Eshkol Nevo - World Cup Wishes

Unbelievable, he said.

I thought he was talking about himself, about what happened, repenting. But then he said again, unbelievable. Come and see what’s going on here.

I went over to the window. It was one in the morning, and on my little street, some ten young women wearing traditional yellow dresses were dancing their way among the cars. The procession was led by an older woman with long black hair who was banging on a large drum in an ever faster rhythm. In the centre of the group, dressed in white, were a woman and a man, a bride and groom, who looked amused and excited by the commotion. Every few steps, the young women stopped their dance for a moment to throw confetti on the couple, then went back to their dancing and singing.

It’s a hinna , Churchill explained.

In the middle of the night? I asked.

That’s what’s so great about this city, he said. Anything can happen. And what’s even greater is that no one makes a big deal about it.

True. In Haifa, the neighbours would already be calling the police.

A parking warden turned into the street just as the hinna party reached the junction. In seconds, she was swallowed up in the sea of yellow dresses — female arms touched her, stroked her, pulled her into joining the dance. She resisted at first, tried to break out of the circle that formed around her, but then, suddenly, as if something inside her had surrendered, she abandoned herself to it — she let down her hair, unbuttoned the top button on her blouse and danced in front of the groom.

Look at that, what a scene, Churchill said.

The warden finally broke away from the group and went back to putting parking tickets on windscreens, but Churchill continued to hold the curtain away from the window.

Remember that trip on Independence Day? Remember that I made you swear to come here with me after the army?

Of course.

Do you think it would have been different if we’d stayed in Haifa?

What would have been different?

Everything … us. Do you think this city changed us?

Of course. I don’t even remember how to drive a manual car up a hill any more.

And … apart from that?

I don’t know. I’m not sure. Because meanwhile, time has passed, so how can you separate what …

Look, look at that woman with the drum. She must be the bride’s mother. Shame Ofir can’t see this now, it might make him feel like coming back to live here.

That’s hard to believe, I said. I think he’s already gone past the point of no return.

The joint of no return, Churchill said, repeating one of Ofir’s quips from his copywriting days.

The colourful procession disappeared around the corner, but Churchill lingered at the window for another long moment, as if saddened that he would have to continue his story now. As if he would rather join that group of dancers, bang the drum loudly and forget everything.

Tell me, he suddenly asked, at my wedding, did I look as happy as those two on the street?

I didn’t know what to say. At his wedding, my eyes were mostly on the bride.

No, he went on without waiting for an answer, even at my wedding, I was thinking about Keren. Thoughts of her went through my mind at least twice during the ceremony. That’s why I drank so much, to stop those thoughts. And thoughts about our World Cup wishes — you remember those wishes we wrote? She was one of the two wishes I didn’t read aloud. ‘ I want to meet Keren purely by chance after thoughts of her are gone from me ’, that’s what I wrote.

‘I once loved a little girl in the Galilee,’ I said, reciting the next line of Meir Ariel’s song.

Churchill flashed me a warm look, the kind we used to exchange once, before the rift. A look that says, ‘How great it is that there’s someone in the world who understands my most personal associations.’

And you know what the best bit is? he went on, slightly heartened, she’d really been living in the Galilee all those years, in some small village above Carmiel.

Alone?

Sometimes alone, sometimes not. At least that’s what she told me. Now I don’t know any more what is the truth and what isn’t. She said she wasn’t ready to give up her freedom for any price, and in the same breath asked me to come and see her there. I told her I’d drop by sometime, and then she crossed one slit-exposed leg over the other and said, I meant now.

So you slept with her, I said impatiently.

Yes, but only to exorcise the dybbuk. I told myself, I’m cheating on Ya’ara, but it’s actually for her own good.

Her own good? I shouted. I was beginning to feel that Churchill was misleading me again with his brilliant arguments.

I know it sounds bad, he said, but that’s what I thought. That if I sleep with her, I’ll find out the secret she’s always been hinting at. And if I find out the secret, it won’t drive me mad any more.

So, did you find it out? I asked, trying not to sound disparaging.

Yes, Churchill said sadly. After a few minutes of kissing in her house, she suddenly stops me and says: there’s something I have to tell you. And you have to realise that at that point, I’m already on fire, burned at the edges, like those birthday cards I used to make for you guys once. But she moves my hand away and tells me that she thinks I should know that she wasn’t in the court by accident.

So what was she doing there?

She’s the defendant’s daughter.

Wow.

The oldest daughter, from his first marriage. She’s not really in contact with him. Just the opposite, she’s angry with him. Even changed her name so it won’t be the same as his. In fact, she’s not sure whether she came to court to support him or to gloat.

Wait a minute, is that legal?

What?

For the prosecutor to get chummy with the defendant’s daughter?

It’s problematic ethically, but if he doesn’t know she’s the defendant’s daughter, it’s hard to fault him.

So that’s why she …

Told me, right. So that later, when they hear the tape, it’ll be clear that I knew.

The tape?

The tape, a hidden camera. They were very methodical.

But what … why did they invest so much effort? If it’s not you, another prosecutor will be appointed, no?

They think that, from the beginning, I personally pushed that case. That I’m obsessed with getting a conviction, for personal advancement. They always claimed that.

And you didn’t … at any point … with Keren … you never suspected?

Churchill sniggered sadly. Suspected? To suspect, you have to think. And at that point, I wasn’t thinking at all. Ten years! Ten years, since Cusco, I’d been thinking about her, and there she was, right beside me. With that slit. Do you see? It was like trying to stop breathing.

Churchill stood up again and went to the window. His eyes sought some other dramatic event in the street, an event that would save him from having to finish the story.

The next day, he said, turning back to me, I went into the district attorney’s office to confess. It turned out that she already knew. They’d sent her the tape during the night. Actually, she was fine. She said she appreciated that I’d come to her of my own volition. Said the fact that the family had made such a great effort to get me off the case proves how frightened they were of me. But she had no choice but to remove me from the case. She suggested we do it as quickly as possible, before it got out to the media, because it would be better if it came from her and not as a result of public pressure. She put a hand on my shoulder and said that I was still young, and it was important that I learn from that mistake … and that was that. Two hours later, they sent someone to take the cartons.

What cartons?