David Grossman - The Book of Intimate Grammar

They walked her home and dawdled in the yard, the two of them talking, arguing really, bickering endlessly, needling each other and making up again, and Aron engraved her gestures in his heart, the way she spoke, the way she smiled, nurturing his own Yaeli and filling her with more and more life, till eventually her mother stepped out and with a smile just like Yaeli’s asked if they were planning to come in or to stand there waiting for the Messiah, and only then did they say goodbye.

They walked on in silence, Gideon pensive, Aron ecstatic: all his doubts had been dispelled by the smile she beamed at him before turning into the house. Their glances had generated an electrical storm in front of the honeysuckle bush, and Aron had won, he had won the final glimpse from her almond eyes. She was his. She was his. Inside and out Yaeli was his. And Gideon, really, he would have to be taught how to behave around a girl. Aron picked a honeysuckle blossom and sniffed its fragrance. You have to know how to love, he mused, you have to love to know what life is. Love conquers death. Orblike words revolved inside him, and he decided to note these emotions in a secret diary so he would remember them forever and ever: and you have to be open to love and the pain of love, he thought. But then of course Mama would peek in his diary and find out. You have to be willing to pay the most terrible price of all: your own life in martyrdom for the sanctity of love. Maybe he would write it in code and conceal it from her that way. He stole a glance at Gideon, who was engrossed in himself, blushing slightly as his lips moved in private speech. Aron smiled: Good old Gideon, even to himself he has to lecture.

“Why did you have to argue with her like that,” said Aron loftily. “What do you care if she thinks differently?”

“Me argue with her?” Gideon was startled. “What, you mean it looked like I was arguing with her?”

Aron laughed. He punched Gideon in the shoulder. Gideon blushed harder, and smiled at his friend with shining eyes. “Hey, what do you say, let’s ask her to the movies.”

“You mean Yaeli?”

“Sure, why not? We’ll go together, the three of us. It’ll be fun.”

“Okay, but which movie?” asked Aron. “Some of them are restricted, you know.”

“Your choice.”

There, Gideon understood.

“Uncle Tom’s Cabin is playing at the Smadar.”

“Whatever you say. Even that.”

“And we’ll go half and half on her ticket?”

“Half and half.”

“She probably won’t let us pay for her.”

“Yeah, probably not,” said Gideon, smiling. “She’s a girl of principle.”

“So how will we tell her? Do you have the nerve to ask her?”

Gideon halted a moment and kicked the asphalt with his shoe. Then he shrugged his shoulders.

“You ask her,” he said. “You’ll know better how to persuade her to go.”

“Who me? What do I know? You.”

“No, you.”

“No, you.”

They stood there shoving each other, jabbing each other lightly on the arm, and Aron even landed a weak punch on Gideon’s elbow the way he saw them do in Tel Aviv, and Gideon retaliated gingerly and giggled; it was Gideon’s embarrassment, in fact, and his fairly weak fists that cheered Aron, he wasn’t at all the tough guy yet that he fancied himself to be, and their school bags rested between them on the pavement, nestling together like puppies who had cleverly brought their masters together.

“What do you think?” asked Gideon with a grin. “Does she wear a ‘thingy’ yet?”

“Don’t know.” Aron instantly cooled off, crushed and offended by the crudeness of the question. He picked up his school bag, followed by Gideon, who didn’t notice his glowering face. No, he wouldn’t, he had already betrayed their understanding with its threadlike nuances, and you have to pay for being on the outside, you have to sacrifice something to be able to ask a question like that, in a voice like that, about Yaeli. “’Cause I’ve never noticed a stripe across her back, have you?”

How long were they together? Five weeks, maybe six, depending on whether you counted work camp or not, time enough for Gideon and Aron to lavish the treasures of their childhood on Yaeli, the profusion of their stories and secrets and plans, and sometimes Aron worried they were sharing things before they were ready to, but he tried to persuade himself that here he could count on Gideon, on his confidence and instincts and brains, because Gideon probably knew better what was okay to tell her and what wasn’t and where to draw the limits, and Gideon told her quite a lot, almost everything, in fact. And the way he talked, you’d think it was all a big joke, that nothing was serious to him, and he kind of bragged too, at Aron’s expense sometimes; he even lied, though Aron never said a word, because he didn’t want to embarrass him.

On Thursdays they walked Yaeli to her ballet class in the Valley of the Cross and waited outside for her like bodyguards. One time Madame Nikova passed by them, diminutive and wrinkled, and stopped and turned. “Always the two of you are with her, no?” she asked in her thick Russian accent. They nodded. Madame Nikova glanced astutely from the boys to Yaeli. There was a flicker of amused approval in her eyes. Her crimson mouth assumed a smile, and Yaeli bowed her head as though feigning modesty. The old ballet mistress seemed about to say more, perhaps she was reminded of her past, but she seemed to think better of it and turned away again, and Aron had a sneaky suspicionthat such things were not unknown, that theirs was not a unique and unprecedented relationship; that the outcome was inevitable.

Later, when they walked her home, Yaeli’s mother invited them in. Yaeli had three big sisters who looked so much like her that through his half-closed lids, Aron could enjoy a vision of the mother and her daughters, Yaeli times five, like milestones over the years to come.

Yaeli’s mother was pretty. She was petite like Yaeli, smily and direct, maybe too direct at times. She walked right into Yaeli’s room and sat down cross-legged on the rug with them. And although she was a Bible teacher she talked like a young person, not like his parents. It was even a little jarring sometimes, once he heard her say “Son-of-a-bitch!” and didn’t know where to bury himself. She let Yaeli call her by her name, Atara, and they shared each other’s clothes and hugged and cuddled in front of everyone, and her cheeks turned pink, he was pleased to discover, whenever she talked about her boyfriends in the Haganah, or when she made them listen to all six sides of The Magic Flute, and hummed along with Papageno and Papagena. And her eyes glistened with a joy and a longing she didn’t even try to disguise, so Aron, who was amazed that she and his parents were the same age, wanted to ask his mother and father what they did in the days before the War of Independence, when Yaeli’s mother was out on night raids and fighting Arabs face-to-face. Gideon told Atara he really envied her and her generation for living in that glorious time, and she ruffled his hair and said, Don’t talk nonsense, she hoped to God his generation would never know anything like that glory. Aron knew Atara’s choice would strongly influence Yaeli’s, and he tried his best to show her he was worthy of her daughter, that he was reliable and neat and clean and came from a good family, but he couldn’t help feeling she didn’t like him. She seemed much fonder of Gideon, even though he put his feet up on the table and imitated different accents, things he’d never done before; he even let Atara teach him to dance the debka properly, and she pranced around the salon with him, barefoot and jubilant and young, and Aron looked down at his hands. She’s so light on her feet, he thought to himself, nothing weighs her down, and he peeked out shyly through his lashes at the dancing presence and the flashing mysteries, and his spirits flagged as he suddenly imagined Yaeli and Gideon having happy memories like this someday, because of their childhood and youth camp andschool trips and dances and even their stupid arguments, while he — what was he but a shirker like his parents. Always Aroning.