Everything Is Illuminated (15 page)

It is very difficult for me to write about Grandfather, just as you said it is very difficult for you to write about your grandmother. I desire to know more about her, if it would not distress you. It might make it less rigid for me to speak about Grandfather. You have not enlightened her about our voyage, have you? I am certain that you would have told me if you had. You know my thinkings on this matter.

As for Grandfather, he is always becoming worse. When I think he is worstest, he becomes worse. Something must occur. He does not conceal his melancholy with mastery anymore. I have witnessed him crying three times this week, each very tardy at night when I was returning from roosting at the beach. I will tell you (because you are the only person I have to tell) that I occasionally KGB on him from behind the corner amid the kitchen and the television room. The first night I witnessed him crying he was investigating an aged leather bag, brimmed with many photographs and pieces of paper, like one of Augustine’s boxes. The photographs were yellow, and so were the papers. I am certain that he was having memories for when he was only a boy, and not an old man. The second night he was crying he had the photograph of Augustine in his hands. The weather program was on, but it was so late that they only presented a map of planet Earth, without any weather on it. “Augustine,” I could hear him say. “Augustine.” The third night he was crying he had a photograph of you in his hands. It is only possible that he secured it from my desk where I keep all of the photographs that you posted me.

Again he was saying “Augustine,” although I do not understand why.

Little Igor wanted me to utter hello to you from him. He does not know you, of course, but I have informed him very much about you. I informed him about how you are so funny, and so intelligent, and also how we can speak about momentous matters as well as farts. I even informed him about how you made bags of dirt when we were in Trachimbrod. Everything I could remember about you I informed him, because I want him to know you, and because it makes it feel that you are yet near, that you did not go away. You will laugh, but I presented him with one of the photographs of us that you posted.

He is a very good boy, better even than me, and he still has a chance to be a very good man. I am certain that you would be appeased by him.

Father and Mother are the same as always, but more humble. Mother has stopped cooking dinner for Father to punish him because he never comes home for dinner. She wanted to bile him, but he does not give shit (yes? give shit?), because he never comes home for dinner. He eats with his friends very often at restaurants, and also drinks vodka at clubs, but not famous clubs. I am sure that Father possesses more friends than the rest of my family summed. He knocks many things over when he comes home late at night. It is Little Igor and I who clean and return things to their proper locations. (I keep Little Igor with me at these occasions.) The lamp belongs here. The hanging picture belongs here. The plate belongs here. The telephone belongs here. (When Little Igor and I have our apartment, we will keep everything exclusively clean. Not even one piece of dust.) To be truthful, I do not miss Father when he is out so much. He could exist every night with his friends and I would be content. I will inform you that he awoke Little Igor last night when he returned from vodka with his friends. It is my fault, because I did not insist that Little Igor should manufacture Z’s in my room with me, as he now does. Was I supposed to counterfeit sleep? Was Mother? I was in my bed at the time, and it is a cosmic thing, because at the moment I was reading the section about Yankel’s death. “Everything for Brod,” he writes, and I thought, “Everything for Little Igor.”

Per your novel, I have been very dispirited for Brod. She is a good person in a bad world. Everyone is lying to her. Even her father who is not her true father. They are both keeping secrets from each other. I thought about this when you said that Brod “would never be happy and honest at the same time.” Do you feel this way?

I understand what you write when you write that Brod does not love Yankel. It does not signify that she does not feel volumes for him, or that she will not be melancholy when he expires. It is something else. Love, in your writing, is the immovability of truth. Brod is not truthful with anything.

Not Yankel and not herself. Everything is one world in distance from the real world. Does this manufacture sense? If I am sounding like a thinker, this is an homage to your writing.

This ultimate part that you gave me, about Trachimday, was certainly the most ultimate. I am remaining with nothing to utter about it. When Brod asks Yankel why he thinks about her mom even though it hurts, and he says he does not know why, that is a momentous query. Why do we do that?

Why are the painful things always electromagnets? With concerns about the part with the sex light, I must tell you that I have seen this before. Once I was carnal with a girl, and I saw petite lightning between her backsides. I could clutch how it would require many to be perceived from outer space. At the ultimate part, I have a suggestion that perhaps you should make it a Russian cosmonaut instead of Mr. Armstrong. Try Yuri Alekseyevich Gagarin, who in 1961 became the first human being to make an orbital space flight.

Ultimately, if you possess any magazines or articles that you enjoy, I would be very happy if you could post them to me. I will imburse for any expenses, clear-cuttedly. I intend articles about America, you know. Articles about American sports, or American movies, or American girls, of course, or American accounting schools. I will utter no more of this. I do not know how much more of your novel exists at this moment, but I demand to see it. I am so wanting to know what happens to Brod and the Kolker. Will she love him?

Say yes. I hope that you say yes. It will prove a thing to me. Also, perhaps I can continue to aid you as you write more. But not be distressed. I will not require that my name is on the cover. You may pretend that it is only yours.

Please say hello to your family from me, except your grandmother, of course, because she is not aware that I exist. If you would desire to inform me any things about your family, I would be very good-humored to listen. For one example, inform me more about your miniature brother, who I know you love like I love Little Igor. For another example, inform me about your parents. Mother asked about you yesterday. She said, “And what about the troublemaking Jew?” I informed her that you are not troublemaking, but a good person, and that you are not a Jew with a large-size letter J, but a jew, like Albert Einstein or Jerry Seinfeld.

I anticipate with bumps on my skin your consequent letter and the consequent division of your novel. In the pending time, I hope you are loving this next division of mine. Please be pleased, please.

Guilelessly,

Alexander

The alarm made a noise at 6:00 of the morning, but it was not a con-sequential noise, because Grandfather and I had not manufactured even one Z among us. “Go get the Jew,” Grandfather said. “I will loiter downstairs.” “Breakfast?” I asked. “Oh,” he said. “Let us descend to the restaurant and eat breakfast. Then you will get the Jew.” “What about his breakfast?” “They will not have anything without meat, so we should not make him an uncomfortable person.” “You are smart,” I told him.

We were very circumspect when we departed our room so that we would not manufacture any noise. We did not want the hero to be aware that we were eating. When we roosted at the restaurant Grandfather said, “Eat very much. It will be a long day, and who could be certain when we will eat next?” For this reason we ordered three breakfasts for the two of us, and ate very much sausage, which is a delicious food.

When we finished, we purchased chewing gum from the waitress so that the hero would not uncover breakfast from our mouths. “Get the Jew,”

Grandfather said. “I will loiter with patience in the car.”

I am certain that the hero was not reposing, because before I could punch for the second time, he unclosed the door. He was already in clothing, and I could see that he was donning his fanny pack. “Sammy Davis, Junior, Junior ate all of my documents.” “This is not possible,” I said, although in truth I knew that it was possible. “I put them on the bedside table when I went to sleep, and when I woke up this morning she was chewing them. This is all I was able to wrestle free.” He exhibited a half-masticated passport and several pieces of maps. “The photograph!”

I said. “It’s OK. I’ve got lots of copies. She only got through a couple before I stopped her.” “I am so ashamed.” “What troubles me,” he said, “is that she wasn’t in the room when I went to sleep and closed the door.”

“She is such a smart bitch.” “She must be,” he said, using his x-ray vision with me. “It is because she is Jewish that she is so smart.” “Well, I’m just glad that she didn’t eat my glasses.” “She would not eat your glasses.”

“She ate my driver’s license. She ate my student ID, my credit card, a bunch of cigarettes, some of my money . . .” “But she would not eat your glasses. She is not an animal.”

“Listen,” he said, “what do you say we have a little breakfast?”

“What?” “Breakfast,” he said, putting his hands on his stomach. “No,” I said, “I think it is superior if we commence the search. We want to search as much as possible while light still exists.” “But it’s only 6:30.” “Yes, but it will not be 6:30 forever. Look,” I said, and pointed to my watch, which is a Rolex from Bulgaria, “it is already 6:31. We are misplacing time.”

“Maybe a little something?” he said. “What?” “Just a cracker. I’m really hungry.” “This cannot be negotiated. I think it is best —” “We have a minute or two. What’s that on your breath?” “You will have one mochaccino in the restaurant downstairs, and that will be the end of the conversation. You must try to pull a fast one.” He began to say something, and I put my fingers on my lips. This signified: SHUT UP!

“Back for more breakfast?” the waitress asked. “She says, Good morning, would you like a mochaccino?” “Oh,” he said. “Tell her yes.

And maybe some bread or something.” “He is an American,” I said. “I know,” she said, “I can see.” “But he does not eat meat, so just give him a mochaccino.” “He does not eat meat!” “Rapid bowel proceedings,” I said, because I did not want to embarrass him. “What are you telling her?” “I told her not to make it too watery.” “Good. I hate it when it’s watery.” “So just one mochaccino will be adequate,” I told the waitress, who was a very beautiful girl with the most breasts I had ever seen. “We do not have any.” “What is she saying?” “Then give him a cappuccino.”

“We do not have any cappuccino.” “What is she saying?” “She says mochaccinos are special today, because they are coffee.” “What?”

“Would you like to do the Electric Slide with me at a famous discotheque tonight?” I asked the waitress. “Will you bring the American?”

she asked. Oh, did this piss all over me! “He is a Jew,” I said, and I know that I should not have uttered that, but I was beginning to feel very awful about myself. The problem is that I felt more awful after uttering it.

“Oh,” she said. “I have never seen a Jew before. Can I see his horns?” (It is possible that you will think she did not inquire this, Jonathan, but she did. Without a doubt, you do not have horns, so I told her to attend to her own affairs and merely bring a coffee for the Jew and two orders of sausage for the bitch, because who could be certain when she would eat again.)

When the coffee arrived, the hero drank only a small amount. “This tastes terrible,” he said. It is one thing for him to not eat meat, and it is another thing for him to make Grandfather loiter in the car asleep, but it is another thing for him to slander our coffee. “YOU WILL DRINK THE COFFEE UNTIL I CAN SEE MY FACE IN THE BOTTOM OF THE CUP!” I did not mean to roar. “But it’s a clay cup.” “I DO NOT CARE!” He finished the coffee. “You did not have to finish it,” I said, because I could perceive that he was rebuilding the Great Wall of China with shit bricks. “It’s OK,” he said, and put the cup down on the table. “It was really good coffee. Delicious. I’m stuffed.” “What?” “We can go whenever you want.” A simpleton, I thought. Two tons.

It captured several minutes to recover Grandfather from his sleep.

He had locked himself in the car, and all of the windows were sealed. I had to punch the glass with very much violence in order to make him not sleep. I was surprised that the glass did not fracture. When Grandfather finally opened his eyes, he did not know where he was. “Anna?” “No, Grandfather,” I said through the window, “it is me, Sasha.” He closed his hands and also his eyes. “I thought you were someone else.” He touched the wheel with his head. “We are primed to go,” I said through the window. “Grandfather?” He made a large breath and opened the doors.

“How do we get there?” Grandfather inquired me, who was in the front seat, because when I am in a car I always sit in the front seat, unless the car is a motorcycle, because I do not know how to operate a motorcycle, although I will very soon. The hero was in the back seat with Sammy Davis, Junior, Junior, and they were attending to their own affairs: the hero masticated the nails of his fingers, and the bitch masticated her tail. “I do not know,” I said. “Inquire the Jew,” he ordered, so I did. “I don’t know,” he said. “He does not know.” “What do you mean he does not know?” said Grandfather. “We are in the car. We are primed to go forth on our voyage. How can he not know?” His voice was now with volume, and it frightened Sammy Davis, Junior, Junior, making her bark.

BARK. I asked the hero, “What do you mean you do not know?” “I told you everything I know. I thought one of you was supposed to be the trained and certified Heritage guide. I paid for a certified guide, you know.” Grandfather punched the car’s horn, and it made a sound.

HONK. “Grandfather is certified!” I informed him, BARK, which was faithfully faithful, although he was certified to operate an automobile, not find lost history. HONK. “Please!” I said at Grandfather. BARK.

HONK. “Please! You are making this impossible!” HONK! BARK!

“Shut up,” he said, “and shut the bitch up and shut the Jew up!” BARK!