Eshkol Nevo - World Cup Wishes

I’m in a hurry to get everywhere, Amichai said bitterly and looked at his watch, but still agreed to join us for a short stroll against the strong wind that made sails belly out to the bursting point, and drove the red flags into a frenzy, and swirled old advertising flyers around in the air, and whipped the waves into a foam, and leafed through the pages of a book that an old lady sitting on a bench was reading, and also the pages of the book that her Philippino caregiver was reading, and ripped into the sleeves of the good shirts we’d put on in honour of the meeting in the hotel, and penetrated our nostrils and mouths and ears, making us walk next to each other in silence at first, because anyway, whatever question we asked then, and whatever answer we gave would have been blowing in the wind. It wasn’t till we were close to the Opera Tower that the whistling of the wind died down a bit, and walking became easier, less of a battle, and Amichai said, it’s nice here, on the promenade, and Ofir, who hadn’t been able to tolerate one nice word about Tel Aviv since he’d come back from India, said, it’s just a shame that the road is so close, and that the whole strip of beach has been taken over by concrete and commercial interests, and it’s a shame that it symbolises everything that’s happening in this city that has no depth, and everything in it is so exposed, so cellular, so lacking in intimacy, which affects the weak, temporary way people connect to each other here, and look, even the four of us, so many years here, and we had so many opportunities to make new friends, but we’re still stuck with each –

Let’s sit near the fountain for a little while, Amichai suggested, and I prayed that Ofir would shut up, because Amichai’s voice was shaking when he asked to rest, and I had a feeling that he was on the brink, but as we were crossing the road, Ofir pointed to the new branch of Abulafiya’s Pitta Bread and said look at that, because of the Intifada people are even afraid to go to Jaffa, to the original bakery, and they opened a branch here so God forbid they don’t have to look at Arabs in Jaffa, because Arabs are not cool, right?

We sat down on the edge of the fountain, but not even the sight of the flowing water could calm Ofir down.

He grabbed his nose with two fingers and said, phew, what a stink, why do they put so much chlorine in the water? Then he pointed to the square behind us and said, look at how many massage parlours there are here, how many betting shops, it’s just like the Roman Empire in its last days. Then he pointed to the entrance to the shopping centre and said, what are those statues of people with an accordion? And why are they hanging on columns with their heads down? What was the artist trying to say, that the minute they saw that ugly shopping centre they wanted to commit suicide? Nothing like this could happen in Copenhagen. In Copenhagen, they would get the best artists for a project like this, they wouldn’t just stick some cheap statue there.

But actually … you’ve never been to Copenhagen, I said, trying to stop Ofir’s tirade, mainly out of concern for Amichai, whose face was getting darker with every word Ofir said, and his broad camel’s back was showing signs of breaking any second, any half-second.

What difference does it make, Ofir said, refusing to shut up, it’s enough to see pictures of Copenhagen to understand how a big city should be planned. Not like this city, which is patched together with –

Bye, Amichai said suddenly, and before we realised what was happening, he had already crossed the road to the beach.

We hurried after him and managed to see him take off his clothes and jump into the cold, stormy water in his underwear.

Are you happy now? I yelled at Ofir. Amichai has gone off into this freezing sea all because of your stupid rant.

What’s so bad about a freezing sea? he replied in a quiet voice. You know that in Copenhagen, people go into icy water all winter? They say it’s better than meditation!

I waved my hand in the air in exasperation and walked away from him. And he, in response, waved his hands in the air, then lowered them to his hips and began making l-o-ong, s-o-o-ft t’ai chi movements.

*

My father liked to go into the sea in winter too. A kind of madness that didn’t fit with anything else in his work-oriented life. He always swam out to the deep water, to the smooth, quiet sea past the waves. I would wait for him on the beach till he came out. My mother wouldn’t join him because ‘Only masochists go swimming in the sea in this weather’, and she was very surprised that I wanted to go with him. ‘Why do you go with your dad, Yuvali? You never go into the water anyway’, she would say and try to persuade me to stay at home with her and watch a documentary series about the royal family on Middle East TV. What she didn’t understand was that I had a job to do there, on the beach. I tried to pretend, to keep busy doing all sorts of things, building sandcastles, exercising, but I was actually watching out for my father. I looked for his head, followed the way it appeared further and further from the beach each time, making sure over and over again that he hadn’t drowned. Sometimes his head would vanish among the waves for too long, and I would stand with my ankles in the cold sand, worrying, trying to decide whether to go to the first-aid station to ask for help, picturing his body spilling onto the beach and everyone blaming me for not doing anything, because in fact, deep inside, I wanted him to die. In the end, he would come out with a wet smile, take his thick glasses and his towel from me and say: that water, it’s so invigorating! Shame you don’t come in with me, son.

*

Now, too, I followed Amichai’s head for a few minutes, as it disappeared and reappeared, until it suddenly vanished altogether.

Bro, I said, touching Ofir’s shoulder, I can’t see Amichai.

Ofir continued his t’ai chi movements and said, you worry too much, man. Amichai Tanuri is stronger than all those waves put together.

And you’re a bigger idiot than all the jellyfish put together, I thought. After all, you’re the one who said that if anything happened to Amichai, we’d never forgive ourselves. So why the sudden change?

I stripped, determined to go into the water and save Amichai from drowning, but before I could, a city patrol jeep appeared on the beach and an authoritative voice boomed from it: ‘Everyone out of the water. Everyone out of the water. The water is polluted due to a malfunction in the sewage system. I repeat: the water is polluted due to a malfunction in the sewage system. Everyone out of the water.’

A few seconds later, Amichai came out of the water. He ambled towards us, and when he was about a metre away, launched into a perfect imitation of Ofir, including the nasal tone and the folded hands: did you hear that jeep? Did you hear what he said? In Co-pen-ha-gen, that would never happen!

Ofir laughed out loud at the great imitation, and I thought to myself that this was the first time I’d seen him laugh at himself since he came back from India, and that if a person can laugh at himself, there’s hope for him.

Then Amichai dried himself off with his T-shirt and put on his clothes, and we started back.

This time we were walking in the same direction as the wind, which propelled us north quickly, as if we were kites (when I was little, my father used to call me ‘kite’. Every time I drifted off into my thoughts, he would pull a thin, invisible string and ground me with a job he thought up: tightening an already tight table leg; washing an already washed car, taking apart and putting together a perfectly fine wall clock).

No matter what, in the end, we’re going to set up that NPO, Amichai said as we neared Ofir’s car. I thought about it while I was swimming and I’m telling you — in the end, it’s going to happen!