him,” he said. “He’s not a bad man. He’s unhappy, that’s all.”

  “People have been saying so many bad things about him.”

  “That’s not his fault. People often can’t tell the difference between badness and misfortune. Though I
don’t blame them for it.”

  He turned off the jeep’s engine and they started walking toward the sea, passing through hard, invisible walls of heat the day had left behind. Then Little Dov sat down in his boat, which he always beached in this spot, and watched Esther swim quickly out of sight; she was a good, fast swimmer—young, long-armed, and long-legged.

  “Enjoying yourself with the little woman, Dov?” suddenly somebody asked.

  Little Dov turned around; there was a man in the motorboat beached alongside his boat and propped on two stays; the man was hammering something.

  “Are you trying to insult me?” Little Dov asked.

  “God forbid!” the man said. “It’s enough that you feel insulted just because we fish in the same bay.”

  “You don’t know how to fish,” Little Dov said. “You try, but what of it? If you didn’t have a motorboat, you’d never catch anything.”

  “You too will have a motorboat one day,” the other said soothingly. “Come here and have a drink with me.”

  “Okay,” Little Dov said. He jumped out of his boat and went over. Accepting the bottle and the mug the man handed to him, he poured himself a drink, tossed it down, then placed the bottle on the boat’s wooden rail. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I couldn’t sleep in the house,” the man said. “I don’t have air-conditioning yet and it’s suffocating inside. So I thought to myself, why not take a blanket and try sleeping in the boat? But I get bored when there’s nothing to do, so I started spiking these shoes.” He heaved into sight the one he was holding—a heavy army shoe with spikes in it. “This boat rocks terribly, Dov, whenever I take it away from shore. Maybe if I drive spikes into the soles I can stand better on my feet.”

  “If you had a normal boat, it wouldn’t rock so hard,” Little Dov said, pouring himself another drink.

  “You’re right. But then I wouldn’t be making as much as I do. Look at these shoes; nobody gave them to me. I had to earn the money and then go and buy them. And I had to pay twelve pounds for them here in Eilat, even though in Jerusalem or Haifa the same kind of shoes cost only seven or eight. I didn’t come to Eilat because I wanted to, Dov.”