Eshkol Nevo - Homesick

*

No one mentioned my birthday. Not that I expected to be taken to Kenya on safari like Daniel from Mevasseret was, but I didn’t think they’d ignore it either. They actually know the date very well, and just to be on the safe side, I mentioned three times the week before that my class was arranging a party for me and I put a note on the fridge with the date written in huge numbers so even Mum without her glasses couldn’t miss it, but on that day, the guys from Gidi’s platoon came over at lunchtime. They were on their first leave since the incident and had decided to come to our house straight from the base, so there wasn’t time — they were sorry about that — to let us know in advance. Mum said, don’t be silly, you don’t have to let us know, and called Dad and said, Reuven, come home right away, Gidi’s friends are here, and Dad, who Mum always says wouldn’t leave work in the middle of the day even if World War III were starting, was home within fifteen minutes, even less, shaking the hands of all of Gidi’s buddies and saying to Mum, why don’t you offer them something to drink? She said, I did, but they didn’t want anything, and Dad said, make the boys some lemonade; don’t be shy, boys, make yourselves at home. He sat down on an armchair across from them and asked questions about the situation in Lebanon, about their commander, the redhead, how is he, and Mum came in with the lemonade and called me to come and see them, but I didn’t want to. I knew exactly how the conversation would go, they’d say again how much Gidi loved the company, even though every Saturday night he used to close the door to his room and cry because he was so miserable about having to go back to the base. They’d say again that he wanted to sign up for the regular army although I’d heard him say to his friend, Sarit, that even if they gave him a million dollars, he wouldn’t stay in the army one more day. And after they’d finish telling all those lies, which even my parents knew were lies, they’d give a blow-by-blow description of how he was killed in an ambush, which was something I didn’t want to hear.

OK, I’m just coming, I told Mum. Then I climbed out my window and started walking over to Amir and Noa’s place.

There was a strong wind, ice-lolly wrappers were blowing around in the air, and I almost fell twice. The Arab worker, the one all the mothers have been warning their kids about recently, was walking around in the empty lot. Up close, he looked old and not at all scary, but still, I didn’t understand what he was doing there. Should I get the soldiers who were in our house? I hid behind Gidi’s monument and watched him for a while, but he didn’t do anything interesting, didn’t bury a bomb, didn’t take out a knife, all he did was look at Avram and Gina’s house from a few different angles, then limp back to Madmoni’s site. No reason to get the soldiers, I thought, just a weird old man. I came out of my hiding place and ran to Amir and Noa’s apartment. Amir opened the door with a big smile: you beat me to it by a minute, he said. I was just on my way to your place to give you a present. A present? I said, surprised. How do you know it’s my birthday? A little bird told me, he said. What bird? I asked. Just kidding, he said, laughing. Last week, you only mentioned three times that Wednesday was your birthday. No way I could’ve missed it.

He took a large gift-wrapped box off the top of the TV and gave it to me. You can probably guess what it is, he said. Inside the wrapping was a shiny new chessboard. I opened it, and inside the board were the pieces, bigger than any of the ones we’d played with till now, and more nicely sculpted. The knight really looked like a horse, the rook really looked like a fortress. And the king’s crown was like the crown you see in educational TV programmes about Richard the Lionheart.

Next to the pieces was a small plastic bag. Open it, Amir said, handing it to me, it’s for you too. Inside the bag was a Beitar Jerusalem scarf, not like the nylon one I had, but a thick, woollen scarf with the menorah logo of my favourite football team, Beitar Jerusalem, printed on both ends.

Thank you, I said. It sounded like too little to me, that ‘thank you’, but I didn’t know what else to say.

T-h-a-n-k-y-o-u, Amir imitated me. Is that all? Do you know what it means for a Hapoel fan like me to buy a Beitar scarf? Do you know what they’d say in Bloomfield if they knew? Hey, gimme a hug.

After we broke in the new board with two straight games — I made Amir swear not to let me win just because it was my birthday, so I lost them both — Noa called and Amir said he had to meet her at the shops soon, in the supermarket, to buy flowers and candles for his friend David’s show. I gave him a normal hug goodbye, quicker than the first one, and went home with my new board. When I came in, Gidi’s friends were gone, and Dad was back at work. Mum was sitting in the living room looking at a new album I hadn’t seen before. I thought about slipping away to my room without talking, but she looked up from the album and asked, where were you? She didn’t say it as if she were planning to tell me off, but as if she’d been worried about me while I was gone. So I told her the truth, that I was at Amir’s. That student? Yes. Do you go there a lot? Yes. It’s a shame you didn’t sit with us for a little while, Yoti, you would have heard a few stories about Gidi. Do you miss him sometimes? Yes. And that Amir, tell me, what do you do together? Play chess. Chess? Since when do you play chess? Since he taught me how. OK, it looks like I have to meet him, that friend of yours, let’s go and see him. Now? Now. We can’t, he’s at the shops, buying things for his friend’s show. How do you know? He told me. Come on, Yoti, let’s go to his place together. But he went to the supermarket. Let’s try, the worst that can happen is that he won’t be there.

Mum put on her long black coat and we left. Walking down the stairs, it occurred to me that I never actually take this route to their place, along the street. I always take the shortcut through the lot, and now we went out to the pavement, turned left and walked on the road, close to each other, but not touching, and we went up the stairs that lead to the Zakian house — the strong wind almost blew me into my mother, but at the last minute I managed to stay on my feet — and as we climbed, I kept hoping that Amir had already left. Sure enough, when we got to the Zakian house, Moshe was standing outside with a cigarette in his hand and he said, welcome, and my mother pointed to the grey-tiled path and asked: is that the students’ apartment? Moshe said yes, but he just left and she’s not home, do you want to leave them a message? And Mum said no, we’ll come back another time, and Moshe said, you can come inside and have something to drink at our place, and Mum said no, thank you, another time.

That expression, ‘another time’, is the one my mother’s been using the most since Gidi. She says it to all her friends when they call to invite her over, and also every time I ask her to help me with my homework, and now, I thought, it looks like she’s going to celebrate my birthday ‘another time’ too. We did an about-face, and as we were walking down the steps to the street, Mum stroked my head. At first, I was so surprised that I didn’t know what was touching me and I almost hit her hand with my own, but when I understood, it felt good, and I walked more slowly to keep pace with her stroking, and she said, Yoti, tell that student to call in when he has a chance, OK? I said OK Mum, even though I knew I wouldn’t tell him because I wanted to keep Amir all to myself.

*

When Noa and Amir come home from the supermarket, the house is full of cooking smells. So what do you think, Amir asks as he uncovers the hole in the wall, did Moshe and Sima decide to make up? Did you hear anything at all? Yes, I think so, Noa says, otherwise Sima wouldn’t be making him chicken breasts on the grill. With mushroom sauce, Amir whispers, and tiny potatoes with dill. They stand there under the hole for a few minutes and try to see if they can tell — it’s kind of game they play — exactly what the Zakians are going to eat tonight from the smell.