Assaf Gavron - Almost Dead

‘Now, the Croc is a very special guy. In a quite astonishing coincidence, he was involved in all three of this week’s terrorist outrages. He lost friends and witnessed things that will stay with him for the rest of his life. He saw death, ladies and gentlemen, but you know what?

He stood up to it.’ Applause: the audience were drinking Tommy in. ‘He looked death in the eye and he said no thanks!’ Tommy gestured to quell the applause. The camera cut to a close-up, his face growing solemn. ‘So Croc is today an Israeli symbol. He is the man who experienced terrorism first hand and said no, thanks . Ladies and gentlemen, I am thrilled to introduce this brave man, the Crocodile of attacks, Croc Attack: Eitan Enoch!’ The researcher gave me a gentle shove in the shoulder and I stumbled forward.

‘Welcome, Croc.’ Wide smile, arms spread in a wide wingspan, warm hug, shorter in reality. ‘In a moment I’m going to ask you to tell us all about your ordeal, and where this name of yours comes from.’ Laughs from the audience, a smile from me. ‘But first, you know how it works on Noah’s Ark… ’ The audience shouted, ‘Two by two! Two by two!’ ‘Exactly. Two by two. Couples from both sides of the fence. And this evening we have a very special girl joining the Croc. Don’t go away during these messages!’

After the show, people approached me on the street and said it was the most moving edition of Noah’s Ark they’d ever seen. Kids shouted ‘Hey, Croc!’ at me from the windows of buses. Friends from the distant past and long-forgotten relatives called. Tommy Musari called twice: first, to thank me and say he didn’t remember being so moved in his entire career, plus the viewing figures had been spectacular. ‘Unbelievable response. We’ll invite you again soon. We’ll find a reason.’ The second time he wanted to tell me that the president had called him to congratulate him on the show.

‘Lieutenant Dikla Gadasi served for two and a half years in the territories and was discharged from the army last week. As a military police officer, Dikla prevented countless terrorists from penetrating the border. She saw, close up, the roots of hatred. Please welcome…Dikla Gadasi!’ A thin, bespectacled Yemenite-looking girl entered and sat opposite me. Tommy exchanged a couple of sentences with her. She hated them. Hated their guts. She thought that any soldier serving over there had to hate their guts, in order to keep from slipping up. ‘They’re right under your nose, and sometimes the smell from down there isn’t all that pleasant.’ It got a laugh. ‘You can’t turn the other cheek. You can’t get soft. Until you’re a hundred, a thousand, a million and ten per cent certain that this person isn’t going to hurt you or your people, you don’t give him a thing. Doesn’t matter how much he cries or whatever sob stories he pulls about his pregnant wife or his sick kid or the work he’s missing. I’m really not interested at all.’

‘Mmm…interesting. Noah’s Ark: the two sides of the fence. On one hand, the soldier who protects us from terror, and on the other,’ he gestured towards me, ‘an innocent civilian, a victim of that terror. Croc, you saw the effects of terror with your own eyes. Do you agree with Dikla? Do you hate them?’

‘Uh…’ I thought for a moment. ‘I…dunno, really. I try not to hate anyone. Even someone who wants to kill me. I just think we should stay strong no matter what. I suppose.’ Mild applause. Had I actually said that? The bespectacled girl wasn’t having any of it. ‘I don’t understand why you wouldn’t hate someone who’s trying to kill you. Especially them. You want to be over there in their shit, excuse me, for two and a half years and then you might understand what I’m talking about. All the bleeding hearts ought to actually go out there and see these disgusting places for themselves and then see if they support a Palestinian state.’ Tommy rubbed his hands. ‘Yeah, well, I’m not saying I don’t hate someone who wants to kill me.’ I’d started sweating. ‘Uh…we shouldn’t give in, sure. We must put pressure on them.’ How had it come to this? I didn’t know the first thing about politics. ‘A text from Ran in Ramat Gan,’ Tommy read from a piece of paper he’d been handed, ‘says that we should look at ourselves. “The smell may not be pleasant because we make them live in a sty, they make the—” Hold on, Dikla, hold on, let me finish reading Ran’s text: “It’s our illegal occupation and soldiers like Dikla who are giving them reasons to kill us.”’ Tommy lifted his eyes from the note. ‘Dikla, we know what you think about this, but I’m interested to hear your thoughts, Croc.’ I swallowed half a pint of spit. ‘Yes, I can understand him. We really can’t keep pointing only at the other side.’ Dikla started to say something and I tried to appease her. ‘I can understand your anger, but sometimes their anger is understandable too.’ ‘I don’t believe this — he’s justifying terror! He was in three attacks and he justifies terror?’ Contempt was coming off Dikla like musk. ‘Justifying terror? You’re crazy.’ ‘Let’s not get carried away, Dikla, no one was justifying terror. I assume Croc is asking himself questions. After such a traumatic week in his life — in all of our lives — you can’t stop asking yourself why. Why is it happening? Where is it coming from?’ Tommy looked at me reassuringly. ‘Right. That’s what I meant,’ I said with relief. We moved on to what had happened. I was pretty good at what had happened; I simply said what had happened. When they want your opinion, that’s when you have to watch out — that’s when you know you’re in trouble.

Tommy turned to me. ‘To sum up,’ he said, ‘what do you have to say to our people? Is there anything we should be doing? How do we respond to terrorism?’ ‘We need to be strong, not to be cowed,’ I said, and I saw a glint of vindication behind Dikla’s glasses. ‘Everyone should get on with their lives. Get on buses. Drive on roads. Drink coffee! Because if we don’t have a normal life, what do we have left? We have to remain human beings. That’s the most important thing. That’s the only thing, I suppose. Because what are we if we’re not human beings? If we lose ourselves, then…well, we’ve lost.’ A second of silence and then Tommy leaned over and shook my hand, and the audience exploded in a wave of aggressive-sounding applause. I was dripping sweat. People I didn’t know shook my hand. My chest was frighteningly constricted. I went to the toilet and I don’t want to describe what came out there. I had nausea. I didn’t understand why I’d come or what I’d said. I went out to get some air and once outside I didn’t see any point in going back so I went home, and kept sweating and trembling and checking over my shoulder the whole time to make sure I was on my own, the audience’s violent and hysterical applause ringing in my ears all night long.

Why no music, Svet? Play me one of my tapes…

‘ Good, movement of the eyes…Dr Hartom will be happy to hear… ’

My brain must be stuck.

‘ And now it’s time for your wash… ’

A never-ending dream, and always the same.

‘ Oh, Fahmi, you wouldn’t believe it. You know the guys with the signs? One of them got in here last night. Security managed to pick him up just in time. Took three of them to get him out, screaming about the Croc… ’

Yeah, the Croc…in his little green car, and me with my apple…

The first time I saw him, watching Noah’s Ark from under my blanket in the darkened room, lit only by the blue of the TV and the two orange bars of the heater — long before we met, before we drove in the car together — I liked the Croc. What had happened to him really was an amazing coincidence, as Tommy Musari said.