Eshkol Nevo - Homesick

A bus that had pulled into the stop across the street let passengers off, and they all came over to see why a police car was parked here. That’s the way it is around here, everyone has to know everything. It’s OK, I gestured to them, everything’s fine. The policemen started going up the stairs and I grabbed the midget by his sleeve just before he got to the door and said that maybe I should go in first, so they won’t get scared. Absolutely not, he said and smashed the door hard with his shoulder, like you see in those TV series, but the door was slightly open — that’s how I left it when I sneaked out — so he kept right on going all the way into the living room. The other two policemen tried not to laugh and went in after him, and I locked the door. Thank God, Gina said and blew a kiss to the ceiling, thank God you came. Thank God for what? What are you talking about? Who asked them to come? Avram said, letting go of the ladder and walking over to the midget. Ah … the midget stammered and pointed to me, this lady here called us, she said an Arab broke into your house. Broke in? Who broke in? Avram said and grabbed him by his shirt. Ya ahabel , you idiot, this is my son, Nissan. I invited him in, and I’m overjoyed that he’s here. And who’s this? the midget asked, pointing at me. Avram looked at me and a spark of recognition flashed in his eyes. No one, he said, some crazy woman. She talks a lot but doesn’t understand much. She’s my daughter-in-law, Gina interrupted him (and I thought: the Messiah must have come, Gina’s saying something on my behalf?), and this is Avram, my husband. He’s a little … he had an operation, you know, and since then, he has a demon inside him, he thinks this Arab in Nissan, our son. He’s not your son? the midget asked, rubbing a button on his shirt. Of course not, Gina said. Nissan died when he was two, when we first came to Israel and moved into this house. And you claim that he is Nissan? the midget asked Avram, who was nodding impatiently as if even asking the question was an insult. O-o-kay, the midget said, walking over to the ladder and looking up at the Arab, who was standing on the highest rung. So all I can do is ask you, sir, who are you? I’m Saddiq, the Arab answered without stopping his work even for a second. And what are you doing here, if I may ask? This is my house, Saddiq said, and picked up the key that was hanging around his neck. Your house … interesting … the midget said, smiling crookedly. So if it is, maybe you could explain what all these people are doing here? They’re my guests, Saddiq answered as he pulled out the first brick and pointed to us: he’s my guest. She’s my guest. And that woman’s also my guest. They’ve been guests in my house for fifty years now. O-o-kay, the midget said and stuck his finger in his belt, I’m beginning to understand. And you have some papers that prove this claim of yours? Yes sir, Saddiq said and pulled the certificate out of his pocket, bent down and handed it to him. This is the land registry certificate from the Turks, he explained to the midget, it says here that this house belongs to the A’adana family, which is my family, and also all the land around it, half a dunam . The midget studied the certificate for a few seconds and then, as if he’d suddenly lost his patience, threw it on the floor and started waving his hands in the air: I don’t give a shit about the Turks! If you don’t have an official document from the Israeli government, then as far as I’m concerned, you’re trespassing! And you — he pointed at us — have to decide if you want to file a complaint against him. If you do, I handcuff him right now. If not, don’t waste our time. The Israeli Police has enough work without you wasting our time.

If that’s the case, I said, then I want to file a complaint. That man has been wandering around outside our house and bothering people for five months already, and now he has the nerve to …

No one is going to file a complaint against Nissan!!! We heard a voice shouting from the kitchen, and Avram came out with a bread knife in his right hand. I warned you, miss!!! he barked at me with murder in his eyes, I warned you not to do it!!! The two patrolmen jumped between me and Avram. I was so scared that I took a step back. Gina tried to calm him down, she put a hand on his shoulder. He pushed it away, put the knife on his Adam’s apple and said in the voice of a guy selling ice lollies on the beach, I’m cutting! I’m cutting!

In the name of Allah, say something to him, Gina begged Saddiq, you’re the only one he’ll listen to.

Saddiq hesitated for a minute, shot a quick look at the policemen and got off the ladder. Ya abba , he said and walked over to Avram, put the knife down. We don’t settle things with knives in our family. That’s not what you taught us. Avram looked at him, stunned, and then broke like a vase. He fell on to Saddiq’s shoulder with a heartbreaking scream: did you see? Did you see how he called me father? I told you he’s my Nissan. And you didn’t believe it, you didn’t believe me! Saddiq hugged him back with one hand, and with the other he gently took the knife from him and handed it to the midget. But the gesture scared the midget, who jumped back, whipped out his gun, fired a shot at the ceiling and then aimed at Saddiq.

That was the first time I’d ever heard a shot. I didn’t know how much it hurt your ears.

Why are you shooting? Saddiq yelled in panic and threw the knife on the floor, I wanted to give it to you, sir, just give it to you!

Plaster fell from the ceiling into the midget’s eyes. These contact lenses, he hissed to himself, why the hell did I buy them? and tried to take out a stubborn speck that had lodged under his lashes. One of the patrolmen went over to him, and while the midget pulled his lower lid down, he blew gently into his eye. They seem so good at it that they must have done it before. Thank you very much, Zabiti, the midget said, blinking. Sir, Zabiti said in an intimate tone that suited the moment they had just had together, I think, sir, that you’re making too much of a big deal out of what happened here, sir. Oh really, the midget said nastily, and what exactly do you suggest? We all tensed up waiting to hear what Zabiti, who had a tiny little scar on his forehead, would say. I think, sir, that we just have to arrest this Arab and figure out what to pin on him later. Why take risks, sir?

The midget nodded and Saddiq grabbed the ladder. Yes, the midget chuckled to himself and pulled the handcuffs off his belt, if the worst comes to the worst, we can charge him with interfering with an officer in the performance of his duty. Sure. Didn’t he interfere with us taking our lunch break? Wait a minute, Avram shouted and stood in front of the ladder. What do you think you’re doing? No one is taking my Nissan. That’s enough, sir, the midget said and signalled for his assistants to get into the act, that’s enough. Zabiti and his buddy walked up to Avram and each took one of his arms and dragged him to the side. Zabiti’s scar was blazing in the middle of his forehead as if it had suddenly come to life. Don’t hurt him, Gina cried, he’s an old man. If anything happens to him, I threatened, we’ll file a complaint against you, do you hear me? Avram kicked the air for a minute, then gave up and stopped moving, but he kept on yelling: Help! Help! They’re taking my Nissan! The midget ignored him and went over to Saddiq. Saddiq, an older man with soft eyes, made no sign that he was going to fight, and the midget was about to handcuff him when all of a sudden, the television crew came in.

In seconds they’d all burst into the room like locusts: a cameraman, a lighting man, a reporter wearing a tie and a man who was holding a big furry microphone. I couldn’t work out where they’d come from, but then I remembered: the community station has this hotline. If you give them a story that gets on the air, they give you a fifty-shekel coupon for the shopping centre. Someone must have heard the shot and called them.