Читать книгу Kin - Dror Burstein - Страница 18

YOEL–[ ] AND [ ]

They stood next to the signpost, all three of them holding on to it like sailors to the mast of a ship. The sea was close. And he wished he could go down to the water, wade in deep, and let it wash over him. The signpost showed the way. And he was afraid, that’s the truth, to look at them. As if the look itself, their faces, would constitute a claim of ownership, and also the guilt, yes, also the guilt. Even though if there was a guilty party here it was them, thought Yoel. But their guilt was already subject to the statute of limitations. And even though they were the ones who had abandoned the child, and he was the one who had rescued Emile from the fate of a government orphanage, and without hesitation pointed to the child and said, that one, immediately, as if he had already decided in advance and there was no need to look at him any longer, nevertheless he still felt guilty. Like a thief. Like—

They told him their names and their surname but he couldn’t catch the names and asked again, and in his mind they remained as square brackets on a printed page, square and empty. Of the surname he remembered nothing but the letter S. He asked them their names again and forgot them again, and he was embarrassed to write them down. They had normal names, that he remembered, something like Avraham or Moni or Motti or Eliezer for the husband and Rachel or Malka or Esther for the wife. And as if they had come to a decision to do so, all three of them let go of the mast and began to sail toward the sea, a matter of two minutes, rowing down the river of Yona Hanavi Street.

At first he walked next to them, a little apart, and then, because of various obstacles on the pavement, a garbage bin or dog shit, they got mixed up, and sometimes he walked next to the wife (what was her name? what was her name?) and sometimes next to the husband. If anyone had looked at them he would no doubt have concluded that together they were an estate agent and his clients emerging from an apartment for rent and walking together to argue over the price. And there was a kind of dance there, a trio, a kind of street tango, from time to time one of them lightly touching another like three beads in a shoe box in the hands of a child. She couldn’t help it, suddenly she thought that Yoel was actually her husband. It was as if she knew him. Juices rose to her brain, electricity fizzed and blinked there. And he, the father, looked at Yoel and thought exactly the same thing, that she, his wife, may have gone to bed with him. Cheated on him then, all those years ago, and given Emile to her lover. A conspiracy. Of course they didn’t really believe it, these were thoughts running around their heads, passing from head to head. And there was also, for a brief moment, a kind of scene in which all three of them suddenly saw him, their Emile, walking next to them. But Yoel saw him closer to the way he really looked, approaching the age of forty. And they, who didn’t know what he looked like, imagined him as a baby floating above the pavement, like the birds that sometimes accompany us on our way to the sea.

Show us a picture of him? asked the mother after a long hesitation. Yoel went through his wallet, took out an old photograph, he was eight years old in it. The husband took out a handkerchief and mopped up some spilled coffee. “Take it, you take it.” He couldn’t look at it. And then Yoel remembered, slapped his forehead, and took out his iPod, opened the folder “Emile” and showed them the presentation he had prepared, four pictures a year, including scanned pictures from the age of one week, a hundred and fifty photographs. And every three seconds a new picture came up and replaced the one before.

Yoel turned to the sea. A Phoenician boat loaded with cedar beams made its way diagonally from Tyre to Carthage. Three high purple flags beat in his eyes. He wanted to vomit.

And they saw him growing slowly before their eyes on the little screen. Yoel didn’t dare look at their faces gazing gravely, dry-mouthed. And so he turned to look at the sea or the sand dunes. Pulled out the white earphones nervously and put them away. Every few seconds a year passed. After a few minutes Emile was already sixteen, and the wife said, turn it back a minute, I didn’t see properly, but the husband said, no, don’t stop, let him run. He didn’t go into the army, thought the father and looked at his wife for a second. The last pictures came up. Yoel brought his eyes back hesitantly. And they went on staring at the screen even after the presentation was over and the iPod switched itself off. He reached out for the device but they didn’t notice. After a few seconds the husband said, give it to him, and the wife suddenly stood up and walked quickly into the men’s bathroom, which was closer to the place where they were sitting. Yoel and the father went on sitting in silence, Yoel playing with his switched-off iPod, the father looking at the ice-cream stand. Yoel thought, who knows if she won’t run away and leave us alone together. She’ll escape through the bathroom window and she won’t come back. The mother came out of the toilets with her hair wet. Her husband stood up when she approached the table and then sat down again. Yoel said, “This is something else, eh?” and fell silent in embarrassment. The husband said, “So . . . how, um, what can we actually do for you?” and Yoel took out his earphones and plugged them back into the iPod. “The things they’ve got today,” said the father to the wet forehead. They both thought, maybe he can make us a copy, but then they thought, immediately, that this wasn’t a good idea, it wasn’t a good idea to have it in the house, because once it was in the house they wouldn’t be able to go out anymore. Yoel said, “Do you want to see it again?” And they said at once, both of them together, “No, no.” And Yoel tapped his foot and said, “I don’t know how to say this . . . ” and the mother cut him short in a hard voice, “You don’t have to say anything, we understood on our own. You want us to meet him, right? So we’ve decided. We’re not meeting the child,” and the father said, as if to soften her words, “We got some advice.” And Yoel said, alarmed, “No, no, wait a minute. Just a second . . . let’s move a little closer to the sea . . . ”

Look, listen to me, he pleaded, even though they were already listening as hard as they could, listen to me, he said, wait a second. No, no, he said. No, that’s not it, he said. No, no. Not that, he explained. I want you to take him. He doesn’t know anything, nothing, not a thing . . . I want you to have him back. I want you to have him, to have him back and take him home. I’ve already thought through the details, tell me what you think, I thought you should take him to my apartment. I mean, for you to have it. What I’m saying is, I’ll give him the apartment, no, no, I’ll give it to you, as a gift. I’ve already prepared all the papers, I thought of all the details, all I need is your particulars. Suddenly the title deeds appeared and then he put them back in his bag. You’ll live there, he’s already used to it there. I want him to live with you. You’re his parents after all, why lie to ourselves. Look, it’s so logical. I’m older than you by how many, twenty years more or less? If he stays alone now (my wife? she passed away long ago, when he was six, she fell . . . we had, um . . . an accident, I’ll tell you about it later, never mind now, listen to me a minute, let me explain), if he stays alone now, he’ll be an orphan. I’m sick, it’s here in my stomach, I may not live to see next spring. No, it doesn’t matter, I’ve done my job. What? A traffic engineer, overpasses and interchanges. But it doesn’t have to be that way, right? Because he still has parents. You! You’re his parents. Forget the past. All three of us only want what’s best for him, right? What I’m saying is this, we can give him another twenty years of having a father and a mother. I’m not talking about turning the clock back, there’s nothing magical about it, I’m offering you a concrete proposal, I’m outlining a simple plan. I’ve put money away for him too, he won’t be a burden on you. And I’ll compensate you. I’ll transfer the apartment on Smuts to you. Where do you live? Levinsky? I built an overpass on Levinsky . . . so you’ll move to the north, is that bad? A nice avenue. Opposite the synagogue. You can live there. With him. But you don’t have to, no! No! You could just keep in touch, hear how he’s doing, and he’ll go on living there alone, no, however things work out, however things work out, I’m not telling you what to do. All I want is that when I go I’ll know that he isn’t alone. That he’ll have your phone number, that if he needs anything . . . I’ll get you cell phones too, I’ll put his photos in the phones, I thought of all the details, you can’t imagine the happiness, knowing that you can take your leave and your child will have a soft landing. We have a rare opportunity here, let’s say that all these years you were, how to put it, supplementary parents. Yes, yes, supplementary parents, supplementary parents. In reserve, waiting for him on the sidelines. I have such respect for you, for waiting, for waiting all these years. I’m not a sentimental man, but I want to hug you, you, I owe you so much, you saved my life, you gave me a great gift, we . . . The father patted him lightly on the shoulder. They looked at him and then at each other. Yoel recovered, put the tissues away in his bag. Now I’ve kept the child safe for you for thirty-seven years, and from now on you’ll take him and everything will be for the best. We’ll work out the legalities, that’s no problem. Because there’s no other possibility, it simply doesn’t make sense for a child to remain alone in the world when he has two parents, and in the same city too, so close, right? There are such dangers here . . . there’s no time . . . it could happen tomorrow, he was shouting suddenly, or next month, who knows.