Eshkol Nevo - Homesick

*

How often I imagined this moment. How much I wished for it and prayed for it and ached for it, and here they finally are, all the prints, hanging next to each other on the wall in Aunt Ruthie’s apartment: my mother in the centre, holding the letter from her beloved (in the end, I decided that was more interesting than a scarf), and on the right, the guy from the balcony wearing a shirt showing the dates of Nirvana’s last performances, which never took place. On the left is Suzanna, the new immigrant I found through the Association of Argentinian Immigrants, sitting in a white plastic chair on the promenade. A row below them is Kobi Goldman, the parking attendant and Orna Gad, the archaeologist, and Akram Marnayeh, an Arab I posed standing in front of a gate to a house in Jaffa holding a big, rusty key. And in the third and last row, three people who aren’t holding anything. One is a young poet, Lior Sternberg, who I saw give a reading of his poems on television and thought he had a longing face. The second one is the singer Etti Ankri taken from the back so you can’t see who she is. And the third one is me standing next to Aunt Ruthie’s painting, ‘Girl’.

I move closer to the wall, then back. I walk to the right and then to the left. It looks perfect from every angle. Everything is perfect. The composition of each picture separately. The way the pictures converse with one another. Especially the ones of me and my mother. The lighting. The background. The variety of backgrounds. Even the light-coloured frames I’d chosen, and at first thought were a mistake, looked right now.

So why doesn’t it do anything to me? I think, flopping on to the sofa. Why do I feel so dried up? Why can’t I think about anything but the fact that Amir hasn’t seen the project?

*

So Yotam, is this how you hide things from me? Amir asked, moving his bishop, and I thought: how does he know? Then he said, after all we’ve been through together, I have to hear from Doga that you’re moving away? He smiled to show that he wasn’t really cross. I moved my king back one square and said, you’re right. Every time I planned to tell you, it just never came out. Don’t worry, Amir said and moved his castle one square forward. The main thing is, how do you feel about it? Do you want to move to another country? And when is it actually going to happen? Really soon, I said, answering the easiest question, and blocked his castle with one of my pawns. My mum and I are going to Aunt Miriam’s in Sydney in two weeks to look for a school for me, and Dad is staying here a while longer to close down his business, sell the house and put the furniture in storage. And …? Amir said, jumping his knight forward, do you want to go? Are you happy about it? What difference does it make, I said, moving my king back one square to get away, no one ever asks me anyway. My mother and father sat down in the living room, turned off the TV while I was in the middle of watching Star Trek and told me they’d been thinking about it a lot and that it would be best for all of us. I told them they didn’t know what was best for me, but they said I was too young to decide and I had to trust them. So I asked how I was supposed to talk to the kids there, because I don’t know English, and they just laughed and said that was silly because I’m such a fast learner that I’d know the whole dictionary in a month. Well, they’re right about that, Amir said and captured my knight with his bishop. How do you know, I said, and captured his bishop with my pawn (why all these exchanges, I thought. What’s he planning?). First of all, Amir said, moving his castle one square to the right, you really are a fast learner. Look at how quickly you learned chess. And secondly, my parents also took me to Australia when I was a kid and I remember that it didn’t take me long to learn the language. You were in Australia too? I said, surprised, and captured his castle with mine. I had the feeling that he was setting a trap for me, but I captured it anyway. Yes, Australia too, Amir said, laughing and moving his queen, who’d been waiting quietly until that moment, to the far corner of the board and said, check. From that minute on, we stopped talking. My king was in danger and I had to protect him, no matter what. Amir attacked and attacked, and I found a way of rebuffing his pieces every time: I sacrificed a bishop and a castle and even four pawns so my king wouldn’t fall. I kept waiting for him to make a stupid mistake that would turn the game around, but he didn’t make even one. In the end, after my queen went, I had no choice and I surrendered. I hate losing, most of all in chess, but Amir didn’t leave me with the bitter taste of defeat for too long. He went to the kitchen and came back with two glasses of lemonade and said, nice of you to let me win before you go off to Australia. And I said, what are you talking about, I never let you win. I know, he said, of course. All I have to do is see how you sweat during the game to know that. I took a big gulp of lemonade and asked, so how was it in Australia? Very nice, Amir said. It’s a calm, quiet country. The people are nice, much nicer than the Americans. No terrorist attacks. No wars. Lots of nature. But they have all the mod cons: fast motorways, giant shopping centres, computer games. Wow, I said. It sounds cool. Yes, Amir said, I’ve been to a lot of countries, and it’s one of the best.

So maybe you’ll come with us? I said suddenly. I hadn’t planned to say it. I hadn’t built it, move by move, the way you build a trap in chess. The words just flew out of my mouth, but the minute they reached my ears, I thought: what a great idea! Amir doesn’t go to the club any more anyway. He’ll be finished with his exams soon. And how long can he sit here and wait for Noa? Yes, I thought excitedly, he should come with us. I was already picturing us walking together in the streets of Sydney, and suddenly that city didn’t seem so scary any more.

I’d love to go with you, Amir said, but …

But what?! Why not?! I blurted out, picturing us sitting next to each other on the plane, going together to games of the Australian football league …

First of all, Amir said in the voice of someone who couldn’t be persuaded, I think you and your parents have a lot of lost time to make up for, and I don’t think anyone should stick himself in the middle.

But you wouldn’t be doing that! I yelled, and inside, I felt just like I did before, when we were playing: that no matter what I did now, my king would fall in the end.

And anyway, Amir said, I’ve done enough wandering. I’m tired of it. I promised myself that this time I’d stay and wait for Noa.

What if she doesn’t come back? I asked.

If she doesn’t, Amir said, then she doesn’t. But whatever happens, you and I won’t stop being friends.

And just how will we do that? I asked. Amir was quiet for a minute, the way grown-ups are quiet after they promise a kid something just to shut him up, and the kid picks up on it.

*

I can imagine Amir walking in front of the pictures, his hands behind his back, quiet at first, smiling at my mother’s picture — which really did come out a little funny — recognising Etti Ankri right away (he adores her), wondering where I dug up that parking attendant, lingering a while in front of my portrait, then turning around and saying: horrible.

Really? I ask him in my imagination, and he answers, are you joking, Noa? It’s huge. It’s the strongest work you’ve ever done. The most perfect. You can see in every frame that you spent hours on it. That’s true, I say, straightening my shoulders, I really did invest time, but it can’t be that you don’t have any comments. Listen, he says, looking at everything again, if you force yourself to look for it, you can always find something. What? I press him, knowing that’s his code for ‘I have some criticisms.’ The arrangement, he says, hitting my G-spot of fears right on the nose. That matrix, three by three, is more suitable for a TV game show than for a project about longing. Why, I ask, arguing with him in my mind, defending my arrangement with my life, but knowing very well that he’s right and that very soon, my claims will die.