Friendly Fire (38 page)

"Why are you carrying him?" Ya'ari scolds his daughter. "He's very heavy."

"To me he's cute and light, and he enjoys being in my arms. Right, Nadi?"

The child says nothing, but hugs his young aunt tightly.

With considerable clamor Ya'ari leads his family up the stairs of the old Jerusalem building. Nadi insists on being carried up the stairs as well. You're spoiling him, grumbles Efrat. No problem, mutters Nofar, staggering under the weight of her favorite boy.

Devorah Bennett is pleased to have a gang of young people visiting her apartment at this gray Jerusalem hour. How did you arrange to get yourself such sweet grandchildren? she teases Ya'ari, as if sweetness has never been the strong suit in his family. The children are drawn to the sprightly old lady, who gives them squares of chocolate and leads them with the rest of the group to her bedroom, to show all of them the tiny elevator that their great-grandfather invented. In the corridor between the living room and bedroom they pass the consultation room; its open door reveals a dignified, heavy-set woman sitting inside, smoking a cigarette in a long holder. The hostess introduces her to the guests: This is Mrs. Karidi, a longtime patient who has become a friend, and now instead of my taking care of her, she takes care of me. The lady exhales a big smoke ring and with the throaty laugh of a veteran smoker waves it away.

In the bedroom the doors of the closet are also open, and a small grille is pulled back, and there is the tiny home elevator, now containing a small armchair. Come, children, let's go up to the roof, the grandfather says brightly to his grandchildren, and along the way maybe you'll hear the wailing of a starving cat. Neta is afraid to go in without her mother, but Nadi has faith in his grandpa and enters the elevator with him. Ya'ari closes the grille and presses the right button. And again it starts with a strong knock, and the vibration is accompanied by the hidden wailing the whole slow way to the roof.

The frightened grandson scratches his grandfather's hand, and Ya'ari draws closer to the toddler, and the child hugs his leg. Then, still clinging to each other, they go out on the roof to see the darkening city. A cold wind blows between the old water tanks, and Ya'ari lifts the child, so he won't trip over the black cables of the satellite dishes. There's the Old Knesset, he explains, pointing at the dark building. From down in the apartment they call out to Grandpa to shut the grille, so they can bring down the elevator. Then the whole group quickly gathers on the roof, led by the old girl, wrapped in a colorful blanket. Nofar and Efrat are thrilled, as if they were standing on the roof of the world, and Nofar is sorry because new construction has blocked the view of the Old City
walls, where at night they light huge Hanukkah candles on David's Citadel. How many candles tonight? asks Efrat. Tonight, Neta reminds her, we light the sixth candle. So let's light them at home, says her mother. We need to be getting back.

Night falls rapidly. The first scattered stars appear through shreds of clouds, and lights go on in the streets. The Jerusalem air is chilly but dry, and a light wind is blowing, and everyone except Nofar is dressed appropriately. Again she sweeps her nephew into her loving grip and waves him in the air, not far from the railing. Enough, really, scowls her father, this child is heavy, you'll end up spraining your back.

And suddenly the veteran patient, Mrs. Karidi, also appears on the roof with a fresh cigarette burning in her holder. Like a round boat with a lone headlight shining on its prow, she glides her full bulk between the water tanks and satellite dishes, making for the edge of the roof to get a fine view of the world. Indeed, soon her smoker's raspy voice is heard, and a hand waves from afar. Children, she calls, come see the fire. And in fact the dignified lady has discovered a breach in the curtain of new construction that hides the Old City walls, that gives them a glimpse of six splendid torches that celebrate the holiday of Hanukkah.

D
ANIELA GETS OUT
to guide her brother-in-law as he turns the car around. We'll backtrack a bit, he says, and if we can't find the fork where we went astray, we'll wait till they get in touch with us from the farm and guide us home. Don't worry, this has also happened when Sijjin Kuang was driving, and they always found us. Anyway, I'm sure I recognize that hill across from us, I can see it from my bed. You should recognize it, too, since you've been sleeping there for four nights.

The car retraces its path, but after two kilometers or so they reach an indistinct four-way intersection where they have never been before, and Yirmi brakes, turns off the engine, and says, that's it. We'll wait here, so we don't pile one mistake on another.

And from the tool chest he takes out a rag and unwraps a large pistol, saying, I always forget how to undo the safety catch, so I don't use this very often, but if an impressive enough animal comes near us, we'll try to scare him off. He then takes out a two-way field radio and turns on its red flare. Like the gun, it is a souvenir of British times, or maybe even German, but miraculously enough, it still works.

Suddenly the radio emits a screech of chatter, and Yirmiyahu flips a switch and identifies himself with a few words of English. It's too early for them to get worried about us, he explains to his sister-in-law, but soon, when it gets dark and they see we haven't returned, somebody will be sure to make contact. Don't worry, we're really not far, and there's no danger.

"I'm not worried," his sister-in-law answers calmly, "I'm convinced that Shuli, like me, chose a reliable husband."

They sit silently in the car, as the sky grows purple. Daniela senses that her brother-in-law is in a good mood, perhaps because of the rage he vented at the prophet who gave him his name. And so she dares to turn to him softly and ask, Tell me, but only if it's not hard for you, do you know now what happened there that night with Eyali?

"Yes, I understand the whole thing," he answers simply. "That Palestinian, who gave Eyali coffee to keep him awake, knew exactly why Eyal came down from the roof, but he didn't tell anyone, mainly because it didn't occur to anyone to ask him. I knew that Eyal was always precise about time, and the watch they returned to us had also stopped at about the right time, so I was forced to sidestep the army to find out why the soldiers mistook him for their wanted man. I approached a Christian pharmacist, an Arab named Emile from East Jerusalem, an intelligent man who managed to reclaim his father's pharmacy in the western part of the city. I was one of his customers, and we became friendly, and he knew that
Eyali had been killed, and I also told him about the friendly fire. So I went to him, and asked if he could help put me in touch with the Palestinian from Tulkarm, who had dodged the meeting with me and the officer.

"And about two weeks later, in exchange for a considerable sum—not for the pharmacist, who acted purely out of goodwill, but for the Palestinian, a man of about sixty, cold and suspicious, who was wary of revealing his name—we met in a greenhouse at Moshav Nitzanei Oz, where he worked as a day laborer, so he could explain to me what he saw on the roof from his vantage down below. And what happened was so simple in its stupidity, so human but also so embarrassing, that I took pity on Shuli and told her nothing. As for me, I could have banged my head against the wall from despair."

Daniela stares at him.

"My precious innocent son, dumb, civilized, the soldier who commandeers the roof of a conquered family and fills the residents with dread—is ashamed to leave behind the bucket they gave him, filled with what it was filled with, because he was afraid..."

"Afraid?"

"Afraid for his good name, his dignity in the eyes of the Palestinian family, and so he doesn't leave the bucket on the roof, and doesn't spill it from the roof, but a few minutes ahead of time he goes down with it, and not to get rid of it in some corner, but to rinse it thoroughly, to rinse it, you hear? So he can return it to the family as clean as he got it. Innocence? Consideration? Respect? Mainly stupidity. Abysmal lack of understanding about what to take risks for and what not. And so, a minute before the shooting, the Arab hears the water in the courtyard. And the soldiers lying in ambush saw not their friend
coming down
from the roof but rather a figure slipping
into
the building; why wouldn't they think this was the wanted man they've been waiting for all night?"

"And the Arab saw all this with his own eyes?"

"He didn't see a thing. He was inside the house. But the turning on of the faucet and the sound of rinsing woke him—he was sleeping lightly that night in any case—and right after that, he heard the shots, and in the morning, when the soldiers had already taken Eyali and got out of there, he found his bucket in the doorway, rinsed and clean. Here was a soldier who was ready to disobey explicit instructions so he could say, 'I too am a human being, and I am giving you back a clean bucket. I may have conquered you, but I did not contaminate you.'"

"And the Arab—was he at least touched by what Eyali did?"

"I asked myself exactly that, not at that moment, but later, when I had digested the story. Because the man told it all with a blank expression, without feeling, just the facts, and took the money and hurried back to Tulkarm, as it would soon be curfew."

"But why didn't you tell Shuli?"

"Don't you know your sister? She would have immediately blamed herself, because of the way she had brought him up, all that insane order and cleanliness of hers."

Daniela falls silent. She knows exactly what he means.

The hill that serves as their reference point gradually loses its outline and turns into a murky silhouette. A large flock of birds flaps through the soft air. Yirmiyahu takes the stretcher from the vehicle, places it on the ground and lies down. Daniela looks at the big bald man, whose eyes are closed. She wants to say something to him, but decides against it. She gets out of the car and walks a short distance away, finds a spot concealed by taller grass, takes down her pants, crouches and relieves herself slowly. And as the last drops fall she raises her eyes to the heavens and discovers the first cluster of stars shining overhead.

A sharp chirping pierces the African emptiness and quickly fades into a sob. And then a crackling, metallic voice speaking excellent English calls out, Jeremy, Jeremy, where are you? Yirmi leaps up from the stretcher to seize the connection.

"Come, Daniela," he calls to his sister-in-law as he starts the engine, "get in and see the surprise that's waiting for you."

And as they slowly make their way along the dirt road toward the murky hill, a flare shoots into the sky and spreads a canopy of yellow light. Slowly, slowly sinks the flame, and the trail of light dies down, and then another candle shoots through the darkness, and following that, a third.

J
UST LAST NIGHT
, his elderly father said to him: I want you to know that I definitely do
not
need you tomorrow. Francisco and I have organized a whole crew to take care of the little Jerusalem elevator. You can relax and tend to business at the office and get the house ready for Daniela. But if you insist on coming along, then early in the morning, please. Before noon my shaking is not as bad.

"But morning, Abba, not dawn."

"We'll compromise on in between. The difference isn't that much."

When Ya'ari arrives at his father's home at half past seven, he finds him trembling in his wheelchair, ready to go. Washing must have been accomplished at first light, and breakfast too, and on the table, cleared of crumbs, the Filipino baby is avidly sucking her toe, surrounded by five plastic containers filled with sandwiches, cookies, and peeled vegetables.

"You don't trust your woman in Jerusalem to feed us?"

"Food there will surely be, but I know this lady very well. Given her regal manners my staff may be too intimidated to go to her table. We're taking care of them, so they won't be dependent on her refreshments."

"The staff, the staff," Ya'ari scoffs, "what staff?"

It turns out that a real delegation has been assembled, six escorts
for one old man, not counting Ya'ari himself: a private ambulance driver; two Filipino friends recruited by Francisco; Hilario, in the role of interpreter; and one little surprise...

"What surprise?"

"A surprise," his father says, smiling. "When you see her, you'll understand right away that this is a surprise."

"But what sort of surprise?"

"A little patience, please. Have I ever disappointed you?"

Ya'ari looks fondly at his father, who is dressed festively for the occasion in a white shirt and black vest; a red tie lies folded in his lap. His shaking does not seem any better this morning.

"And your medicines?"

"I took a little more than the usual dose. And I have another dose in my pocket, in case the old girl tries to exceed the bounds of propriety."

"How many years since you've seen her?"

"Not since the beginning of the millennium. When my illness got worse, I understood that it would not be dignified for us elderly people to peddle illusions to ourselves."

"Illusions about what?"

The father removes his eyeglasses and brings his wristwatch close to his eyes to verify that the second hand is moving. Then he looks up at his son and grumbles, "Illusions ... illusions ... you know exactly what I mean, so don't pretend this morning to be somebody you're not."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning a square, naïve, limited, engineer."

The elder Ya'ari, who had no formal education, still teases his son sometimes about his degree in engineering. But the son doesn't drop the subject.

"Illusions that love can be a consolation for death?"

The father waves his hands irritably.

"If that explanation makes you feel better, then we'll agree on
it. But do me a favor and save the philosophy for later, and instead tell me, should I put on the red tie, or is it too much?"

"If you don't also plan to put on makeup for the visit, then a red tie will brighten your pale face."