Eshkol Nevo - Homesick

By the way, I’ve noticed an interesting anthropological phenomenon. Hostels have three kinds of room: with a double bed (for lovers), with twin beds (for friends) and one bed (for singles). In the first two kinds of room, the walls are bare, there’s nothing on them except nail holes. But in the rooms that have one bed, the walls are full of graffiti — curses and declarations of love and confessions and quotes from songs by Pink Floyd, Kurt Cobain and even Aviv Geffen.

Bro, what you wrote about the assassination was very moving. The truth is that the rumour got here before your letter did. New muchilleros brought newspapers from 5 November in their backpacks. But I couldn’t connect to what people were feeling until I read your letter about the graffiti they wrote all over the square where he was killed. But still, I’m sure I can’t even begin to understand what you’re all feeling. When the most important decision you have to make is whether to order scrambled or fried eggs for breakfast, and the worst war you find yourself in is with the hostel owners about how much to pay for a night, everything looks far away and blurry. Like when you watch the world news round-up and see something horrible that’s happening in Somalia and then forget it two minutes later.

But maybe it’s good to forget sometimes, right?

Which reminds me — be careful with those nutcases of yours. I don’t know, something about the way you write about them has me a little worried. Especially that Shmuel. Sounds just like a cuckoo’s nest. I’m not saying you have to leave, just tie a cable to your back so you can pull yourself up if you fall into the abyss. I don’t want to remind you what happened the last time you weren’t careful, and this time, bro, it’ll be a little harder to get there from South America to shove the barrel aside.

By the way, have you told Noa about that yet? You have to fill me in so I won’t blurt out something by mistake in front of her when I get back (if I get back).

And now that we’re talking about her, how is she, really?

I was surprised when you wrote that she’s a lot more difficult than you thought and that you’re not sure she’ll ever be happy. Well he-ll-o, Amir! You’re just finding that out? Of course she’s difficult. Like all your other girlfriends were. That’s how you like them, right? I mean, if she was cuddly and easy, you’d be bored, right? Admit it.

I see you nodding slowly and smiling a little smile to yourself, and swearing at me for being right, and then going to the bathroom, stroking Noa’s hair on the way, and sitting down on the toilet, reading this letter from the beginning and thinking: what happened to Modi? What’s with this letter? It’s not like him to make speeches. The truth is that you’re right. I just read it over from the beginning and noticed that it’s a little different. It must be this windowless room. And Jenny’s boyfriend from Auckland. And the rain that’s been coming down for two days.

But it’s not so bad — that’s what’s so great about travelling –

I’ll be in another place very soon.

Yours,

Modi

*

Modi bungee jumped.

Wow.

From some bridge in Ecuador. He’s ecstatic. I got a five-page letter from him about it.

Lunatic.

Look who’s talking. You wander around Jerusalem looking for terrorist attacks. Don’t you get scared sometimes?

Truthfully, no. When I have a camera in my hand, I work. All I think about is light and composition and stuff like that.

And it doesn’t drive you crazy, all that glass and blood and tears?

Are you any better? With all your loonies?

I didn’t say I was better.

You didn’t say it, but you thought it.

No I didn’t.

OK, you didn’t. Tell me, why are you so aggressive?

I’m aggressive?

Yes. Why are you against me?

I’m not against you, I’m worried about you.

No you’re not, you’re worried about yourself.

That’s not true, I’m worried about you. Promise me you’ll call next time.

I’ll call.

Do you swear by Diane Arbus?

I swear by Diane Arbus. Why are you making such a big deal about it?

Because I think you’re putting yourself in danger on purpose, that you’re looking for it, that you like flirting with death.

It’s not fair, what you’re doing now.

Why not?

Because I told you already, I was a different person at sixteen, and there’s no way it’ll happen again.

Okay.

Besides, I asked you not to mention it.

OK, I’m sorry. (How is it that this ends up with me apologising? Unbelievable.)

(What does he want from me? He should give me some space.)

(Why is she quiet now?)

(He’d like me to sit home all day, like him.)

(Why do I always have to be the one to apologise? Let her do it for once.)

(Why is it his business what I do? He should leave me alone.)

(She should be the first one to say something.)

(He should be the first one to say something.)

What are you thinking about?

Nothing, this conversation is making me tired.

(Terrific, now she’s turning her back and here we go, another night without sex. We haven’t had sex for two weeks. We haven’t had sex for two weeks. We haven’t had sex for two weeks.)

(We haven’t laughed for two weeks. All that death around us has crept inside us.)

(That’s why I walk around starving, even a strip of Sima’s white bra turns me on.)

*

Those doctors. They act like they’re God, dressed in white, looking through you like you’re a window, but when something goes wrong, all of a sudden they’re the smallest, the most pathetic, the most sorry-but-things-like-this-happen. Damn them. They let Avram wait three months for the operation, even though he hasn’t been able to sleep for a year and a half because of the pain. They promised it’d be a simple operation, no complications. One of the most common operations in the hospital, Dr Zehavi told Gina, you have nothing to worry about. He’ll be home in three days, a new person.

The minute I saw the doctor walking toward us after the operation, I knew something had happened. It was as if the whole man had turned into a back. No face. No stomach. Just a back. All four of us went over to him together, but for some reason, he decided to talk to me. Maybe because he saw that I wasn’t part of the family, and he had less to be afraid of with me. It’s going to be more complicated than we thought, he said and sank further into his back. Avram’s blood pressure dropped during the operation, probably because of the anaesthetic, which means that the amount of oxygen to his brain decreased dramatically for at least five minutes. And it seems that he’s allergic to one of the anaesthetics, which adds a toxic effect, that is to say …

But the stones, what about the stones? Gina burst out, demanding that he look at her.

We removed his gall bladder, but we’ll have to wait and see how his brain function is affected by what happened.

What brain? What does the brain have to do with it? Gina asked, waving her finger in the air, it’s a stomach operation, isn’t it, doctor? That’s what you told me. You said it’s a simple operation, that’s what you said!!

Mama, calm down, don’t yell, Menachem said and put his hand on her arm. It’s a good thing he came, I thought. He’s the only one in that family who can handle her.

Can we go in to see him, doctor? Moshe asked and pointed to the locked door.

No, it’s too soon, the doctor said. Actually, he’s still being operated on. I suggest that you go home to rest and come back early tomorrow morning.

And I suggest, doctor, that you don’t make any suggestions, I was surprised to hear Menachem say, so angry that his beard was shaking. The doctor swallowed the insult. I could see it pass through his Adam’s apple to the indentation between the arteries in his neck and settle in his chest. No problem, he said and put on his gloves, you can stay and I promise to keep you informed of developments.