Marek Hlasko - All Backs Were Turned

“No.”

They walked down the dark stairs, got into the jeep and tossed the bag into the back seat. The beggar sitting on the corner of Ben Yehuda Street was still singing, even though the streets had been empty for the last two hours. Dov took out a pound note, crumpled it into a ball and threw it to the beggar. The man stopped singing and turned his empty eyes in his direction.

“You’re a good man,” he said. “And God will never forsake you.”

“There are two of us,” Dov said. “Why are you only talking to me?”

“You’re a good man,” the beggar said again. “And God will never forsake you.”

“I told you he was deaf,” Israel said.

“All right,” Dov said, turning to him. “Then what are you waiting for? I told you which way we’re going.”

“Yeah.” Israel let in the clutch. “The sun will be coming up in an hour. You’ll see her then.”

“You really think I should?”

“You have to.”

“I haven’t seen her in eighteen months,” Dov said in a dreamy voice, resting his chin on his hands. “Eighteen months, Israel.”

“It doesn’t matter, Dov. What’s important is that soon you’re going to see her. Soon, at sunrise.”

They left the city and were traveling along an empty highway. They could smell orange blossoms; the dark, hot, and heavy night air was alive with fragrance. The moon shone brightly in the middle of the sky and the jeep’s shadow was as sharp as if it were day. A jackal crossed the road unhurriedly; they saw its big, luminous eyes. It wasn’t afraid of the jeep and walked across the road with the soft tread of a tame cat.

“I wish she’d wear the same dress as the day I first saw her,” Dov said. He was talking in a sleepy, tired voice, like a child telling its mother something before falling asleep. “A plain, light dress revealing her shoulders. I wonder how she’ll be dressed. What do you think?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she’ll wear that dress. Why did she leave you, Dov?”

“I think it was my fault, Israel. I can never force myself to stop and think before I do something. I was probably too violent too many times; not that I act that way on purpose. I’m not my own creation, you know. It’s not only others who have to put up with me; I have to put up with myself, too, and it really isn’t something I enjoy.” He paused. “Yes, I think it was all my fault. But I’ve learned something over these past months. And so has she, I bet.”

It was five in the morning when they reached the village. They were driving past a row of one-story houses when Dov said, “Stop over there.”

Israel parked the jeep by a long wall, three hundred, maybe three hundred and fifty yards long, over four feet high, which separated the village from the road.

“What the hell do they need this wall for? Do they run naked in the fields? Or are they putting together a vaudeville show and don’t want any city rabbis to catch them at it?”

“No, that’s where their garden is,” Dov said. “Winds from the desert used to blow all the seeds away, so they had to put up this wall.”

“Why are we waiting here, Dov?”

The big man pointed at a house standing at the end of the wall; its windows were still dark, the shutters closed. “That’s where she lives. In that house. But she’ll have to come out any moment now. She teaches kindergarten and has to walk this way to work.”

“Why don’t you go in and wake her up? Maybe that would be best.”

Dov turned to him. “I’m afraid to. I know her.”

“Don’t be afraid,” Israel said. “Remember what that beggar said when you threw him that pound note? ‘You’re a good man and God will never forsake you.’”

“That’s her,” Dov said.

The door of the house opened, and they saw the head of a woman who began walking very slowly along the wall. They saw only her head; the beautiful head of a dark-haired young woman, walking at an unnaturally slow gait on the other side of the wall. She walked as if very, very tired, the way old people walk; then she stopped and tied a white kerchief around her head. She started moving again; they couldn’t see her legs or her body, only her head moving along the top of the green wall, then the wall ended, and they saw that the woman was five, maybe six months pregnant.

When at six in the afternoon they reached Eilat, a crusty layer of reddish dust covered their shirts and faces. They drove to the airport and stopped by the barracks housing the head office; Dov went inside, while Israel waited in the jeep. He looked at the mountain range, red in the setting sun; then he turned his head toward the bay. The sea was smooth and dark, and the beach was filling with people gathering there after work. A Dakota plane rose heavily from the ground; it made a half circle over the bay, then started climbing higher and higher to fly over the mountains. Dov came out of the barracks.

“We have to wait. Little Dov will be here soon.”

“Who?”

“Little Dov, my brother.”

Dov stood by the jeep, scraping the red crust off his face and arms.

“Your brother was named the same name as you?” Israel asked. “But that’s a deadly sin!”

“My father’s the one to blame,” Dov said. “You don’t know our Pop. When my brother was born, my mother had already decided on a name for him, but Pop was mad at her over something. He hated her all his life. My name will be good enough for him, he said. My father gave it to me and I’m glad he did. The kid will be glad too. And then he called me over and asked, Do you like your name, Dov? I said I did, so he turned to my mother and said, See? This one is satisfied; the other one will be too. Everybody cried and begged him to reconsider, but he was stubborn as a mule. And so my brother was named Dov just like me. After that the rabbi wouldn’t speak to my father.”

“And how do you call your brother?”

“Little Dov.”

A truck pulled up a few yards away from them and a young man riding on its step jumped off. He was blond and tall; walking in their direction he held his head low in the same way as Dov, who was standing by the jeep with his shirt, soaked with sweat, in his hand.

“Hi,” Dov said. “How’s the old man?”

“Same as ever,” Little Dov said. “Have you forgotten? In a couple of days you’ll be cursing the sight of him.” He turned to Israel, looking him over without a smile. “This your friend, Dov?”

“Mine and yours,” Dov said. “Let’s go. I’m hungry, but I have to stop by a garage first.”

“Something wrong with your jeep?”

“I want them to change the oil and give me a new filter. The oil looks like tar, and the filter must be clogged with this goddamn dust.”

They stopped by a small garage. The owner had just changed into his street clothes; he got angry when he heard what Dov wanted.

“You want me to do it now?” he asked. “Isn’t it enough that I get up at four? I’ll sell you the oil and filter, but you’ll have to change it yourself. You can use my grease pit.”

“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.”