Marek Hlasko - All Backs Were Turned

“I don’t understand that,” she said. “My mother died when I was nine. I often wish I could talk to her. Maybe things would have been different if she had lived.”

“Oh, definitely,” he said. “She would have taken care of that. She would have done everything to ruin your life. But, believe me, none of them ever come back. They don’t return, they disappear, together with their despicable bodies, their wisdom, and bad breath. Have you ever thought of how an old woman really smells? Nobody wants to think about it. No animal smells as bad as an old woman.”

“Did your mother harm you in some way?”

“The worst thing is she always did everything with my happiness in mind,” he said. “She wanted me to come here and live like a free man. I had begun to study aircraft construction and was already in my third year when she came to me and said, Israel, they are letting Jews leave. So what? I asked. Things may change, she said. They may stop doing that. Israel, do something for your mother. Let me die in a free country. She was already ill and knew she’d die soon, but she was determined to die in Israel. So we came here, and my mother died. But I couldn’t go on studying aircraft construction. They don’t teach it here. And that’s the end of my story.”

“Can’t you leave this country?”

“Where would I go?” he said. “My place is here. I’m a Jew.”

“Everybody can live wherever he wants,” she said. “You’re wrong thinking the way you do. If everyone thought that way, there’d be no American nation. There’d only be Jews, Germans, Portuguese, and God knows who else living in America.”

“You’ve put it all very nicely,” he said, “but one needs money to go away and study. Hasn’t your husband ever told you about money? It’s the only bad thing Jews didn’t invent.”

“You should leave Israel and continue your studies elsewhere,” she said. “You can always come back here later and work in your profession.” She paused. “Maybe I could help. My husband had many friends; I could talk to them. Some of them are rich and maybe they’d be willing to do something for you.”

“Where are they?”

“In Germany.”

He smiled. “That means I’d have to study in Germany, wouldn’t I? Germany, of all places! I never thought life could be so amusing. But thanks, anyway.”

“Do you hate Germans?”

“No,” he said. “I pity them. But pity is worse than hate. What does one feel for people who murdered children? Hate? I believe God has turned His back on Germans once and for all. And that He’ll never show His face to them again and will never punish them, even if they commit a thousand new crimes in the future. That’s not hate.” He looked at his watch. “Where’s that goddamn boat? It should have come back long ago.”

Someone touched his arm and he turned his head. Two men were standing by the jeep; he and Ursula hadn’t noticed their approach.

“You’re Ben Dov’s friend?” one of the men asked.

“Yes,” Israel said.

The man reached into his pocket, took out a wad of bills and held it out to Israel. “Give this money to the younger Ben Dov,” he said. “Give it to him and tell him to leave Eilat.”

“Did he ask you for it?” Israel asked.

“That’s not important,” the man said. He removed his sunglasses and gingerly touched the Band-Aid under his eye. “The important thing is that you give him the money and that he goes away.”

“Settle it with him yourself,” Israel said. “I know nothing about this and I have no intention of getting involved.”

“And you know nothing about him slugging me last night?”

“No,” Israel said.

“Well, now you do,” the second man said. “Take the money Yehuda is offering and give it to young Dov.”

“Give it to him yourself,” Israel said.

“I don’t want to see that bastard again,” Yehuda said. “I want him to disappear. If he doesn’t, I’ll go to the police.” He caught Israel’s wrist and tried to stick the money in his palm, but Israel pulled his hand away.

“No, I won’t take it,” he said.

“I’m asking you one last time: take this money and give it to the younger Dov,” Yehuda said. “Look, I have nothing against you personally; I prefer to make friends than enemies.”

Israel jumped out of the jeep and turned to the two men.

“I know what you want,” he said. “But you’re not as clever as you think. You could give him the money yourself, but you prefer to pretend you want me to act as the go-between. Because you know I won’t take your money. You just want to provoke me into a fight. Because you think that Dov Ben Dov will then come after you, and the police will arrest him and send him away, and then you’ll be able to handle his brother without too much trouble. That’s your plan, isn’t it? But nothing doing. I intend to climb back into my jeep and drive off quietly, and nothing’s going to happen.”

The second man suddenly slugged him in the jaw; Israel staggered and fell. He got up shakily and leaned against the jeep’s hood.

“Nothing doing,” he said. “Dov won’t go after you. You can hit me again.”

The man did; then Yehuda began striking Israel with the fist in which he still clutched the money; Israel again fell to the ground.

“Defend yourself,” Ursula screamed at him. She jumped out of the jeep, ran to him, and helped him get up. “Why aren’t you defending yourself?”

He pushed her gently aside and wiped his mouth. “Dov won’t get involved,” he said to the men. “Well, go on. What are you waiting for?”

The second man again slammed him in the mouth, but this time Israel didn’t fall. He held onto the steel grid of the jeep’s radiator and stood there, a smile on his face. The second man hit him once more.

“Hit him back!” Ursula yelled. “Come on!”

“It won’t do you any good,” Israel said to the men. “I’ll simply forget this ever happened. That’s all.”

“Remember, we’ll meet again,” Yehuda said. Then he and the other man walked away.

Ursula watched Israel in silence as he wiped his bloodied lip with the back of his hand, and then suddenly she slapped him in the face as hard as she could. She looked at him in terror like someone suddenly wakened from sleep.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Israel said.

He got into the jeep with difficulty and rested his head on the steering wheel. Then he took Ursula’s bag from the seat and handed it to her. She stood without moving and watched him drive off in a cloud of red dust. He reached the highway and turned right; soon the jeep disappeared from view.

LITTLE DOV WAS WALKING ALONG THE BEACH, HIS RIGHT arm around Esther. In his left hand he was carrying his shirt and shoes; it was so dark he could barely see the waves lapping at his feet. The sky over the bay was invisible and a distant hum was coming from the water.

“Hey,” Esther suddenly said, “isn’t that your brother’s jeep?”

“That’s impossible.” Little Dov said. “Dov’s been looking for Israel all over town. He visited all the bars, asking if anybody’s seen him, and now he’s ringing up all the hotels. Why should Israel be sitting here on the beach when Dov is going out of his mind with worry?”

They walked up to the jeep; it stood with its lights off at the end of the beach, almost at the Jordanian border. Israel was dozing in the driver’s seat, slumped over the steering wheel.

“Hey, wake up,” Little Dov said. He had to shake Israel’s arm several times before the sleeping man raised his head. “My brother is going out of his mind with worry. He was sure something had happened to you. Go sleep at home.”

“Give me a cigarette,” Israel said. “I think I’ve smoked all the ones I had.”