The Instructions (100 page)

ADAM LEVIN

THE INSTRUCTIONS

I spun us and my hood whipped sideways. Benji’s fist caught in the peak and tore an inch off at the seam, but he missed the kid, baruch Hashem. He said, “Let me cross his t, Gurion. Let me double-space him.”

I said, He was protecting his friend.

Benji said, “He punched me.”

But he didn’t hurt you, I said. I said, You’re not hurt, right?

“He
wants
to hurt me,” Benji said. “Look at him.”

The kid’s jaws were crab-appled with teeth-clenching. I said,

“This is Benji Nakamook. This is Nakamook, okay?”

The strain against my arms faded and the kid said, “He attacked Mr. Goldblum!”

“Who the
fuck
is Mr. Goldblum?” Nakamook said. He started laughing a special pirate-laugh he’d only laugh when he was murderous. The first time I’d heard it, I thought to call him Captain Kidd, but the moniker died on my tongue because I killed it. No nickname could ever rightly stick to Nakamook.

The kid half-tried to force himself out of my grip again. He made a sound like
nyah
, like he really meant it, but he’d realized who he’d punched and he was already shivering. I put a hand on his head to calm him. He pushed his face into my armpit and cried.

Benji turned to the one whose nose he’d just held. “Are you Mr. Goldblum?”

“You’re dead,” the nose kid said.

He was Mr. Goldblum.

Benji said, “I’m not anything even
like
dead. And I think 935

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you’re Mr. Goldblum. Do you like
being called Mr. Goldblum?”

“I don’t care if you’re Nakamook,” said Mr. Goldblum. He said, “My friends will kill you anyway.”

“We’ll kill you in your sleep.” “You can’t fight while you’re unconscious.” “We’ll burn
your
house down.” “Nyah!” “You can’t fight when you’re tied up.” “And suffocating on fumes.” “And dying of fright.” “You’ll be shocked to the very marrow.” “The very
very
marrow.” “Nyah!”

Then two new events took place at the same time. Nurse Clyde rushed out of the Quiet Room to investigate the noise we were making, and a tiny sick-looking girl in a dress made of t-shirt came in from the hallway. The sick girl sat where I’d been sitting before I’d had to hug the kid I was hugging.

Nurse Clyde said, “What’s happening here?”

Mr. Goldblum said, “The Levinson tripped on his shoelace.

Gurion picked him up.”

“I tripped,” said the kid in my arms, who was called The Levinson.

“Why didn’t anyone knock?”

Nakamook said, “I just got here, Clyde. Check the partial stigmata.” He waved the hand and blooddrops dripped on the carpeting.

Nurse Clyde ignored Benji. He said to The Levinson, “Your shoelaces are tied, little man.”

“It’s a miracle.” “He’s very clumsy.” “I tripped on my heel.”

“Spontaneous knotting.”

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“Unfortunately, ’e doyed of spawntineous comboostion,”

Nakamook said.

Spinal Tap.

Here the sick-looking girl threw up on her legs. Just one heave.

Then she apologized.

“Oh, honey,” Nurse Clyde said. He carried the girl into the examining room, which was right next to the Quiet Room.

Benji said to Mr. Goldblum and The Levinson and the other two, “Good move not ratting.”

“Nakamook dies at dawn.” “Darkness forever.” “Choked.”

“Strang-ulation.”

Benji said, “Who
are
these little guys?”

Israelites, I said. They tried to protect their friend Shpritzy from getting beaten up by a Shover and—

“You mean like Bernard Shpritz? That violin whiz?” said Benji.

“That’s him.” “That’s Shpritzy.” “And he’s not just our friend.” “He’s our best buddy.” “He’s the best violinist ever.”

“He’s the best guy in the whole world, next to these guys, who are also the best guys.” “And it wasn’t Shovers who messed us up.” “And it wasn’t a Shover who messed Shpritzy up.” “What do we have to do with any Shovers?” “What does Shpritzy have to do with any Shovers?”

You said you were friends with Berman, I said.

“Friends, sure, but not buddies!” “And barely even friends!”

“There’s a distinction! A huge distinction!” “Huge.” “That’s why it was weird that the kid who hurt Shpritzy said ‘say hi to Josh 937

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Berman’ and ‘tell him sharp scarf,’ cause what do we have to do with Berman? We’re not Shovers and we don’t have anything to do with any scarves.” “Let alone Shpritzy!” “Poor Shpritzy! Man!”

“Stupid scarves!” “Shpritzy had nothing to do with Berman!”

“Shpritzy had nothing to do with those scarves!” “Shpritzy!” “Aw, Shpritzy!” “Poor Shpritzy!” “Aw, Shpritzy!”

Nakamook said, “That Shpritzy kid really
is
a good kid. He plays
The Godfather
theme-song for me on the bus whenever I ask him to. I don’t even have to ask him anymore. I just make a twetching noise, like I’m twetching on the floor in anger, and I say to him,

‘I’m a Cor Lee O Nay,’ and he plays it. Who beat him up? Give me a name. I’ll beat
that
guy up. And steal his bike.”

I said, These guys are gonna do it.

“We’ll do it.” “Don’t say who it is.” “It’s ours to do.” “We’ll get that guy.” “Don’t say his name.” “Don’t even hint.” “He’s ours.”

“We’ll damage him from a distance.” “He’s ours, Nakamook.”

Nakamook said to them, “He’s yours.”

“He’s not ours because you say so.” “He’s ours because we say so.” “And because Gurion says that what we say is so.” “And you didn’t even say sorry.”

“If you apologized to me, it would mean nothing,” said Nakamook, “and nothingness commands nothing if not reciproc-ity. If I apologized to you, nothing I said would ever be worth anything again and so
I
would be worth nothing. And what happened, anyway? Mr. Golbfarb’s nose got held? The Levinstein cried into someone’s armpit? In the end, no one really got hurt, 938

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and that’s lucky for you. So spit twice and toss a pinch of salt.

Count your blessings. Are we friends?”

They huddled for a second. Whispered, nodded. Then they un-huddled. “Friends, but not best buddies.” “Not buddies at all.” “Or even great friends or good friends.” “We’re just friends.”

“I don’t keep buddies, anyway,” Nakamook said, “and if you wanna take care of the guy who hurt our friend Shpritzy, that’s cool, but if you get your clauses spliced while you’re trying, I’ll gladly indent your enemies. Count on it.”

“What does
that
mean?” “What’s he
talking
about, indent?”

“Spliced clauses?”

Don’t act ignorant, I told them.

I let go of The Levinson, but The Levinson didn’t let go of me.

I said, How many Israelites at Aptakisic have pennyguns?

The Levinson said, “All of us, Gurion.” “We delivered your instructions to all of us,” Pinker added. “
Almost
all of us,” Mr.

Goldblum corrected, in a low, conspiratorial tone.

I said, What do you mean
almost
? What’s the tone?

Mr. Goldblum popped his eyes out at Pinker and The Levinson.

The Levinson and Pinker winked at Mr. Goldblum. “Well there’s a…there’s a new one we’re not friends with,” said The Levinson, “and we don’t know about him. He might be an Israelite, but he also might just be a Jew.” “He only started school this week,” said Mr. Goldblum. “He’s orthodox.” “Co-Captain Baxter knocked his hat off.”

That’s Eliyahu of Brooklyn, I said, and there are no more Jews, 939

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only Israelites. So don’t get toney just cause someone who dresses sharper than you knows more—

“It’s not cause he’s Orthodox.” “Nathan Feingold’s Orthodox.”

“And he’s a really good buddy.” “It’s just we didn’t know him, right guys?” “Right.” “Yeah.” “He’s new.” “We didn’t know him.”

I know him, I said. And he’s your brother, and if you saw him get his hat knocked off and didn’t do anything about it, you should be ashamed and repentent. Not toney.

“We didn’t see him get his hat knocked off.” “We just heard about it.” “And if you say he’s our brother, then he’s our brother.”

“And if you know him, then maybe he has a pennygun.” “We can’t say for sure.” “We can’t say for sure, but we’re not being toney about him, Gurion. Really.”

And it was true. At least it seemed to have become true: the tone was gone.

Do you have them on you? I said. Your weapons?

“We keep them at home,” The Levinson said. “We’re waiting.”

For what? I said.

“More instructions.”

There aren’t any more, I said.

“You’re instructing us to stop waiting?”

Sure, I said.

Then Shpritzy came out of the Quiet Room. He had a fat lip and a temple-bruise. His shirt was torn on the sleeve-seam.

Besides that, he looked just like the rest of them.

“So who messed you up?” said Nakamook.

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“Don’t say!” said the four. Shpritzy didn’t say.

I’m Gurion, I said to him.

“Finally,” he said.

He sat down in the middle of his friends. They were, the five of them: Shpritzy, The Levinson, Mr. Goldblum, GlassMan, and Pinker. They leaned into each other, back-slapping.

Nakamook said to me, “Why’s it okay for them to betray your
Instructions
?”

I said, They didn’t.

“How’s that?” he said.

Their document’s different.

“Different,” said Nakamook.

From yours, I said.

“Why different?” he said.

They’re, I said, Israelites.

“Okay,” he said. “So what, though?” he said.

You’re not, I said.

“But so
what
, though?” he said.

So I didn’t want you spreading my instructions.

“Spreading them to who?”

Others.

“Other goys.”

Goyim.

“Goyim, whatever. Other goyim like who? Like Vincie? Main Man? Goyim like Leevon?”

Hey—

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“Or no, you mean goyim like Botha and Slokum, right? Like Floyd and Desormie? Acer and Berman? Pinge and Brodsky?—

no, not Brodsky; not a goy, Brodsky. Not Berman, either.”

Listen—

“Right—I know. It’s okay. I know. I’m making it too complicated. Just goyim, right? All of the goyim. Any of the goyim.

Vincie and Slokum, Main Man and Botha, Leevon and Floyd and Sandy. Same difference.”

Benji.

“What?”

I—

“Why would I spread your instructions, anyway?” he said.

I didn’t say you would—it’s just theirs say to spread them.

“These five little Cubs-fan knuckleheads here.”

Yes, I said, but—

“These little guys you don’t know—theirs say to spread them.”

Yes, I said.

“And mine not only doesn’t say spread them. Mine says burn this document or we’re enemies,” said Benji.

I know what yours says. I wrote it, I said. I wrote both of them, I said.

“Mine says if I don’t burn it we’re enemies,” he said. “Theirs say, ‘Strangers, please spread this to other strangers.’”

Other Israelites, I said.

“Other Israelite strangers.”

Yes, already. So what? I said. I said, Why don’t you just take 942

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it as a compliment, Benji?

“A compliment?” he said.

A compliment, I said. I said, You’re the only non-Israelite I ever gave it to.

“You didn’t, though,” he said. “You didn’t give it to me.”

I—

“You changed it,” he said.

But—

“You didn’t?”

I did. That’s established. We’ve long since established that. I did it for you though. Because you’re you.

“Nakamook the goy. Gentile me.”

Nakamook the friend. My best friend Benji.

“A mensch among the goyim, but a goy nonetheless.”

The only non-Israelite to whom I’d give
Ulpan
.

“
Ulpan
?”

That’s what it’s called. I changed the title of yours.

“Whose is better?” he said.

That’s, I said. That’s a weird question. I don’t think it makes…

It depends on who—

“To
you
,” he said. “To Gurion. Whose is better? The one you gave strangers to spread to strangers, or the one you gave the goy containing the threat?”

In answer, I shrugged = I don’t want to lie to you.

“He shrugs. He’s speechless. He stammers and shrugs.”

Back off now, I said.

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“‘Back off now,’ he says.”

What do you want from me? I said.

“What do you
think
I fucken want, man.”

You’re not an Israelite. I can’t do anything about that, Benji.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

You want contrition? You want me to
apologize
? Cause you’re י

not an Israelite? Because I
am
?

י

י

A tube above us flickered and made him look dead.

י י

Benji said, “Tch.” He said, “Nevermind.” He pulled the pencil-

י

stub out of his hand with his teeth. “Flesh wound,” he said, and י י

י י

י

י י י י י

י

י

forced a laugh. He folded it up in a “Say No” brochure from the י

D.A.R.E. shelf by the door, said, “Relic in an envelope.” Another י

י

י

forced laugh and he left into Main Hall.

I had done, from the beginning, the best I could. Why couldn’t he see that? Why can’t he see that? Why can’t he see my side of things? I thought. But he did, I knew—he did see my side. And so I attempted to see his side and saw it, and saw that I’d seen it—I’d always seen it; I hadn’t missed anything—I just wasn’t
on
it. Benji’d get over it. He’d have to get over it. It י י