All Backs Were Turned (4 page)

“No, that's where their garden is,” Dov said. “Winds from the desert used to blow all the seeds away, so they had to put up this wall.”

“Why are we waiting here, Dov?”

The big man pointed at a house standing at the end of the wall; its windows were still dark, the shutters closed. “That's where she lives. In that house. But she'll have to come out any moment now. She teaches kindergarten and has to walk this way to work.”

“Why don't you go in and wake her up? Maybe that would be best.”

Dov turned to him. “I'm afraid to. I know her.”

“Don't be afraid,” Israel said. “Remember what that beggar said when you threw him that pound note? ‘You're a good man and God will never forsake you.'”

“That's her,” Dov said.

The door of the house opened, and they saw the head of a woman who began walking very slowly along the wall. They saw only her head; the beautiful head of a dark-haired young woman, walking at an unnaturally slow gait on the other side of the wall. She walked as if very, very tired, the way old people walk; then she stopped and tied a white kerchief around her head. She started moving again; they couldn't see her legs or her body, only her head moving along the top of the green wall, then the wall ended, and they saw that the woman was five, maybe six months pregnant.

When at six in the afternoon they reached Eilat, a crusty layer of reddish dust covered their shirts and faces. They drove to the airport and stopped by the barracks housing the head office; Dov went inside, while Israel waited in the jeep. He looked at the mountain range, red in the setting sun; then he turned his head toward the bay. The sea was smooth and dark, and the beach was filling with people gathering there after work. A Dakota plane rose heavily from the ground; it made a half circle over the bay, then started climbing higher and higher to fly over the mountains. Dov came out of the barracks.

“We have to wait. Little Dov will be here soon.”

“Who?”

“Little Dov, my brother.”

Dov stood by the jeep, scraping the red crust off his face and arms.

“Your brother was named the same name as you?” Israel asked. “But that's a deadly sin!”

“My father's the one to blame,” Dov said. “You don't know our Pop. When my brother was born, my mother had already decided on a name for him, but Pop was mad at her over something. He hated her all his life. My name will be good enough for him, he said. My father gave it to me and I'm glad he did. The kid will be glad too. And then he called me over and asked, Do you like your name, Dov? I said I did, so he turned to my mother and said, See? This one is satisfied; the other one will be too. Everybody cried and begged him to reconsider, but he was stubborn as a mule. And so my brother was named Dov just like me. After that the rabbi wouldn't speak to my father.”

“And how do you call your brother?”

“Little Dov.”

A truck pulled up a few yards away from them and a young man riding on its step jumped off. He was blond and tall; walking in their direction he held his head low in the same way as Dov, who was standing by the jeep with his shirt, soaked with sweat, in his hand.

“Hi,” Dov said. “How's the old man?”

“Same as ever,” Little Dov said. “Have you forgotten? In a couple of days you'll be cursing the sight of him.” He turned to Israel, looking him over without a smile. “This your friend, Dov?”

“Mine and yours,” Dov said. “Let's go. I'm hungry, but I have to stop by a garage first.”

“Something wrong with your jeep?”

“I want them to change the oil and give me a new filter. The oil looks like tar, and the filter must be clogged with this goddamn dust.”

They stopped by a small garage. The owner had just changed into his street clothes; he got angry when he heard what Dov wanted.

“You want me to do it now?” he asked. “Isn't it enough that I get up at four? I'll sell you the oil and filter, but you'll have to change it yourself. You can use my grease pit.”

“Where is it?”

“Over there.” He directed them to the pit. It was short and narrow; the walls along its sides were so close together the men had to climb over the back to get out of the jeep. Dov lowered himself into the pit; it was barely three feet deep. He hit his head against the bumper while removing the oil-pan plug with a spanner.

“Fucking hole,” Dov said.

“Don't blame me, I'm not the one who's running this country,” the owner said, tossing him two one-gallon cans of oil and a filter. He didn't go away, only stood there regarding the three men with a hopeless, disappointed stare. “I dug it out myself. I had two inspections from the town council and each time they told me I had to make it deeper.” Suddenly he gave them a happy smile. “Quite a few guys have busted their heads in my pit.”

“So will you one day,” Dov said. “And your wife will be free at last to marry your partner. They've been planning it for years.” He backed the jeep out. “Hop in,” he said to Israel and his brother. “Do we eat at home or should I stop by a restaurant?”

“Let's go straight home,” Little Dov said, getting in.

They drove slowly, raising a cloud of reddish dust. The sun was climbing over the mountains, which didn't look so red anymore; they were dark and distant.

“Now turn left and stop,” Little Dov said, and when Dov parked the jeep in front of a small house, he added, “and try not to provoke the old bastard.”

“That won't be easy,” Dov said. He took the canvas bag from the back seat and slung it over his shoulder. “One day he's going to bite his own hand and die of rabies.”

They went inside. Little Dov opened the door to one room and let them through. An old man sitting at the table lifted his eyes.

“Look, Pop, look who's here,” Little Dov said. “And he seems to be in top form, too.”

“Where is Dina?” the old man asked.

“I don't know, Pop,” Dov said.

“You come to me, your old father, and you can't tell me where your wife is?”

“She's a bad woman, Pop,” Dov said. He spoke with an effort, his eyes fixed on the old man who had begun to tremble with anger. “Forget her.”

“Women aren't good or bad,” the old man said. “But some men just don't know how to handle them. I spent thirty years with your mother, and for thirty years she did what I told her. And thought what I thought. Where is Dina, your wife?”

“She's with another man,” Dov said. “She's going to have his bastard.”

“You come to me, your old father, and tell me you married a whore? Is that why I fled to this land to father you, so you'd be born free? Is that why I swore to God that I'd give my children freedom, and paid for it with my health and years of hard labor?” He threw Dov a wild, maniacal look. “Where is Dina, Dov?” he yelled.

Dov picked up a glass of water from the table and took a sip. His teeth clinked against the glass.

“You're old, sick, and mad,” he said to his father. “That's all I have to say to you. You're cruel like a child. But you're old, and soon you'll die.”

“Have you finished drinking?” the old man asked.

“Yes.”

“Then put the glass back on the table.”

When Dov did, the old man picked it up and threw it against the wall with all his strength. The three men leaped aside.

“And so it will be with anything you touch in my room,” the old man said. “Don't ever come in here again until you go back to Dina or she comes back to you. You're not a man, Dov. Now go away, all of you, and close the door.”

They walked out of the room and filed into the kitchen. Little Dov took three beers out of the refrigerator and placed them on the table.

“What a charming man our Pop is!” he said. “Too bad he's a Jew. If he wasn't, he could play the tooth fairy in plays for little kids.” He turned to Israel. “How do you find the old bastard?”

“I feel sorry for him,” Israel said.

“I don't,” said Little Dov. “My wife often cries because of him.”

The door opened and a young woman entered the kitchen.

“My wife, Esther,” Little Dov said. “And this is my brother, Dov.”

“I've been hearing all kinds of stories about you,” Esther said, stopping in front of Dov. “But I'm glad you're here.” She held out her hand and he took it gently, surprised how slim and fragile it was. “I'm glad you're going to help us.”

“How can I help you, Esther?” Dov asked. He was sitting tiredly on a chair; he had pulled off his shirt, and they could all see his hard bronzed shoulders.

“It's got to do with my fishing, Dov,” his brother said.

“You're the fisherman, not me. I hate fish. I'm sorry, but I never liked them. I do like herring, but only when I'm drinking vodka. And you don't drink. Don't ever start. You'll save yourself lots of trouble.”

“Dov,” his brother said, “do you know how much I made this year? Two thousand eight hundred pounds. And the season is almost over. I don't think I'll make four thousand this year. You know how much I made last year? Eleven thousand.”

“I told you I'm not a fisherman,” he said. “I can try lending you a hand, but I don't think I'll be of much use.”

Little Dov walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside. “Come here, Dov,” he said to his brother.

Dov stepped up to him, a bottle of beer in his hand; he leaned against the wall and then quickly drew away from it. They all saw the dark stain on the wall where he'd touched it with his bare back.

“I don't need to admire the view,” he said. “I know Eilat. I was here in nineteen forty-eight, when we took the place.” He took a swig of beer from his bottle and placed it on the table. “Our whole force consisted of fourteen army jeeps.”

“Look at that truck, Dov.”

“It's an old GMC. We had them in the army.”

“It belongs to some guys who fish here, Dov,” his brother said. “They're stealing my fish and my money. They didn't come to Eilat of their own free will, like I did. They were sent here by the police. For them, fishing is a nice cozy job. They've got motorboats; they can catch as many fish as they want. My fish. And now they bought this truck and make more money than they ever dreamed of in jail.”

“The sea belongs to everybody,” Dov said. “It can't be fenced off with barbed wire. I'm sorry. I can't help you.”

“Those guys know you.”

“But I don't want to know them.”

“They know you, and they fear you.”

“That's silly,” Dov said. “They shouldn't be afraid of me. I mean them no harm.”

“I thought—”

“I know what you thought,” Dov said. “You thought that when your big brother came, he'd beat them up for you. Nothing doing. I'm almost forty. I want peace and quiet. And one more thing: if I start even the tiniest brawl, they'll put me behind bars for a few years. Remember, I'm on parole. If anything happens, I go right back in the slammer. If I jostle somebody in the street, it's all they need to lock me up.” He took the bottle of beer his brother was holding in his hand and finished it with one gulp. “Look, if my presence in this house bothers you in any way, just tell me. I'll move to a hotel.”

“No,” Little Dov said. “You're my brother.” He paused. “You really won't help me, Dov?”

Dov raised his tired eyes.

“See that bag in the corner?” he asked. “Do you see it?”

“Yes,” Little Dov said.

“That's all I have. The jeep isn't mine. Try to live differently than I did.” He slowly stepped up to Esther and pulled her into the center of the kitchen, into the circle of light. “You have a beautiful wife.” He placed his heavy hands on her shoulders. “You don't want to lose her. Try to live differently than I did, that's all I can say.”

“I heard those guys want to buy another boat,” Little Dov said. “If they do I might as well pack my bags and leave Eilat.”

“So leave. You're young and you have a beautiful wife. All you need to be happy is a bed and neighbors who sleep hard.” He went to the corner and picked up his bag. “Where will we sleep?”

“I thought I'd put you up in Pop's room,” Little Dov said. “But now I guess you'd better sleep with us.”

“In the same room with you and Esther?”

“You're my brother.”

“Yes, I'm your old, worthless brother who is unable to help you. I'd like to get some sleep now. We didn't sleep at all last night.”

“Fine.”

They went into the bedroom. Israel pulled out two blankets from their bag; Esther gave him two more.

“These will be enough,” Dov said. “Here, in Eilat, almost everybody sleeps on the floor. Are you two going to bed, too?”

“No,” Little Dov said. “I'd like to borrow your jeep and take Esther to the beach.” He paused. “I don't have a car.” He walked over to the window and closed it. “Can't they park that goddamn truck somewhere else?” He paused again. “Can I borrow the jeep?”

Dov gave him the keys and said, “Good night. Good night, Esther.”

She didn't say anything. For a moment she stood in the doorway, then turned and left. Soon afterward Dov and Israel heard the roar of the jeep's engine. They turned off the light, but neither of them could fall asleep at once.

“Tiles again,” Dov said. “Last night I was looking at them, now I have to lie on them.”

“Think about something else.”

“Too bad we don't have any sleeping pills. I won't be able to sleep. When Dina was with me, I never needed any pills.” He propped himself on his elbows. “You know, sometimes I would drop off to sleep on top of her, and she'd lie like that half the night, not moving so as not to wake me.”

Israel didn't say anything. They lay in the dark listening to their own breathing. Through the wall they could hear the monotonous voice of Dov's father, praying.