Eshkol Nevo - Homesick

Chief, Zabiti suddenly called in a scared voice, there’s this guy here talking English. The midget, who was busy chasing the black dog, dropped everything and went over to Zabiti, his face pale. You know what the orders are about foreign media, chief, Zabiti said. Sure I do, the midget said, but are you sure he was speaking English? Zabiti nodded. Ask him where he’s from, the midget said, ask him who he works for. Vere are you, pliz, Zabiti asked in English. First give me back my fucking camera, then we’ll talk, the cameraman answered. O-o-kay, the midget said, climbed on to the coffee table, stood on tiptoe and announced: attention, ladies and gentlemen, until further notice this area is declared a crime scene and is off limits to the media. That’s denying us freedom of speech, the tie protested. Shut up, Zabiti told him, grabbed him by his tie and pulled him toward the door.

The rest of the people followed them out. The horny old men got tired. Dalia’s Nissim must have had to go back to Dalia. Avi Flowers was a little dizzy from the slap Avram gave him and he wasn’t sure now who was against who. And, besides, now that the television was gone, nobody was having fun any more. They left, one after the other, mumbled I’m sorry in Gina’s direction, wished Avram good health and kissed the mezuzah . Even the dog went out with its tail between its legs. Only the cameraman kept on demanding his camera back. But the midget refused to give it to him and told him, in Hebrew, that the Police Department’s office of confiscated property was open on Mondays, Thursdays and Fridays, between nine and one, and on Tuesdays till two. Fuck you, the cameraman said and left too, without kissing the mezuzah .

Zabiti, the midget, and the third policeman who hadn’t said a word, leaned on the wall and licked their wounds. The midget talked to someone on his walkie-talkie and his tone got more apologetic by the minute.

Avram and Gina’s house looked like those houses you see on TV after a tornado has passed through them, or maybe a hurricane, I don’t remember what they call those storms. The carpets looked like rags. The table looked like a chair. The chairs looked like beetles lying on their back. And with all the plaster sprinkled on the sofa from the shot, it looked like a doughnut covered with powdered sugar.

I wanted to get out of there and get back to Lilach, but I knew that if I left now, Gina would never forgive me for not staying to help. So I took the broom out of the cupboard and started sweeping. Saddiq, who’d kept trying to make himself small during the whole commotion and let the Jews fight each other, went back to working with his chisel. I watched him working quietly, and all of a sudden I could see what he must have been like as a child. That happens to me with people sometimes. It happened to me with Moshe when we first met. It happened to me with Amir only a week ago (what a handsome little boy he was!), and now it was happening to me with that Arab. I could see him running around this house with laughing eyes, bringing his mother water from the well and fighting, not seriously, with his brothers. I was ashamed about pushing him and shouting like I did when he asked to come in. After all, what did he really want? To walk around the house he was born in and take something that belonged to him? When I went to Ashkelon a year ago and asked the family that bought our house if I could take a look around, they treated me very well and even invited me to stay the night. On the other hand, I thought, how could I have known? Today, any Arab could be a terrorist. After another few bangs, he dug out the second brick and exposed something behind it. Allah yasidni , God help me, he mumbled to himself and shoved his hand into the wall to take out what he’d found.

I stopped sweeping. Gina stopped crying that her house was ruined. Avram stopped asking Saddiq if he wanted more coffee.

Even the midget asked his chief on the walkie-talkie to call him back in a minute.

*

The minute the television people left, I knew I didn’t have a chance, that without the camera I was finished. It didn’t matter whether they called me Nissan or Saddiq, a dog’s tail can never be straight, and a policeman won’t fight an Arab without putting handcuffs on him.

But I still kept on working. I banged with the chisel till there was a crack between the bricks, and then I pulled out the loose brick the way you pull out a slice of cake. There was an empty space behind it, as quiet and cold as a grave. I stuck my hand inside and at first I didn’t feel anything, but when I stepped on to the next rung of the ladder and pushed my hand in deeper, I touched something. A bag. I pulled it out, and everyone in the house stopped talking. The policemen. The old man who thought he was my father. The young woman with the tiger eyes. They all wanted to see what was in the bag.

Inside the crumbling bag was another bag. The second bag was made of stronger cloth, the kind they make cement bags out of. The opening was held together with a thick rope tied in a complicated knot. I opened it, twist after twist. I used my teeth too.

The chief stopped talking with his generals and came over to the ladder too to see what was in the bag.

My mother hadn’t told me what she’d left there, but I could already see it in my head. What do people usually hide inside walls? Either weapons or money.

I pulled a gold chain out of the bag. A thin, delicate chain exactly the right size for a small woman’s neck. Even though almost fifty years had gone by, it still glittered in the light. Allah carim , dear God, I thought with fear in my heart, this is Grandma Shadia’s chain. All the old people in the family, my mother’s brothers and sisters, always used to talk about this chain. It had been handed down from mother to oldest daughter, from mother to oldest daughter for maybe a hundred, two hundred years, from the time the family was living in Lebanon. And no one knew where it had disappeared to during the war. Except for my mother, who knew and kept quiet about it. The chain slithered through my fingers like a snake. Why didn’t you tell anyone, ya umi ? Maybe you were ashamed of leaving it behind like that. Of forgetting the thing that was most important to the family and running away. And now what? Maybe you don’t care any more. Most of the old people are dead already, and the ones still alive, their memories disappear like salt in water.

I’m asking you to hand over that chain, the short policeman said, coming closer to me and putting a foot on the first rung of the ladder.

I looked at the old man, at my saviour. I waited for him to wave the bread knife around again, to yell and save me. But suddenly his eyes were empty, and he looked at me as if I was air. Then his expression changed again, as if I was another one of those people he didn’t know, and all he said was, I’m cold. Then again, I’m cold. His wife said, come Avram, you’ve had a long day, maybe you should rest, and then she took him by the hand like he was a little boy and pulled him along to their bedroom.

I demand that you hand that chain over to me or I’ll be forced to arrest you, the short policeman said and took his handcuffs off his belt again.

I looked at the young woman with the tiger eyes. She looked back at me. I felt as if she wanted to say something on my behalf. I even thought I saw her lips move. But she didn’t say anything, and in the end, she even stopped looking at me and fixed her eyes on the hole in the ceiling made by the bullet.

This chain is mine, I said and put it into my pocket, it belongs to my family.

The other two policemen also moved closer to the ladder. That chain is stolen property, the short policeman said, and you’ll give it to me now. Later on, if you win the trial, you can go to the confiscated property department. It’s open on Sundays, Mondays and Thursdays from nine to one and on Tuesdays till two, he said and smiled like an asshole.