All Backs Were Turned Read online

  “You mean the one who’s rented the jeep?”

  “I know nothing about the jeep,” she said. “I don’t believe the jeep is what she’s after. Who’d need a jeep to see a town of five thousand, which you can cover on foot in twenty minutes?”

  “You shouldn’t say such things, Esther,” Little Dov said. “You don’t know her.”

  “There’s nothing strange in it,” she said again. “Your brother is a very handsome man.”

  “I wouldn’t know, Esther. I’m not a woman. I don’t know what’s so handsome about him.”

  “But I’m a woman. And so is she. I bet she could explain to you what’s so handsome about Dov, even though he told her she looked like a whore. But that won’t stop her, she’ll come anyway. She’ll come to him to tell him he was wrong. Dov knows how to win a woman. You have to insult her and then buy yourself a pack of cigarettes and a newspaper, lie down in bed, and wait. She’ll come of her own free will to convince him he was wrong. Or right. But by then the distinction won’t matter much.”

  Little Dov sat in silence, leaning against her knees, drawing something in the sand with a stick.

  “How do you know such things, Esther?” he finally asked.

  “Nobody ever told me,” she said. “I just know. I feel it.”

  “I don’t want you to feel such things, Esther.”

  “But I do,” she said. “I can’t help it. You wouldn’t want me to lie, would you?”

  “Try thinking of something else,” he said. “And now take off your dress. You know how to make me happy.”

  “Why should I make you happy here?” she asked. “I have my own home and my own bed.” When he didn’t answer, she went on, “Oh, I forgot your brother is staying there now. But why should I do it here?”

  “Because I want you to,” Little Dov said. “And that should be reason enough. As long as we’re together, anyway.” He pushed her down on the sand and was about to pull off her dress when she jumped up and ran into the darkness, out of his reach. She burst out laughing, looking at him, and he knew he couldn’t stand up because he’d look ridiculous if he did. So he stayed on his knees, his face contorted with anger, and started ripping to shreds the shirt he had been carrying.

  “Too bad you’re ruining that shirt,” she said. “Your brother might need it. He might need it when he takes that woman to our bed.”

  “Esther,” he said softly, “something’s changed. I can feel something has changed and there’s nothing I can do about it. Maybe I’m too stupid, or maybe I can’t see something that’s obvious to everyone else. But I don’t want anything between us to change. Come here. I prefer to kill you with my own hands than to let you talk and act this way and to feel the way I’m feeling now. Yes, it’ll be better if I kill you. Come here. I’ll know what to do with myself afterwards.” He paused and then said again, “Something’s changed. Something’s changed.”

  Suddenly he grabbed a stone from the sand and lurched after her, but she retreated quickly into the darkness; for a moment he could hear the patter of her slim bare feet on the wet, warm sand. He trudged home, all the way feeling her smell, like a dog, and following it in the dark.

  ISRAEL PARKED THE JEEP WITH ITS PASSENGER SIDE wheels on the sidewalk, turned its lights off, and walked into the house. It was dark inside. Passing Dov’s father’s room, he stopped. He stood for a moment fingering the bones of his face and listening to the old man’s deep, even breathing. Then he went into the room where he and Dov slept and saw the red glow of a cigarette end in the dark.

  “You’re still awake, Dov?” he asked.

  “How can I sleep? I walked around the whole town asking people if they had seen you or the goddamn jeep.”

  “And what did they tell you?”

  “That they hadn’t. Maybe because they didn’t know who I was looking for. Turn on the light, Israel.”

  “No. I’ve got a headache.”

  “Is it still so hot outdoors? I think I’ve sweated out all the salt I ever ate in my life.”

  “It’s more bearable by the sea. I saw lots of people going toward the beach for an evening swim. Whole families with baby carriages.”

  “What time is it?”

  “It’s not ten yet.”

  Dov sat up on his makeshift bed. In a glint of light coming through the window Israel saw the drops of sweat on his forehead. There was a grimace on his face, and he was breathing heavily.

  “We’ll have to buy some salt pills tomorrow,” Dov said. “And take them after each meal. Salt is supposed to strengthen your bones. That’s what the doctors say. I’d believe them if I could find at least one who could help me. I don’t believe there’s one like that in the whole world. They all agree about one thing: sleeping pills are bad for you. Their like-mindedness is really praiseworthy. Haven’t we got any more sleeping pills?”

  “No,” Israel said. “We ran out of them in Tel Aviv. You asked me that in Be’er Sheva already.”

  “The worst thing is that if you don’t sleep for two or three nights, everybody thinks that on the fourth night you’re going to sleep like a log,” Dov said. “And sure enough, the fourth night you drop into a dead stupor. But what about the fifth night and the sixth? Among all those goddamned doctors, there wasn’t one who knew how to help me. They give you pills that work for the first two or three nights, and then they’re no good anymore. I have to lie there sweating and listen to others snore. Then I have to drink coffee throughout the day in order to stay on my feet, and at night again I can’t fall asleep. At night, when you think about something, things appear much sharper and more real than by day. My old Pop can sleep easily, because he knows he’s a God-fearing man and will go straight to heaven when he dies. But when I finally kick the bucket, I’ll have to answer for several things. Devils will feed me sleeping pills, but those probably won’t work either.”

  “You can’t sleep because you don’t really want to,” Israel said. “Maybe you’re afraid to sleep.”

  “I once fell asleep early and dreamed that I was among many people. Everyone was eating something and I was terribly hungry, so I went up to each of them in turn and asked for a bit of food, but they all refused to share with me what they had. I vividly remember approaching each and every person, but they only laughed at me. I knew that I’d die if I didn’t eat something soon and I told them that, but they just kept on laughing. That’s what I remember best: my terrible hunger and their laughter when I begged them for food. All the people I ever knew were there: my friends, my enemies, my brother, my mother, my father. And they all laughed at me.” He paused. “That was the worst dream I ever had, Israel. And I don’t know how many times more I’m going to have it. As long as I live, I guess.”

  “So that’s why,” Israel said.

  “What?”

  “That’s why you can’t sleep. You’re afraid of having that dream. Don’t you ever dream of your wife?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “She’s with another man,” Dov said. “And I’m standing by their bed, looking at them, unable to turn away. And they laugh at me. Dina and that man. And I can’t leave. I don’t know why, but I can’t. Something’s forcing me to stand there and look at them, and listen to their laughter. I have to watch everything that man does with my Dina.”

  “When did you first have that dream?”

  “When she first left me,” Dov said. “Let’s go somewhere and have a beer. I know I won’t fall asleep.”

  “We have no money,” Israel said. “We spent it all on gas and the dinner in Be’er Sheva.”

  “How come we have no money?” Dov asked. “Didn’t you drive that tourist around all day, using up gas?”

  “You didn’t understand me,” Israel said. “What I meant was, can we afford to waste money in bars? Think about it, Dov. One day we’ll have to settle our accounts with your fat friend and pay him for the jeep. I don’t think he’s going to drop dead before winter.”

  “I can’t sleep,�
�� Dov said helplessly, like a child telling his mother that he has a toothache. He lit a cigarette and Israel again saw his face: tired, mask-like, covered with sweat. “I know I won’t sleep. I’ll lie like this all night and listen to my brother having his way with Esther. Let’s go someplace and have a beer. There isn’t any left in the fridge. You deserve it. A man who has been bouncing around all day in that jeep under the scorching sun shouldn’t stint himself a bottle of beer.”

  “Do you still think about her?” Israel asked quickly. “About Dina, your wife?”

  “I already told you. Isn’t that goddamn dream enough?”

  “Maybe you should talk more about it and get it out of your system,” Israel said. “Rich people go to doctors and tell them their dreams, and the doctors just sit there nodding their heads and then pocket their fee. Maybe it would help you.”

  “Days aren’t so bad,” Dov said, “but at night I always think about her. At night the past begins to unfold itself in my mind. I’m the only man in Israel who has his own movie theater, but it’s one I can never leave. That’s how I spend my nights, watching replays of the past. And the more I think about everything, the more certain I am the breakup was my fault. But that’s not so bad. The worst thing is that I know that if she came back to me, I’d go on behaving exactly the same way as before. I don’t even have the strength to tell myself it would be different this time. Man learns all the time and from everything, but not from love. Don’t believe it if someone tells you he learned something from being in love. Maybe women can carry over the experience they amass from one affair into the next, but men don’t know how to. Men are fools who want to begin everything anew with every new woman. All men. Except for me.”

  “You should go back to her, Dov.”

  “What about the bastard she’s carrying?”

  “You should keep that child. She’s your woman. Later she’ll have your kid, and the first one will stop bothering you.”

  “I’d have to wait,” Dov said. “I’d have to wait until she gave birth to this one and then to mine. It would be a year before I’d see my kid. That year would be unbearable for both of us.”

  “You should go back to her,” Israel said. “Sure, it’ll be hard. But you can stand a lot.”

  “I can’t stand myself,” Dov said. “And she knows that. She had enough time to get to know me well.” He lay down again, resting his head on his hands. Israel couldn’t see his face; the only thing he saw was a bright little star in the corner of the window. “You know, I was unfaithful to her once,” Dov said. “When she went away for three days to visit her mother. I remember begging her not to go, but she had made up her mind and she was so obstinate it was like talking to a wall. And she left. In the evening when I returned home from work and opened the closet to take out a new sheet, I saw her dresses hanging there. I caught her smell and after that I just couldn’t fall asleep. Finally I got up, gathered up all those dresses and piled them on the bed next to me, but that didn’t help either. I lay there knowing I wouldn’t sleep. So I got up again, went out, and came back with some girl I picked up in the street. And I began screwing her on top of those dresses. Then I turned on the light and saw she didn’t look like my wife at all. Because, you know, somehow I had expected her to look like Dina when I turned on the light. You know, it’s like when there’s a kid, a little boy, who’s pretending to be a girl, and everybody laughs at him and tells him he’s a boy. I looked at that girl and I went mad; I started hitting her and she began to scream. People told Dina about it and that’s when she left me the first time.” He fell silent, and then said, “Turn on the light, Israel. We’ll have lots of darkness yet. Enough to smother us.”

  “What happened next?” Israel asked. He was looking at the wall where he knew the light switch was. Dov didn’t say anything; he continued to lie immobile, his hands behind his head. Israel, still looking in the direction of the light switch, quickly repeated his question. “What happened next, Dov?”

  “You know,” Dov said, as if he had not heard him, “I just remembered something. It happened before we got married. I took her to a hotel in Haifa, and afterward I lay there on the bed and watched her walk around the room. She said it was too hot for her in bed. And I saw her feet leave wet marks on the stone floor. As if she had just come out of the river. I still remember that fucking floor.”

  “It wasn’t in Haifa,” Israel said.

  “No? How come?”

  “You told me that story before,” Israel said. “Only you said it happened in Jerusalem. I remember it well, Dov. Sometimes it seems I know your wife so well I’d be able to recognize her in the street, even if I didn’t know what she looked like. I feel I know her as well as you do.”

  “This goddamn darkness,” Dov said. He got up suddenly and started groping for the switch. “My mind gets muddled. You’re right. It was in Jerusalem.” He walked over to where Israel was sitting and turned on the light, saying, “Sure, in Jerusalem. I remember she was embarrassed to go to a hotel and begged me to wait, said her mother would be going away next week and we could use—Israel, what happened to your face?”

  “Nothing, really,” Israel said. He looked up at Dov and tried to smile. “It’s still in place, isn’t it?”

  “Did somebody beat you up?”

  “No.”

  Dov continued to stand by his side, staring down at him. Then he stretched out his hand and gently touched Israel’s face.

  “Somebody must have done it,” he said softly. “And I don’t need to rack my brains very hard to figure out who it was.”

  “No,” Israel said. “A boy jumped out into the road when I was going around a bend and I had to brake hard. I was flung forward and hit my face against the steering wheel. I was all sweaty and my pants were getting stuck to the seat, so I raised myself a little, and that’s when that kid jumped right in front of the jeep. I wasn’t sitting properly and that’s why it happened. I haven’t gotten used to this heat yet, that’s the trouble.”

  “And you never will,” Dov said. “But you shouldn’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not lying,” Israel said. “Why should anybody want to hit me? I’ve been here only one day. Do you think that’s long enough to make enemies?”

  “I always make enemies,” Dov said. “Sometimes all it takes is a couple of minutes. I want to know who beat you up.”

  “Nobody, I swear. If you intend to look for trouble, don’t use me as your excuse.”

  “What can you swear by?”

  “That won’t be easy,” Israel said. “I’m a Jew from Europe, so I don’t really know what’s holy and what’s not. And I don’t have any family. I could swear to you by the six million Jews who perished in the Holocaust, but I’m not sure that’s something holy enough. I don’t believe in God, justice, or the Day of Judgment. And I don’t think people will ever improve or that they really want to. So what can I swear to you by, Dov? Maybe by those six million murdered Jews, even though all that’s left of them are their ashes, and men have committed many foul deeds since. Memories don’t help; they get in the way. You should know that, Dov. You can speak very beautifully of love, but I don’t believe in love either. As you see, it really won’t be easy for me to find something to swear to you by.”

  “Swear by your mother’s grave,” Dov said.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that, too, isn’t something I consider holy,” Israel said. “My mother was an old, stupid, and selfish woman who did everything she could to ruin my life. I never want to see her grave again. And I never feel sad when I think that she’s dead. I’m sorry, Dov. Her grave isn’t holy to me.”

  “Is there nothing in the whole world you consider holy?”

  “Can there be anything holy in this world?”

  “Don’t answer me like a Jew,” Dov said. “Jews always answer questions with questions, and that’s not the best way to communicate. I’m a Jew, too, you know. I know how to play this game. But I also know t
hat a Jew can swear only by God’s Ten Commandments, and that he must cover his head when doing so. Swear by the Commandments.”

  “I don’t believe in them,” Israel said. “I guess I should have told you that earlier. There were times when men broke all the Ten Commandments one by one and nothing happened to them. And I’m sure that nothing has happened to them since and nothing ever will.”

  “So there’s nothing you believe in?” Dov asked.

  “I believe I’m going to die one day and disappear forever,” Israel said. “And that that’ll be my end. I can swear by that.”

  Dov was still standing over him and touching his face; Israel pushed his hand away.

  “Do you want me to?” he asked.

  “No,” Dov said. “You’re a strange man. You know how to squirm out of one’s grasp like a snake.”

  “I’ve seen lots of people much stranger than me,” Israel said. “But I don’t want to think or talk about them. You can rest assured that nobody beat me up.”

  “Anybody who’d beat up a friend of mine would soon start regretting he was ever born,” Dov said.

  “I know,” Israel said. “And so does everybody else in this town.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Dov said. “There are some men here who weren’t born in Israel. I’m pretty positive that if I spat one of them in the eye, he’d say it was raining.”

  “And if you hit him?” Israel asked.

  “I’m sure he’d do nothing,” Dov said. “He’d stand there waiting until I tired myself out slugging him, then he’d go to the police station and raise a racket there.”

  “You think none of them would defend themselves?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I think,” Dov said. “I had a good look at them so I know what I’m saying.”

  “And how would you call them?”

  “Well, how can one call them?”

  “Don’t answer my question with a question of your own,” Israel said. “You just said you don’t like that yourself.”

  “I’d just say I’m sorry those men didn’t stay where they were born. And didn’t perish there,” Dov said. “You know, Israel, I don’t have a very high opinion of myself. It was a shock to me when they kicked me out of the army, but it made me realize I’m not the greatest thing on earth. Still a man has got to know how to defend himself. If he doesn’t, the quicker he dies, the better. For if he lives, others may die because of him. Don’t you agree with that?”