David Grossman - The Book of Intimate Grammar

“I still do, I guess.” Aron giggled. “And remember, nu, what was I going to say, oh yes, sometimes I still wonder about that guy they said looked like a kibbutznik, the one in prison, with the private cell?”

“They said it was hard to believe anyone who looked like that would want to spy against Israel.”

“And where was Simon Kramer from?”

“Hey.” Gideon smiled. “Remember the time you made us believe you were a double agent?”

“Uh-uh. Simon Kramer was from Rishon LeZion. He crossed the border into Gaza and joined Egyptian intelligence.”

“You were always pretending you knew spy secrets … you’d draw marks on the sidewalk, to signal planes …” Something flashed in Gideon’s eyes, and Aron turned hastily around. “You’re wrong,” he said. “I drew those marks for a different reason. I thought them up in fifth grade, after our big fight.”

“Ah, I remember!” cheered Gideon, misled. “Right, we had this big fight, but what was it about? We thought the world had ended.” It had. And when they made up again, the friendship changed: from a habitof childhood it became an earnest choice. They laughed together quietly. They laughed too much. A farewell sigh wafted in the words. Aron wasn’t certain what had happened in the last few minutes, he only hoped that Gideon would take pity and relent.

“Right,” Gideon recalled, running his hand through his hair. “You worked out some complicated system of signs; seven signs, remember?”

“Did I?” asked Aron cautiously. “Funny, I don’t remember anymore.”

“Sure, you must: that red T-shirt from day camp, you said that if an emergency came up while you and I were feuding, we could hang the shirt on the laundry line and then the other would see it and know to hurry down to the rock. Our feuds never lasted for more than a week, you made sure of that.”

“Hmm. Anything else?”

“We were supposed to tear the three bottom leaves on the ficus plant in the hallway. That was the first sign. And on Mondays there was a different one … Oh yes, leave the tap dripping in the back yard; if one of us saw that, he’d rush to the rock, no matter what. As soon as we woke up from our naps, you said, at four o’clock sharp.”

“See that, I can’t remember anything,” said Aron, choking.

“Sure! You used to draw tails on the sidewalk arrows, don’t you remember?”

“No. Remind me.”

“And … we’d pour sand into the holes in the sewer caps. I can’t believe you’ve forgotten that.”

“It’s beginning to come back to me now, wait, wait.” He dragged out the suspense. “Wasn’t there one last sign that would rally us from the ends of the earth?”

“I’m amazed at you, forgetting that, with a mind like yours.” Aron squinted at his moving lips. “If one of us was in bad trouble all he had to do was climb on the rock and SOS with a mirror. Flashing at the other’s bedroom ceiling.”

“Hmm … do you still remember how to SOS? I’m sure I don’t.”

Gideon knitted his brow. “Like this: dot dot dot, dash dash dash, and dot dot dot again: fast, slow, fast. Morse code is something I will never forget.”

“That’s terrific,” said Aron, leaning back, breathing deeply.

“The ideas you used to have.”

Shut up now. Control yourself. “Better than James Bond, I can tell you that”—he went and spoiled it.

“Those were the days …” sighed Gideon. And Aron echoed, Those were the days. Again the silence interrupted them. Gideon yawned broadly, and Aron stared into his open mouth; why is Gideon so exhausted all the time, Mr. Stashnov wanted to know. Shut your mouth, Aron begged silently, and burrowed into his thoughts, looking for something to distract him from his guilt and shame, to fan the tiny flame that had flickered between them a moment ago. What would he say? He knew a blow was coming at the end of this conversation. Full of anguish, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the coin. Gideon studied it: “Seems like it’s been rubbed with a stone.” “But maybe it’s a rare coin?” said Aron. “Looks obsolete to me. Ask my dad to take a look. He has a coin collection.” “Right, a coin collection. I forgot. See how forgetful I am today.” He was playing for time. Again he mustered the strength to say, What do you think, should we throw it to Morduch, and with a wavering smile he added that he knew it wasn’t right to cheat a blind man, and Gideon, carefully looking away, said Morduch wouldn’t know the difference, and Aron whispered, That’s true, he wouldn’t know the difference. He blesses you no matter what you throw into his cup, said Gideon. Right, no matter what, Aron repeated listlessly, drawing out the endings of Gideon’s pithy utterances, as if secret caresses emanated from them.

They continued this game of peek-a-boo, then stopped and fell silent. Aron’s head drooped between his shoulders, revealing his slender nape, and still he waited, but Gideon said nothing. Aron was too tired to wait anymore. He couldn’t understand why Gideon seemed so strange and threatening. Absentmindedly he touched the knapsack, stroked the puppylike padding inside. Gideon glanced at his fingers in surprise. Aron pulled them away.

“Now that we finally have the chance to capture a genuine spy, or maybe even a hired assassin, you want to drop out, well thanks a heap …” He didn’t know why he was talking such nonsense. He tried to act the injured party, but his voice sounded too whiny and high-pitched, and his face appeared suddenly devoid of itself, revealing his strange, dejected depths. If only Gideon had looked at him just then, he would have seen into the heart of his anguish. But alas, with the egotism children need in order to survive, with the amazing detachmentthat maintains their loyal friendships, and with a vestigial sense of caution, Gideon turned away and was spared. He looked out into the distance, remaining sensitive and decent. And Aron knew that all was lost.

“Zacky says he’s getting sick of your make-believe.” Gideon embarked on his mission, tossing off “make-believe” with dignified haste.

He might have said “babyish” instead or, worse, “childish.” And Aron, both grateful and humiliated, knew that Gideon had taken it upon himself to break the news and shield him from Zacky’s tactlessness.

“I was making up adventures for you,” whispered Aron, his lower lip trembling.

“Adventures are fine …” Gideon squirmed, and in the silence that followed Aron reached into his pocket, touched the onion strip that reveals the invisible workings of the mind, and heard Gideon thinking: But we’re about to set off on the greatest adventure of our lives. Aron dropped the onion strip as though burned.

“So what, are you saying you don’t want to do the Houdini act anymore either?” Better to hear it now, the bare truth; he had always secretly felt protected, having Gideon there to lock him in and tie the ropes.

“Okay, but explain one thing,” said Aron, perishing. “I want to understand, because maybe I’m a little slow, so tell it to me straight, why did it used to be fun to sneak into a strange house two years ago and now suddenly it isn’t anymore? What’s changed?”

“I don’t know, it’s just different now.” Gideon was evasive again, and a warning flashed from the tower of his self-control.

What’s different; who’s different, oh God, please let there be a spy this year, that’ll show them, that’ll clear this whole big mess … Here’s Gideon, pursing his lips with the heartrending expression of a gladiator forced to kill his own brother before a bloodthirsty mob, but where is the mob, who are the invisible spectators goading them on, and where is the emperor; and Aron looked up and for one last moment saw the bird of Gideon’s love for him fluttering across his features, as though trying to rouse him. Get up, Aron, get up, it whispered behind the mosquito netting draped over the sleeping child. Get up, we’re going on a long journey, as Aron curled around himself, bloodless, fleshless. If you were loyal to me you would wait as long as it takes, and Gideonretreated further into the brightly lit corridor, where a sturdy truck or tank appeared, and on it, in a blinding light, he distinguished his classmates, noisy boys and girls with their knapsacks and ropes and poles and pocketknives. No, no, I can’t come yet, he whispered, his eyes filling with regret. You see, I’m going away for a while, I’m entering the chrysalis phase of my disaster, Aroning into a cocoon. “Will you listen to me for a minute, Ari.” It was his caution and tact that made Aron decide. “For your own sake, just listen to me, you have to, you have to get hold of yourself—”