Eshkol Nevo - World Cup Wishes

But then Churchill told everyone about the special package he’d received from Shahar Cohen, and they encouraged him to try that dulcinea because what did he have to lose? So he squeezed some salve into his hand and spread it carefully on the left side of his chest just as Shahar had explained, and in less than a minute, the whole area began to itch terribly.

What a bastard that Shahar is, he said, scratching his chest with his nails.

Not a bastard. A genius! Ofir said with a laugh, it’ll itch you so much now that you won’t be able to think about anything else.

What are you so happy about, ya sharwal ?! Churchill screamed, threw the tube of salve at him and ran to the shower to cool the burning.

He came back, still scratching, and Ofir rolled a thick joint for all of us and explained that he was happy because they’re pregnant, that is, his Maria’s pregnant. And in honour of the event, he went to Jaffa, like he used to, to bring us all premium weed, something especially strong recently brought in from Lebanon. We all stood up and hugged him warmly, one after the other, and said mazel tov , Daddy, mazel tov . Then we passed the joint around slowly and Churchill laughed and said, if only the police would come in now and catch us red-handed, that would solve my dilemma about whether to stay in the prosecutor’s office or not, and Amichai paled slightly and said, I don’t know if the police is such a good idea, my adversaries in the health system would have a ball with that, not to mention the media, and that lit a fire under Ofir, who said, yes, I can just see the headlines: ‘Our Right to Smoke? Founder of the Our Right NPO to Advance Human Rights in the Health System suspected of using drugs’.

‘Tanuri defends himself: “There’s smoke without fire”’, Churchill suggested a subhead.

‘Tanuri defends himself: “I thought it was the JOINT organisation”’.

‘Tanuri defends himself: “My actions have been taken out of context”’.

‘Tanuri defends himself: “I was just trying to support the Arabs of Jaffa”’.

‘Tanuri defends himself: “It wasn’t me. It was Shahar Cohen”’.

We continued writing virtual headlines about Amichai’s brush with the law. The less funny they were, the more we laughed at them. I could feel the awkwardness fading, and we were connected once again by the fine strings of unforced closeness. And the Israeli team wasn’t doing too badly either. The blue-and-whites were awarded a penalty kick and, amazingly enough, scored a goal to make it one-nil against Austria. Now they need to play an eleven-man defence till the end, Amichai said, and Churchill objected, are you kidding, now’s the time to attack. And Ofir suggested, they should play defensively, then counter-attack!

As the game drew closer to the end, they stopped arguing about tactics and switched to planning our trip to the World Cup. Ilana’s brother is working in Japan now, and we can probably crash at his place. Maria has a friend who has a flatmate who is the secretary of some FIFA big shot, Ofir said. Maybe she can pull a few strings and get tickets for us. Four tickets for the semis, the final, and all of Brazil’s games, Churchill fantasised out loud.

Only I was quiet. My pessimism would not allow me to get carried away with them, much as I wanted to. And at the last minute, I was proven right (when a pessimist is right, he feels no joy. Just a tiny, bitter drop on the tongue. That’s all).

Austria was awarded a free kick from outside the penalty box. The wall (of course) wasn’t positioned right. The Israeli goalkeeper (of course) didn’t see the ball in time. And the ball (of course) landed in the net.

How predictable, Churchill said.

It was in the air, Ofir said.

Maybe we can still score another goal, Amichai dared to hope.

But the referee blew his whistle to end the game and the analysts were already demanding the coach’s resignation more emphatically every moment, and fragments of shattered dreams drifted in the air of my living room. Ofir quickly rolled another thick joint, because now that we were finally all together, it would be a shame to sink into gloom, but instead of making us happy the second joint had the opposite effect on us, and so intensified our disappointment at the team’s failure that from drag to drag the disappointment grew into a deep, overall depression about our individual lives, how they were turning out, how different they were from what we had expected. Suddenly, everything seemed so pointless, almost hopeless, and at the same time, we all felt stomach-turning, heart-pounding anxiety and a desire to open the window and jump out and crash onto the sidewalk because even if it hurt, it would be better than what –

That stuff … Amichai mumbled, his pupils dilated, a bit strong, isn’t it?

I’m sorry, Ofir said. I went to Jaffa, to my old dealer. But it turns out that he’s back on the straight and narrow and counsels street gangs now. So they sent me to someone else, and that someone else told me this was good stuff … What do I know? I used to understand this kind of thing once. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, guys. I just wanted to make us all feel good.

Don’t worry, I told him.

But then, without any warning, he began to cry.

You couldn’t have known, Amichai said, trying to calm him down, but he sobbed, you have no idea, you have no idea. And was silent. Then took another drag of the joint and said, you have no idea how worried I am about Maria. She spends all her time wandering around the territories, at those checkpoints. I try to explain to her that it’s not right. That she’s pregnant now. But she doesn’t listen. She keeps going there … I don’t know … Sometimes I think she doesn’t even want this pregnancy. That if it was up to her, she’d rather join Ilana in heaven.

Amichai’s face suddenly darkened when he heard Ilana’s name. I’m not enjoying this, he said, and took a drag on the joint. I haven’t enjoyed anything since Ilana … Once, everything used to give me pleasure. Every little thing. Having a shower. Dipping artichoke leaves in mayonnaise. Driving fast with the windows open. And today — I’ve become like my mother after my father was killed. I live to survive. To exist. Even that NPO — I don’t enjoy it at all. And if I feel a moment of satisfaction, I immediately begin to feel guilty for being happy when Ilana’s dead. And then … and then I’m not happy any more.

I listened to Amichai and Ofir and couldn’t understand them at all. Just the opposite. They pissed me off. What were they complaining about? At least they had love. At least something important had happened in their lives. And me? The most important thing that had happened to me was Ya’ara. And Churchill had taken even that. And now he was asking me for refuge. And I was giving it to him.

We continued passing around the joint. It was clear now that it was poison, but we couldn’t stop. Some senior official in the Football Association who was being interviewed explained that the fact that the team didn’t make it to the World Cup couldn’t be considered a failure, and even if it could, he wasn’t responsible for it.

What a loser, Ofir hissed.

What a shit, Amichai spat out the words.

What a pathetic bunch we are, I thought and looked at the three people sitting in my living room. Suddenly I felt contempt for them. That Ofir, whose spirituality stops at the green line. He always talks about giving to the ‘other’, but when his wife goes to stand at the checkpoints, he makes her life a misery. And Amichai too, pretending not to enjoy the NPO. Of course he enjoys it. The NPO and the attention. He’s like a note that’s been folded for a long time and is spread open now for all to see. But he won’t admit it. Not him. Because then he’d have to admit that it all began with Ilana’s death. With the fact that he no longer had to expend all his energy on making her happy. And Churchill, why’s he vomiting now? Why on the carpet? What is he, a little boy? Why do I always have to clean up his vomit? Fuck that. He can clean it up himself.