Everything Is Illuminated (16 page)

“Please!” HONK! “You’re sure he’s certified?” “Of course,” I said.

HONK! “I would not deceive.” BARK! “Do something,” I told Grandfather. HONK! “Not that!” I said with volume. BARK! He commenced to drive the automobile that he was fully certified to drive. “Where are we going?” The hero and I manufactured this query at the same time.

“SHUT UP!” he said, and I did not have to translate that for the hero.

He drove us to a petrol store that we passed on the way to the hotel the night yore. We arrested in front of the petrol machine. A man came to the window. He was very svelte, and had petrol in his eyes. “Yes?” the man asked. “We are looking for Trachimbrod,” Grandfather said. “We do not have any,” the man said. “It is a place. We are trying to find it.”

The man turned to a group of men standing in front of the store. “Do we have anything called trachimbrod?” They all elevated their shoulders and continued to talk to themselves. “Apologies,” he said, “we do not have any.” “No,” I said, “it is the name of a place we are searching for.

We are trying to find the girl who saved his grandfather from the Nazis.”

I pointed to the hero. “What?” the man asked. “What?” the hero asked.

“Shut up,” Grandfather told me. “We have a map,” I told the man. “Present me the map,” I ordered the hero. He investigated his bag. “Sammy Davis, Junior, Junior ate it.” “It is not possible,” I said, although again I knew that it was possible. “Mention him some of the other names of the towns and perhaps one will sound informal.” The petrol man leaned his head in the car. “Kovel,” the hero said, “Kivertsy, Sokeretchy.” “Kolki,”

Grandfather said. “Yes, yes,” the petrol man said, “I have heard of all of these towns.” “And you could direct us to them?” I asked. “Of course.

They are very proximal. Maybe thirty kilometers distant. No more.

Merely travel north on the superway, and then east through the farmlands.” “But you have never heard of Trachimbrod?” “Say it again to me.” “Trachimbrod.” “No, but many of the towns have new names.”

“Jon-fen,” I said, turning back, “what was the other name for Trachimbrod?” “Sofiowka.” “Do you know of Sofiowka?” I asked the man. “No,”

he said, “but it sounds like something that is more similar to something I have heard of. There are many villages in that area. Perhaps there are nine or even more. Once you become proximal, you could inquire anyone and they would be able to inform you where to find what you are investigating for.” (Jonathan, this man spoke not so good Ukrainian, but I have made it sound abnormally good in my translation for the story. If it would appease you, I could counterfeit his substandard utterances.) The man fashioned a map on a piece of paper that Grandfather excavated from the drawer for gloves, where I will keep lubricated extra-large con-doms when I have the car of my dreams. (They will not be ribbed for her pleasure, because there is no need, if you understand what I mean.) They made conversation about the map for many minutes. “Here,” the hero said. He was holding a package of Marlboro cigarettes at the petrol man.

“What the hell is he doing?” Grandfather inquired. “What the hell is he doing?” the petrol man inquired. “What the hell are you doing?” I inquired. “For his help,” he said. “I read in my guidebook that it’s hard to get Marlboro cigarettes here, and that you should bring several packs with you wherever you go, and give them as tips.” “What is a tip?” “It’s something you give someone in exchange for help.” “So OK, you are informed that you will be paying for this trip with currency, yes?” “No, not like that,” he said. “Tips are for small things, like directions, or for the valet.” “Valet?” “He does not eat meat,” Grandfather told the petrol man. “Oh.” “Valet,” the hero said, “the guy who parks your car.” America is always proving itself greater than I thought.

It was already 7:10 when we were driving again. It captured only several minutes for us to find the superway. I must confess that it was a beautiful day, with much light of the sun. “It is beautiful, yes?” I said to the hero. “What?” “The day. It is a beautiful day.” He put down the glass of his window, which was acceptable because Sammy Davis, Junior, Junior was sleeping, and he put his head outside of the car. “Yes,” he said.

“It’s absolutely beautiful.” This made me proud, and I told Grandfather, and he smiled, and I could perceive that he also became a very proud person. “Inform him about Odessa,” Grandfather said. “Inform him how beautiful it is there.” “In Odessa,” I rotated to the hero and said, “it is more beautiful than even this. You have never witnessed a thing similar to it.” “I’d like to hear about it,” he said, and opened his diary. “He wants to hear about Odessa,” I told Grandfather, because I wanted for him to like the hero. “Inform him that the sand on the beaches is more soft than a woman’s hairs, and that the water is like the inside of a woman’s mouth.” “The sand on the beaches is like a woman’s mouth.” “Inform him,” Grandfather said, “that Odessa is the most wonderful place to become in love, and also to make a family.” So I informed the hero.

“Odessa,” I said, “is the most wonderful place to become in love, and also to make a family.” “Have you ever fallen in love?” he inquired me, which seemed like such a queer inquiry, so I returned it to him. “Have you?” “I don’t know,” he said. “Nor I,” I said. “I’ve been close to love.” “Yes.”

“Really close, like almost there.” “Almost.” “But never, I don’t think.”

“No.” “Maybe I should go to Odessa,” he said. “I could fall in love. It sounds like that would make more sense than Trachimbrod.” We both laughed. “What is he saying?” Grandfather inquired. I told him, and he also laughed. All of this felt so wonderful. “Show me the map,” Grandfather said. He examined it while he drove, making his blindness even less trustworthy, I must confess.

We made an exit from the superway. Grandfather returned me the map. “We will drive for approximately twenty kilometers, and then we will inquire someone about Trachimbrod.” “That is reasonable,” I said.

It sounded like a queer thing to say, but I have never known what to say to Grandfather without it sounding queer. “I know it is reasonable,”

he said. “Of course it is reasonable.” “May I view Augustine again?” I asked the hero. (Here I must confess that I had been desiring to view her since the hero first exhibited her to me. But I was ashamed to make this known.) “Of course,” he said, and excavated his fanny pack. He had many duplicates, and removed one like a playing card. “Here you go.”

I observed the photograph while he observed the beautiful day. Augustine had such pretty hairs. They were thin hairs. I did not need to touch them to be certain. Her eyes were blue. Even though the photograph lacked color, I was certain that her eyes were blue. “Look at those fields,” the hero said with his finger outside of the car. “They’re so green.” I told Grandfather what the hero said. “Tell him that the land is premium for farming.” “Grandfather desires me to tell you that the land is very premium for farming.” “And tell him that much of this land was destroyed when the Nazis came, but before it was yet more beautiful.

They bombed with airplanes and then advanced through it in tanks.”

“But it does not appear like this.” “They made it all again after the war.

Before it was different.” “You were here before the war?” “Look at those people working in their underwear in the fields,” the hero said from the back seat. I inquired Grandfather about this. “This is not abnormal,” he said. “It is very hot in the morning. Too hot to be anxious about clothing.” I told the hero. He was covering many pages in his diary. I wanted Grandfather to continue the before conversation, and to tell me when he was in the area, but I could perceive that the conversation had been finished. “They’re such old people working,” the hero said. “Some of those women must be sixty or seventy.” I inquired Grandfather about this, because I also did not find it canny. “It is canny,” he said. “In the fields, you toil until you are not able to toil. Your great-grandfather died in the fields.” “Did Great-Grandmother work in the fields?” “She was working with him when he died.” “What is he saying?” the hero inquired, and again he prohibited Grandfather from continuing, and again when I viewed Grandfather I could perceive that it was the end of the conversation.

It was the first occasion that I had ever heard Grandfather speak of his parents, and I wanted to know very much more of them. What did they do during the war? Who did they save? But I felt that it was a common decency for me to be quiet on the matter. He would speak when he needed to speak, and until that moment I would persevere silence. So I did what the hero did, which is look out the window. I do not know how much time tumbled, but a lot of time tumbled. “It is beautiful, yes?” I said to him without rotating around. “Yes.” For the next minutes, we used no words, but only witnessed the farmlands. “It would be a reasonable time to inquire someone how to get to Trachimbrod,” Grandfather said. “I do not think that we are more than ten kilometers distant.”

We moved the car to the side of the road, although it was very difficult to perceive where the road terminated and the side commenced.

“Go inquire someone,” Grandfather said. “And bring the Jew with you.”

“Will you come?” I asked. “No,” he said. “Please.” “No.” “Come,” I informed the hero. “Where?” I pointed at a herd of men in the field who were smoking. “You want me to go with you?” “Of course,” I said, because I desired the hero to feel that he was involved in every aspect of the voyage. But in truth, I was also afraid of the men in the field. I had never talked to people like that, poor farming people, and similar to most people from Odessa, I speak a fusion of Russian and Ukrainian, and they spoke only Ukrainian, and while Russian and Ukrainian sound so so similar, people who speak only Ukrainian sometimes hate people who speak a fusion of Russian and Ukrainian, because very often people who speak a fusion of Russian and Ukrainian come from the cities and think they are superior to people who speak only Ukrainian, who often come from the fields. We think this because we are superior, but that is for another story.

I commanded the hero not to speak, because at times people who speak Ukrainian who hate people who speak a fusion of Russian and Ukrainian also hate people who speak English. It is for the selfsame reason that I brought Sammy Davis, Junior, Junior with us, although she speaks nor Ukrainian nor a fusion of Russian and Ukrainian nor English.

BARK. “Why?” the hero inquired. “Why what?” “Why can’t I talk?” “It distresses some people greatly to hear English. We will have a more easy time procuring assistance if you keep your lips together.” “What?” “Shut up.” “No, what was that word you said?” “Which?” “With the p. ” I felt very proud because I knew a word of English that the hero, who was American, did not know. “Procure. It is like to obtain, get, acquire, secure, and gain. Now shut up, putz.”

“I have never heard of it,” said one of the men, with his cigarette at the side of his mouth. “Nor have I,” said another, and they exhibited their backs. “Thank you,” I said. The hero punched my side with the bend in his arm. He was trying to say something to me without words.

“What?” I whispered. “Sofiowka,” he said without volume, although in truth it did not matter. It did not matter because the men were not giving any attention to us. “Oh yes,” I said to the men. They did not rotate to glance at me. “It is also called Sofiowka. Do you know of this town?”

“We have never heard of it,” one of them said without discussing the matter with the others. He cast his cigarette to the ground. I rotated my head from this to that to inform the hero that they did not know. “Maybe you’ve seen this woman,” the hero said, taking a duplicate of the photograph of Augustine out of his fanny pack. “Put that back!” I said. “What are you intending here?” one of the men inquired, and also cast his cigarette to the ground. “What did he say?” the hero asked. “We are searching for the town Trachimbrod,” I informed them, and I could perceive that I was not selling like pancakes. “I told you, there is no place Trachimbrod.” “So stop bothering us,” one of the other men said. “Do you want a Marlboro cigarette?” I proposed, because I could not think of anything else. “Get out of here,” one of the men said. “Go back to Kiev.”

“I am from Odessa,” I said, and this made them laugh with very much violence. “Then go back to Odessa.” “Can they help us?” the hero inquired. “Do they know anything?” “Come,” I said, and I took his hand and we walked back to the car. I was humbled to the maximum. “Come on Sammy Davis, Junior, Junior!” But she would not come, even though the smoking men harassed her. There was only one option remaining.

“Billie Jean is not my lover. She’s just a girl who claims that I am the one.” The maximum of humbling was made maximumer.

“What in hell were you doing uttering English!” I said. “I commanded you not to speak English! You understanded me, yes?” “Yes.”

“Then why did you speak English?” “I don’t know.” “You don’t know!

Did I ask you to prepare breakfast?” “What?” “Did I ask you to invent a new kind of wheel?” “I don’t —” “No, I asked you to do one thing, and you made a disaster of it! You were so stupid!” “I just thought it would be helpful.” “But it was not helpful. You made those men very angry!” “Because of my English?” “I commanded you not to speak and you did. You may have contaminated everything.” “Sorry, I just thought, the picture.”

“I will do the thinking. You will do the silence!” “I’m sorry.” “I am the one who is sorry! I am sorry that I brought you with me on this voyage!”

I was very shamed by the manner in which the men spoke to me, and I did not want to inform Grandfather of what occurred, because I knew that it would shame him also. But when we returned to the car, I realized that I did not have to inform him a thing. If you want to know why, it is because I first had to move him from his sleep. “Grandfather,” I said, touching his arm. “Grandfather. It is me, Sasha.” “I was dreaming,” he said, and this surprised me very much. It is so weird to imagine one of your parents or grandparents dreaming. If they dream, then they think of things when you are not there, and they think of things that are not you. Also, if they dream, then they must have dreams, which is one more thing to think about. “They did not know where Trachimbrod is.” “Well, enter the car,” he said. He moved his hands over his eyes. “We will persevere to drive, and search for another person to inquire.”