David Grossman - The Book of Intimate Grammar

Gideon slapped his knee with a loud laugh, and Aron too began to laugh uproariously, listening to himself in pure amazement, and they ran together, breathless, on fire, all the way to their rock in the valley, where they sat down with tears of laughter in their eyes; what a laugh that was, not the kind he could squeeze from the glands in his armpits and squirt out through his mouth in a dirty artificial spray, and Gideon was all eyes, his pupils darting around in search of the fine gold vein. Go on, tell, describe some more, and Aron, drunk and princely, prodigal as the forces of nature, told everything: about her face when she danced for him, the way she suddenly appeared in her leotard, extending’her slender leg in the air, noble and free, the way, the way, the way; as he spoke he felt the agreeable prickling sensation in the new place, her place, somewhere to the south, as they say in the army, the root of thesecret shining over the point he had established there, beware! The cruel eye is watching, the wind of ruin blows hither, freezing everything, and down below, a round new world is floating inside him, an adorable bubble, with a tiny dancer tapping her toes inside it; wait, she isn’t really in there yet, she keeps disappearing every minute, maybe he’d been too explicit in his thoughts, maybe the suspicious eye had stirred beneath its marbly lid, tracing every spark of light, tracking radarlike after the waves of heat and joy; this is nonsense, gobbledygook, so he told Gideon only what he was allowed to tell him, and used his mouth to etch the lips pouting over her chin, to whittle the arching muscle of her calf, the sweet little space between her big toe and the others … Gideon’s eyes grew round as he watched Aron’s lips dripping the first words of love he had ever spoken aloud, words imbued with what they described, and Gideon too could taste her skin, her rounded cheeks, the sweetness of her childish lips, the lower one swollen and smiling. Sometimes Gideon seemed to be trying to control himself, to protect himself, to draw comparisons, whether out of pettiness or concern, between Aron’s description and the girl he knew, but gradually the pendulum stopped swinging, he forgot the little girl and her slender legs, absented himself completely from the green eyes in which only Aron was reflected now, a tiny figure paddling relentlessly, and Aron too could not help marveling how the words coming out of him not only showed Yaeli as she was but beautified and refined her, transforming her into a vision of who she would shortly become, eliminating a flaw or two, the proud smile as a possible foreshadowing of conceit, a certain note of resolve and worrisome striving in her nose, and even her wonderful lower lip, which at times, from a certain angle, appeared too full, too earthy for a girl like her; these he mercifully concealed from Gideon, erased them with a wag of his magic tongue, and now he was worthy to love her unto death in the rosy future to which they would jointly aspire.

Finally he stopped talking, dry-mouthed and breathless, surprised to see evening had already fallen. Gideon’s eyes remained fixed on him, with a thread of spit between his parted lips, and Aron vaguely recalled a different mouth, gaping at him thus, with the same thread of spit, and he felt a tickle of pride inside that he, Aron, was being looked at like this, he and his words had accomplished this, and the thread ofspit was not disgusting, not in the least, for Aron and his words had created it, and Gideon’s face resumed the cast of the child he was, shucking off its bony hardness.

“Listen.” Gideon spoke at last in a voice so quiet it sounded like his old melodious voice. “If you’re so crazy about her, why don’t we walk her home sometime?”

“You mean both of us? Together?” Aron’s eyes lit up. “You want to?”

But the next day, in the first few minutes after they joined her on their way home, a stupid argument flared up between her and Gideon, so that instead of talking as Aron had imagined countless times, about her and her parents and her girl friends and her ballet class and her ambition to be a dancer and his to play the guitar, Gideon started lecturing them, as usual, preaching to the world, and never once looked at Yaeli. She walked with them in silence, as usual, and if it thrilled her that two boys had dropped out of the group to follow her home, she didn’t let it show. A blush spread over her throat, not the shade Aron treasured in his memory, but a louder pink, with an unbecoming red at its center.

“The whole class will break up!” Gideon summarized his argument and sniffed with fury.

“Aren’t you exaggerating slightly?” said Yaeli with a self-assurance that took Aron’s breath away. “Look, if you have enough backbone as a class, what’s the harm in letting kids try out different things.”

Aron exulted inwardly: Good for you!

“Different things!” Gideon practically shuddered at the words, raising his arms and still not looking at Yaeli. “What do you mean! All they want to do is sit on the railings on Saturday night and whistle at girls!”

“That’s their privilege. There’s no law that says you have to spend Saturday night at a youth group or Scout meeting arguing about politics.” Aron gloated with an inward chuckle. Wow, she’s really letting him have it.

“Great! Terrific!” cried Gideon, and his voice cracked twice. “Next you’ll tell me you’re planning to drop out of Scouts so you can be completely free!”

“Not me.” Yaeli answered him with a powerful stare. “But I would certainly understand someone else wanting to try something different.”

“Phew! Great! Copying America! That’s what results from a lack ofidealism among today’s youth!” shouted Gideon, his collar fluttering. Aron waited tensely for Yaeli’s answer. Her wavy black hair was full of electricity, he could almost hear it breathing over the clamor. But instead of answering she broke into a silent smile which Aron found himself mimicking unconsciously.

“Go on, laugh.” Gideon turned to him with stifled anger, in his seemingly indifferent voice. “What are you laughing at, huh? Why don’t you let us in on it instead of laughing under your mustache.”

He meant no harm by it. That’s how all the kids talked. But Aron’s heart sank.

“I … don’t … I haven’t thought about it much.”

Idiot. Jerk. Why didn’t he make something up? Now she’d think he had no opinions. That he was shallow. Actually he wasn’t sure what he thought about the matter, and at first, when everyone was joining a youth movement, he tried going to a couple of meetings, but then he quit. He couldn’t stand those assemblies and standing in rows, and the ceremonies and the anthems, and doing everything together like a bunch of robots, so he kept making wisecracks and joking around till finally they kicked him out. And now it was too late to join again. They were all filled up, and anyway, by now everyone knew he was — was what? What was happening to him? He ought to be getting ready for his great awakening, approaching it with giant steps, how come he couldn’t answer such a silly question? And why were they arguing about it? He had planned this very differently. And now look at him, so listless, almost paralyzed. But even after the scolding he couldn’t open his mouth, not just because he was excited that they were walking her home, but because of something else, something inexplicable that was going on here, the way Yaeli was talking, for instance, and the way Gideon was answering her, only, how would Aron be able to guide his love when Yaeli was so far ahead of him, she must have been honing her opinions for quite a while, and she certainly did look feisty with her lip sticking out like that. Hey, they’re arguing like grownups, he thought unhappily, they were getting all that practice in their youth movements while he spent his time daydreaming or playing with Pelé and Gummy, or hunting spies.