Eshkol Nevo - Homesick

What?

I swear. Avram’s been loopy ever since his operation. Did I tell you about the exorcist Gina brought? It turned out that he didn’t help a lot.

Wait. Where are you in this whole story?

I was babysitting for Lilach. And at some point, Sima came downstairs and called the police because the Arab started taking bricks out of their wall.

And the police came? I ask, licking a drop of water that had splashed onto my lip.

Only the police? The whole world was there. I mean, at first the police came and went upstairs with Sima, and then, a few minutes later, there was a gunshot.

A gunshot?!

Don’t get upset. No one was hurt. It was just a stray bullet one of the policemen shot.

But right after the shot, the whole neighbourhood showed up. You wouldn’t believe it. A demonstration, yelling. Then even a TV crew came in.

TV crew? How did they know to come?

I don’t know. But they came pretty quickly. Maybe they’ll show it on the news today.

Wait a minute. Did you photograph anything?

Are you joking? I wish. I was stuck downstairs with Lilach. She cried the whole time and I had to calm her down. Except for pulling out a breast and letting her nurse, I did everything. But don’t worry, I have an idea for a project.

She turned off the water and asked me to hand her a towel.

What idea? I ask and move aside so she has somewhere to stand.

To get in touch with Arabs who were driven away from the Castel in ’48, she says. And ask to photograph them, their whole families, against the background of the house they used to live in. The house that has a Hebrew street sign next to it. And a sign over the door in Hebrew. And a laundry line that has army uniforms hanging on it. They’ll stand the way families stand in classic family portraits, and maybe I’ll even ask them to smile, to make the point even sharper. What do you think?

A gorgeous body, I say. She’s standing in front of me, naked and smooth.

About the idea, she says and flicks me gently with her wet hair.

A great idea, I say truthfully, and add: but I’m not sure about the smile. That could look cynical.

You’re right, she says, walking past me on the way to the bedroom. I’ll just photograph them both smiling and not smiling. Then we’ll see what works better.

Just a minute, I say, wanting to clarify something that bothers me, you didn’t tell me how the business with Madmoni’s worker turned out.

A disaster, she yells, and her voice is swallowed up momentarily in the sweatshirt that she must have been pulling over her head. They confiscated the chain he found in the wall and arrested him too. Not that he’s dangerous or anything. You should’ve seen him, an old man who just wanted to visit his house. Even Sima felt sorry for him in the end.

While Noa’s getting dressed, I think about that worker and remember that when my family moved to Jerusalem, we had to move again three months later to a different apartment on the same street. I don’t know why. Something about the lease, if I understood correctly the English my parents spoke in cases like that. Anyway, we piled up boxes again and wrapped glasses in newspaper and waited for the Chen Brothers, the movers, who were actually father and son, not brothers.

A few weeks after we settled into the new apartment, I was coming home from school deep in thought, and instead of going to the new place, I walked unconsciously to the old apartment. The buildings looked pretty much alike, and I went into the hallway without suspecting anything. I slowly climbed the stairs to the second floor. Maybe I was even humming a Tislam song to myself on the way up. When I reached the door that used to be ours, I opened it and breezed inside. The new tenants hadn’t changed the interior of the house, and an old brown sofa that we’d left behind was still in the centre of the living room. I was immersed in thought, and the scene I was seeing was probably familiar enough not to make me suspicious, so I threw my schoolbag down at the door, like I always did, said hi to my mother and collapsed on to the sofa. All of a sudden, a woman I didn’t know ran out of the kitchen wearing an apron over her clothes and looked at me, shocked. Excuse me, she said, who are you?

Who are you? I retaliated.

What do you mean? I live here! she said, putting her hands on her hips.

I looked around at one piece of furniture after another, one picture after another, and comprehension started to sink in. And with it, the burning sensation of shame rose in my throat. Wait a minute, she said with a new spark in her eyes, I know you. You’re the son of Danny and Zehava, the couple who lived here before us, right? Yes, I admitted and stood up. So what happened, the woman said amiably, did you miss your old house? No, of course not, it’s just, ah … I’m sorry, I stammered and ran out of there as fast as I could.

What are you thinking about? Noa asked, coming into the living room and interrupting my escape.

About your idea, I say, thinking that I still haven’t talked to her about what happened in the club today.

Let’s turn on the TV, she says, maybe they’ll show what happened at Avram and Gina’s.

OK. I obey, and look for the remote under the cushions, thinking to myself that I have to talk to her about what happened with Shmuel I have to talk to her about what happened I have to talk.

By the way, she says before I can say anything, Yotam was here and said that his mother wants to meet you.

Fine, I say, turning on the TV. A small map with street names appears in a corner of the screen. Suddenly I heard a boom, an eyewitness wearing a cardigan says, breathing heavily. Suddenly I heard a boom, says a salesman from a shoe shop, an involuntary smile twitching his cheek. A boom? What boom, I think, why a boom now?

Chorus

Dying to live one

’Cause of Liat

Two

The view

Three

To be free.

Four

I want more

I want more.

Don’t wanna die

in a terrorist attack

No way.

Not today.

I like my life.

I wanna stay.

Dying to live five

Wanna survive

Six

All those chicks

Seven

My idea of heaven

Eight nine,

I like it here just fine.

Don’t wanna die

in a terrorist attack

No way.

Not today.

I like my life.

I wanna stay.

To fall asleep on the beach

one more time

would be sublime.

Eat ribs that are prime

And make love till the end.

Till the end.

Don’t wanna die

in a terrorist attack

No way.

Not today.

I like my life.

I wanna stay.

Music and lyrics: David Batsri

From the Licorice album, Love As I Explained it to My Wife

Produced independently, 1996

IN THE END, she came to call on me. She knocked on the door in the morning, when Yotam was at school, and said in a low voice: Yotam’s mother. I opened the door. I’d seen her before, hanging washing up, getting out of the car, getting into it. But now, for the first time, all of her was standing in front of me. Grey hair. Dark lakes under her eyes. Shoulders stooped. A woman who had once been attractive. You could tell from her features. Would you like to come over for a cup of coffee? she asked, and I said, yes, sure. She didn’t say anything about why she wanted me to come to her house for coffee. There was no need. I’ll just change my clothes, I apologised, and she wrung her hands and said, I’ll wait for you outside. I changed from tracksuit bottoms into jeans, and from a stained sweatshirt into a clean one, thinking: it was clear this would happen, what did you expect? It’s a wonder it didn’t happen sooner. I saved the work I was doing on the computer and went out. It was very cold. The wind blew into my sleeves, giving me chills up and down my back. Yotam’s mother gestured for me to walk behind her and she took the long way, not the shortcut through the lot. Of course, I thought, hugging myself, she won’t start jumping over stones now. When we reached their door, she stopped, turned to me and said: you’ve never actually been here before, have you?