Читать книгу Deep Heat: Encounters with the Famous, the Infamous and the Unknown - Robin Soans - Страница 12

6

VITYA

Talk of food and bombs leads me naturally on to The Arab-Israeli Cookbook. It struck me in 2003 when I went to Israel to research the play that all the opinions I had heard expressed about the situation there had come from politicians, pundits, professors, military experts, religious leaders, and that discussions very quickly degenerated into arguments of the ‘We-only-did-this-because-you-did-that’ variety. What about the people who live with the situation every day? What about their voice? It is remarkable that the people who know most about a situation are often the least likely to be asked for their opinion. And one of the philosophies behind my writing is to give a voice to those very people. Not surprisingly, they usually have an overview which is analytically sounder than the politicians and surprisingly balanced in a way that many so-called pundits are not.

On our first morning in Jerusalem we went to the local supermarket with Vitya, who was friend of the director Tim Roseman. She was shepherding us through our first few days and had arranged a number of interviews. We walked through a sunlit square in the south-west of the city, and just before we entered the supermarket, she took my hand and said, rather like The Ancient Mariner clutching at the arm of the wedding guest…

WHERE HAVE ALL THE FLOWERS GONE?

Vitya (50s) outside a supermarket.

VITYA: I want to be a little bit dramatic. I went with my daughter… she’d come from Tel Aviv…we went to the Mall in Jerusalem to buy presents for the holiday of Passover. I remember I bought a black and white blouse for my sister, and for my mother I bought a large ceramic bowl, brown and beige, for putting pasta in. So we’d done all the big shop…it was one o’clock in the after-noon…we were in a hurry because it was the Friday before Passover, and the shops close at about three o’clock, and I suddenly thought, ‘I haven’t got anything to eat tonight’ and my son and his family were coming as well, and I thought, ‘I’d better nip into here my local supermarket and get something for supper.’ I parked down there at the back, and then walked up these stone stairs here into the square to get to the front of the shop. It was cold, it was very cold, wintry, the wind sharp like a knife, and we went inside quickly. We passed four Arab women who were sitting on the pavement outside, their heads covered, and they were selling parsley and garlic and fruit. I thought it was encouraging that they were sitting with the Jewish flower-sellers, who always have their flowers just here. I didn’t buy anything off the Arab women that day, but before that I had often bought stuff off them. On that day it was so cold I rushed straight inside with my daughter. The guard was in the foyer, and also in the foyer were all these boxes of Matzos…Passover of course; and also tins of white paint, because at Passover everyone touches up the paint-work round their doors and porches; and for some reason there were stacks and stacks of lavatory paper.

I bought a lot of dairy products…milk, white cheese, cream, fruit yoghurts…cherry, peach, not kiwi…I don’t like kiwi; I bought eight chicken thighs…my family likes chicken thighs with a sauce made of soya, honey, olive oil and garlic. I bought potatoes…I do them with rosemary and butter…tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots, lemons. There were four or five people in front of me at the checkout…Friday’s always crowded, especially Passover Friday…it came to my turn, and I put all the stuff out of the trolley on to the belt. The woman on the cash till was Russian, maybe sixty years old, very beautiful bone structure, and very polite, even though she didn’t speak fluent Hebrew… all the stuff had gone through…I had already taken my Visa card out of my wallet and put it in my pocket because I knew I would be in a hurry when it came to paying…I remember I took my Visa card out of my pocket…my daughter was on my left helping the lady pack the carrier bags…I pulled out my Visa card…and at that moment the bomb went off.

It wasn’t as loud as I would have thought a bomb would be. I turned round. All the lights went out, and all the glass, all the way along the front of the shop, shattered. And…and this is what saved me…this is what saved all of us inside the shop…the whole air was filled with millions and millions of flakes of shredded lavatory paper, like a blizzard; and the paint pots…remember the tins of white paint…they split open and a fountain of white paint covered half the shop.

An Arab worker led us out the back of the shop through the storage entrance, and on our way we passed all these figures moving through the aisles, and they were completely covered in white paint, completely white, like ghosts, like a Fellini movie, utterly grotesque.

I got back to the car, and then I thought, ‘I’ve left all my shopping at the checkout.’ I can’t get over how foolish I was. I went back, but instead of going back in through the storage entrance, I climbed up these steps again, and came round to the front of the shop, and I saw…(Hands over mouth.)…

Then I ran back of course. I told my daughter we still needed something for supper. We went to another supermarket, and we could hear nothing but sirens from the police cars and the ambulances, and we bought the same lot of stuff all over again, and I was shaking all the way there and all the way home, and I kept telling myself I must be brave because my daughter lives alone in Tel Aviv, and I thought I must set an example, and not appear afraid.

I heard later about the four Arab women selling herbs and fruit. A young Arab girl, the suicide bomber, went up to each of them in turn, and whispered in their ears. They got up quickly and vanished. The Jewish flower-sellers remained.