B002FB6BZK EBOK (51 page)

What else can I tell you? I'm sorry I can't respond to your request. When I ascended to the Land of Israel in the early 1920s,
I swore I would never leave here. Why did I swear, why do I
keep this oath? It's hard for me to answer. Jordana keeps coming. Her love for Menahem touches my heart. Maybe the mean ing of Kabydius's book is that love may really be only between
the dead and the living? Maybe that's the meaning of the story
of Ebenezer, Boaz, Menahem, Rebecca, Joseph, Nehemiah,
and Friedrich? I'm not a literary scholar, I'm a tired old
teacher, but there's surely food for thought here. The love
people are afflicted with like a disease is a relationship between
naught and aught. Maybe later, life began to envy death and
imitated impotence.

Maybe everything that was didn't have to be. As I write these
confused things to you, Jordana is sitting in the other room and
looking at an album of pictures of Menahem. Hasha Masha is
drinking coffee. Boaz is wandering around in his jeep and immortalizing the dead. You write me that Samuel Lipker claims
that Lionel doesn't know that Samuel is his brother. It always
seems to me that Samuel is here and hasn't really gone to
America. Something of his spirit sometimes sits on my neck.
When Ebenezer called Boaz Samuel, I knew that was more than
a mere coincidence.

Yours ...

Tape / -

When Yazhik was three years old, I had, said Yazhik, three hens. I fought
with Petlura in 'nineteen. Ever since then I learned why hens have a red
comb, Ebenezer, the blood was soaked in chewed grass, in berries, the
woman my father slaughtered I saw in my dreams night after night for four
years and two months, except for one night when I was drunk and couldn't
dream. Then I counted the poplar trees in a radius of seventeen kilometers around our house. There were twenty-six thousand, five hundred
thirty-two trees. They were cut down at a rate I tried to understand and
couldn't. Meanwhile, the farm grew and two hundred eighty hens were
added-and three new roosters. The number of trees decreased in the
snowstorm of 'twenty-six, I found a woman whose mother was a Jew. She
almost loved me, but I was tempted to tell her who my father was and she
remembered poor Nakhcha, her uncle whose hand was cut off in that pogrom I couldn't tell you about. Seventy thousand Jews died in that pogrom
under cover of the great revolution. Maybe since then my hostility has sprouted for people with squashed noses. What am I doing here? I hid a
little Jewish girl, the woman I found dead, I stopped counting poplars, the
hens went to Berlin in a freight train, the little girl lay under the stairs,
upstairs my mother was dying with a candle at her head, night after night
I went down and talked with the little girl and she was scared. And only
later was she not so scared. In the dark she sat for three years, until the
bent legs were stuck together, shin to thigh, I went to fetch a doctor to
separate the shin from the thigh, under the stairs smelled of rotten flesh,
I brought her cabbage and potatoes, her eyes were burning and her forehead was blazing. They killed the little girl with one blow, without separating the shin from the thigh, they left my mother to die alone with the
crucifix hanging over her bed. The Sturmbahnfuhrer from the General-
gouvernement stood and preened in the mirror in my mother's room, he
wore oak clusters on his collar, his boots were gleaming, the guards would
spit and a slave would rub them, me they tied to a cart and the Ukrainians
pointed at me as if they had reasons, and said Yazhik the Jew-lover, I tried
to count the reasons and discovered that in the end they were only one
reason, and I stopped, I always liked to count, I saw bodies, arms cut off,
I wasn't one of you, I didn't have to die but to live on the border of death
and starvation, I saw them bring the people, scare them with clubs, blows,
undress them and then straight to the showers and lock the door, they
were more confused than scared, and then that revolt broke out with one
hand grenade that barely killed one soldier, a machine gun from the tower
shot and it all ended as it had begun, outside next to the mass graves stood
people and searched. Later, years after the war, came the Poles, opened
graves and searched for diamonds in corpses and that's how they found out
what was under the ground. It once belonged to my grandfather, his name
was also Yazhik. You won't die, Ebenezer, and you didn't die. I saw your
box when I worked cleaning the home of the General Gouverneur. On the
walls they hung pretty pictures, I counted a hundred and thirty-two pictures, two hundred etchings, a hundred tapestries, forty-nine easy chairs,
twenty-two carpets! Once I brought champagne and milk to their party and
then they discovered the little girl when I went to get a doctor to separate her shin from her thigh, there I saw your box. The box played "Silent Night." Once I counted ships in the river, I wanted to dream of how
I'd go to Canada, I had some uncle there who didn't write a word, but was there. The ships sailed without me, I remembered Petlura, my uncle was
his soldier, now in Canada, you remember how a ship looks: masts, cables,
chimneys, flags, and here I'm drawing you a ship, Ebenezer.

Tape / -

I look at what he draws, try to remember and can't. It seems his name
was Yazhik. Where did they all go?

Tape / -

Among the hundreds of women standing at the ropes stretched by the
marines was Rachel Blau. When the ship anchored the sirens' wail sawed
through the port and flags were raised and lowered at a dizzying pace and
then the gangplank was lowered and the first off were the coffins. Then
the wounded were carried on stretchers. On the dock stood tense young
marines in polished uniforms, saluting. A band played marches. Lionel disembarked with the wounded officers who received a noisy welcome and
women shrieked hysterically. Rachel discovered him between a young
woman and a back turned to her with his eyes fixed on the ship. Only
when he turned around did Rachel see Joseph Rayna and trembled. If she
hadn't been pressed among the hysterical women, the wife of the Shirt
King would have collapsed, but they pressed her and she didn't collapse.
The young Joseph Rayna, gazing at the city, looked as if all the women
waving their hands had come only for him. He smiled at them, and Rachel
saw Lionel hold on to him and with the young woman they came down the
gangplank.

When she looked at Joseph, Lionel said: Mother, meet Samuel, and he
said: Sam, my name's Sam, and she smiled, and what once she couldn't do
she now did in the arms of her son, she pitied herself, forced a smile, and
shook Lily's hand.

Lily glanced at Rachel and saw how Samuel and Rachel looked at one
another. Lily kissed Rachel's face.

The band went on playing and Lionel muttered something to a young
officer who limped toward him and slipped away from there to the open
arms of a young woman holding a baby. Lionel was the oldest officer of the
group, his hair was gray, carrying the kitbag he looked like a military commander in propaganda movies. Genghis Khan he isn't, said Rachel doubtfully, like her husband, she too thought Lionel would never excel at selling
shirts, but neither of them had expectations. Her husband maintained with
a trace of envy that Lionel was meant to hover through life as an artist, and
Rachel said: But he was a brave soldier, and her husband said: A good soldier is a luxury, I have to sell them shirts and our younger son will carry on
my business, Lionel will be fine, I'll take care of him, let him just be
healthy, in a family like ours we also need poets, he said with an understanding whose generosity evoked contempt in Rachel's eyes. She loved
her husband with a quiet love full of regret for the life she had once cast
away to gain what Rebecca had taught her not to want.

Sam saw the tall buildings, a train passed overhead, the ships wailed and
an airplane was seen landing at LaGuardia Airport. The might he saw
before his eyes terrified Sam, but he remained calm and tried to understand how much Rachel understood about who he was, and when he understood that she understood, he relaxed, that was a victory over Lionel, and
he needed that victory.

Outside the fenced area the cars were parked, and in the distance Saul
Blau appeared in a checked shirt waiting for his family and listening to a
baseball game on the radio. Next to him stood three youngsters who waved
at Lionel, who kissed each of them, shook hands warmly with Saul, and
Saul shook everybody's hand and tried to hug Lily who was almost swooning and after they got into the station wagon, and started driving, Saul
carried on a conversation all by himself. He asked about the war and answered his own questions. He explained where they were going and asked
if they knew where they were going, Sam meditated and sank into a doze
and thought about the flag that had been raised, and the trumpets, he saw
a gray sky touching the sharp roofs, and Saul said: They fucked the Germans and the Japanese, now they'll have money to buy shirts. Sam looked
at the street, Lily sat pressed against him, silent. The bustling streets
changed to bridges winding into one another. He felt his erection secretly
oppressing, wanted to rape a bridge or shirts, to rip the words from the
mouth of the man who raised shirts and talked about how it would now be
hot in his parents' grave.

In the house of the Shirt King, they consumed with exaggerated ardor
the supper that Rachel had cooked. They drank Coca-Cola and sweet wine
and the host wasn't compelled to try to talk for them all, nor did he know that his wife's first lover was sitting here. He told Lionel about his war
experience. Lionel was silent, looked out the window, and ate slowly. Saul
said: I transported machine gun shells for the howitzers. My father fought
alongside the Ukrainians and I fought alongside the Austrians, we stood
and shot, and then I saw Father, his memory for a blessing, shooting at me
and we stopped together. We were in one city and in two different armies,
that's how it was to be a Jew back then! Our synagogue was besieged. Always ready, what remained there, what remained? Nothing! But to shoot
your father, you didn't have that in this war, Lionel. Lionel didn't answer
and looked at Lily. At night she shook in his arms and the shaking went
through the wall and touched Samuel. He forgot he was Sam, thought he
was Samuel, and started shaking too. Rachel lay with her eyes wide open
next to her husband and saw Joseph and didn't know if she yearned for him
or if it was once again Rebecca who yearned inside her. The house was
surrounded by a fine garden and Lionel explained to Sam that the garden
was supposed to be like the garden of the Ford Motor King in his hometown in Connecticut. Samuel saw a moon that looked like a splendid coin
and shone like cold metal, the trees moved in the wind, the house was
overheated, and Samuel had to open the window and a cold wind penetrated the room. Samuel thought: I'll teach that Shirt King, and when the
rage subsided a little, he whispered: Fuck her, Lionel, put your Jewish
prick in!

They found a nice apartment on Morton Street in Greenwich Village.
When they finished furnishing it, Rachel came to visit them. She looked
uneasily at the apartment, which looked more like the apartment of a beggar than the apartment of an heir to a shirt kingdom. There were a few
modern lamps and one cabinet that wasn't especially ancient, but the
chairs, the easy chairs, the tables, and the cabinets looked strange to her,
the paintings were full of some mold that depressed her. She looked painfully at the world she had fled, while Joseph walked around the house looking at her as if she were an old whore selling her wares in a display window.

Her thoughts about Joseph were confused and depressing. She simply
didn't know how to think of Joseph, facing his son. Sam left the room, passed
by Rachel, who was looking at Lionel. And in the small yard squeezed between gray walls, Lily sat on a wicker chair amid the old wet fallen leaves
and thrust a needle into embroidery. Sam looked at the locked windows above the small gardens connected to one another, but no one was seen in
the windows.

You're sitting on my mother's dress, said Sam. She raised her face and
looked at him. She put down the embroidery and without a word moved
aside to the chair. The chair was empty. She looked at the empty chair,
shrugged and went inside. Her face remained impassive. She waited until
he'd disappeared and continued embroidering.

When he looked at Rachel, her look was dreamy, perplexed, when he
felt he disgusted her, he also disgusted himself, went out to the street,
walked to Seventh Avenue, and turned north. In a small square, he discovered a luncheonette. Through the window, big empty tables were seen, he
went in, ordered a hot dog, slathered a thick layer of mustard on it, ate,
drank a cup of coffee, his English was fluent by now, but nobody noticed
his accent. Not far from there, he saw a man carrying an aquarium. He
followed the man. The man turned into a side street, stopped at a restaurant, and started going down the stairs. The sign on the door said: "The
Five Tightrope Dancers." At the entrance, there were no tightrope dancers, but an aquarium. In the aquarium were elusive rare fish. He loved the
bold cunning colors. A person in a white coat said to him: Beautiful, eh?
Dangerous and very poisonous! Everything beautiful is dangerous, and vice
versa! Sam said: A city of philosophers, and continued looking at the fish.
In the distance cars were heard honking, a subway train passed and the
building shook. He wanted to lead a dog named Ebenezer and take the
money out of those people's pockets. Lionel is a lifeline but also an obstacle,
he thought. When he went outside, the sky was rounding. Two people in
overalls were hanging ornaments over the street. The wind moved the wires
where the workers were hanging the ornaments. A woman who passed by
said, What a nice Thanksgiving it will be. The cold increased, and the
workers finished hanging the ornaments. And then he saw his first funeral
in America. The coffin lay in an open car, embellished with wreathes of
flowers and behind, in a gigantic black car sat people dressed in black. A
mounted policeman passed by him. A dog stood tied to the fish store and
barked at the coffin, the workers crossed the street behind the cars, one of
them genuflected, the other ate a sandwich of four slices of bread with
white saliva dripping from them.