All Backs Were Turned (14 page)

“I
SRAEL,” HE CALLED OUT SOFTLY.

His friend turned in his direction. “Where are you?”

“Here,” Dov said. “I've been waiting for you.”

Israel walked up to him. “Ursula's not home?”

“No,” Dov said. “That's why I'm waiting for you here.”

“Why didn't you go in?”

“Come with me,” Dov said. “You've got to help me.”

He went ahead and climbed into the jeep parked in yet another spot. He drove fast, but not down back alleys as before—he drove straight along the road leading to the desert.

“You know what happened to my brother?” he asked.

“I know he's in the hospital.”

“He'll be impotent for the rest of his life,” Dov said. “Do you know why they did it to him?”

“No,” Israel said. “I—”

Dov interrupted him. “Because Ursula ruined their boats,” he said. “And I don't need to explain to you why she did that, do I?”

He stopped the jeep, turned off the headlights, and started walking. Israel followed him. Finally Dov came to a standstill and waited for Israel to catch up with him.

“Over there,” Dov said.

“What's that?” Israel asked.

“That's her,” Dov said.

Israel walked up to him slowly. “What happened to her?”

“She's dead.”

“You killed her?”

“No,” Dov said. “She insulted me, so I slapped her in the face. She fell, hit her head against the bumper, and didn't get up.”

Israel stepped back. “What will you do?”

“I'll do what I have to do,” Dov said. “I'll go to the police and tell them what happened.”

“Then go,” Israel said. “Why did you bring me here?”

“To tell you how it happened,” Dov said.

“Tell that to the police.”

“I want you to be my witness,” Dov said. “Don't turn away.”

“I can't be your witness,” Israel said. “I wasn't here with you.”

“That's why I brought you here. To tell you how it happened.”

Israel looked at him. “Do you really think any judge would believe me? Don't you remember how it was the last time, when I said I started the fight? Nobody believed me. Why should anybody believe me now?” He walked over to Ursula's body and knelt down by it. “Get up,” he said. “Stop this game and get up, damn you!” He began throwing handfuls of sand in her face. “Get up!”

“She won't,” Dov said. “She's dead.”

Israel lifted his gaze to him. “Why should I testify? I wasn't here. Nobody was. And even if I was, I would've turned my back. I can't bear to look at such things. Why me?”

“Because I have only you,” Dov said.

“Listen,” Israel said, still kneeling by Ursula's body, “I can't. I'm a weak man. Nobody's going to believe me. And why should they? You've killed before.”

“Israel,” Dov said softly, “you'll have to do what I'm asking.”

“And what if they won't believe me? If they sentence us both?”

“They won't sentence you,” Dov said. “They'll only sentence me.” He took a step toward Israel. “But even if they put us both behind bars, didn't you tell me yesterday you'd always stick with me? Didn't you say that? And it's your woman's fault that my brother has become a eunuch!”

“I can't do it, Dov,” Israel said. “The police will think we did it together.”

“And we did,” Dov said.

“I wasn't here,” Israel said.

“But you were there when you told me I should go to her,” Dov said. “And that's when she began to hate me and I began to hate her.” He placed his hand on Israel's arm. “Can't you understand that only you can help me now?”

“No,” Israel said. “I can't help you. I wasn't here. I know how it'll be; they'll start asking me questions, more and more questions, and they'll shine a lamp in my face until I finally tell them whatever they want to hear. I know I'll tell them. I'm a weak man, that's all.”

“Look, you simply have to help me,” Dov said. “Like I've always helped you.”

“Yes,” Israel said. “You always helped me.” Suddenly he put his face against Ursula's breast. “Dov,” he said, “she's alive. She's breathing.”

He got up; Dov knelt next to Ursula's body and placed his head on her breast. Israel held the stone ready in his hand; he had noticed it while kneeling by Ursula's body, and he picked it up while pressing his face to her chest. He waited until he saw Dov begin to straighten up, then he hit him twice in quick succession; he circled the body to make sure Dov was really dead, then hit him a third time; only then did he toss the stone away.

T
HEY LEFT THE BAY BEHIND. IN FRONT OF THEM WAS
open desert. He was uncomfortable; his hands were handcuffed, and he could barely move them.

“Take these off,” he said. “You know I won't run away.”

“Should I take them off?” one of the cops asked.

“No,” the other cop said. “Rules are rules.” He turned to Israel. “You can stand it, man. This whole thing will surely resolve itself in the next few days. You have nothing to fear if you were trying to defend that woman like you say.”

They were driving past the hospital. Suddenly Israel saw Esther.

“Stop for a moment, okay?” he said to the cops. “I want to say goodbye to her.”

They pulled up to the curb.

“Let me know if I can help you in any way,” he said.

“We don't need your help,” she said.

“Remember our conversation? Do you now know what I was talking about?” he asked her softly.

“I don't care what you were talking about,” she said. “I'm going to have a child, you know.” She looked at him for a moment. “I've never loved anybody but Dov,” she said. “And I'll go on loving him for the rest of my life.”

“I know,” Israel said. “I always knew you loved Dov.” He turned to the cops. “We can drive on.”

She gazed after them, her hands folded across her belly, then she turned around. She looked at the wide open hospital door through which—his arms spread wide to embrace her—Little Dov was coming out.

Madrid, June 1963

G
UYS
L
IKE
M
E
BY
D
OMINIQUE
F
ABRE

Dominique Fabre, born in Paris and a life-long resident of the city, exposes the shadowy, anonymous lives of many who inhabit the French capital. In this quiet, subdued tale, a middle-aged office worker, divorced and alienated from his only son, meets up with two childhood friends who are similarly adrift. He's looking for a second act to his mournful life, seeking the harbor of love and a true connection with his son. Set in palpably real Paris streets that feel miles away from the City of Light, a stirring novel of regret and absence, yet not without a glimmer of hope.

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I C
ALLED
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IM
N
ECKTIE
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ILENA
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ICHIKO
F
LAÅ AR

Twenty-year-old Taguchi Hiro has spent the last two years of his life living as a hikikomori—a shut-in who never leaves his room and has no human interaction—in his parents' home in Tokyo. As Hiro tentatively decides to reenter the world, he spends his days observing life from a park bench. Gradually he makes friends with Ohara Tetsu, a salaryman who has lost his job. The two discover in their sadness a common bond. This beautiful novel is moving, unforgettable, and full of surprises.

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HO IS
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ARTHA?
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ARJANA
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APONENKO

In this rollicking novel, 96-year-old ornithologist Luka Levadski foregoes treatment for lung cancer and moves from Ukraine to Vienna to make a grand exit in a luxury suite at the Hotel Imperial. He reflects on his past while indulging in Viennese cakes and savoring music in a gilded concert hall. Levadski was born in 1914, the same year that Martha—the last of the now-extinct passenger pigeons—died. Levadski himself has an acute sense of being the last of a species. This gloriously written tale mixes piquant wit with lofty musings about life, friendship, aging and death.

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ILLING
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UNTIE
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NDRZEJ
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URSA

A university student named Jurek finds himself with nothing to do. After his doting aunt asks the young man to perform a small chore, he decides to kill her for no good reason. This short comedic masterpiece combines elements of Dostoevsky, Sartre, Kafka and Heller to produce an unforgettable tale of murder and—just maybe—redemption.

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A
LEXANDRIAN
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UMMER
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ITZHAK
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ORMEZANO
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OREN

This is the story of two Jewish families living their frenzied last days in the doomed cosmopolitan social whirl of Alexandria just before fleeing Egypt for Israel in 1951. The conventions of the Egyptian upper-middle class are laid bare in this dazzling novel, which exposes sexual hypocrisies and portrays a vanished polyglot world of horse-racing, seaside promenades and nightclubs.

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ITIGRILLI

Paris in the 1920s—dizzy and decadent. Where a young man can make a fortune with his wits … unless he is led into temptation. Cocaine's dandified hero Tito Arnaudi invents lurid scandals and gruesome deaths, and sells these stories to the newspapers. But his own life becomes even more outrageous when he acquires three demanding mistresses. Elegant, witty and wicked, Pitigrilli's classic novel was first published in Italian in 1921 and retains its venom even today.

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AY
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On the shores of Israel's Sea of Galilee lies the city of Tiberias, a place bursting with sexuality and longing for love. The air is saturated with smells of cooking and passion. Some Day is a gripping family saga, a sensual and emotional feast that plays out over decades. This is an enchanting tale about tragic fates that disrupt families and break our hearts. Zarhin's hypnotic writing renders a painfully delicious vision of individual lives behind Israel's larger national story.

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T
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ISSING
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UAN
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EDRO
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AIRAL

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T
HE
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OOD
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IFE
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LSEWHERE
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ORCHENKOV