The two brothers left the house and climbed into the jeep. They drove fast along the empty highway. When they were about to turn left toward the beach, they saw an army truck coming at them from the direction of the airport; Dov braked with his foot, but the jeep didn’t slow down; he had to use the hand brake to stop the car.
“What’s wrong, Dov?”
“Brakes,” Dov said. “I had some problems with them yesterday, soon after Be’er Sheva. I guess there’s air in them. The guy who loaned the jeep to me should’ve warned me.”
“Is it something serious?”
“No. I’ll drop you off, and then go to the garage. It should take no more than an hour to fix them.”
“If this jeep was yours, there’d be no such surprises,” Little Dov said.
“Sure. Any fool can drive his own car.”
They were now going along the wet white sand close to the water’s edge; the sea was peaceful and still, but so bright Dov’s eyes began to hurt again from the glare, and he had to put his sunglasses on. When he felt his brother touch his arm, he turned his head.
“Look,” Little Dov said.
Dov stopped the jeep. Two motorboats were moving quickly away from the shore; they watched the two even white stripes of foamy water which the boats left in their wake.
“I’d kill those guys if I knew how,” Little Dov said. “And then I’d go to those whores, their mothers, and tell them their sons are dead.”
Dov caught him by the shoulders and pulled him close.
“Let them be,” he said. “Nothing should happen to them as long as I’m in Eilat. Because if something does, the police will come and get me, not you. Swear that you won’t do anything.”
His brother didn’t answer.
“Swear that you won’t do anything,” Dov said again. “Or I’ll leave this goddamn town today.”
“Okay, I swear,” Little Dov said, breaking free and getting out of the car. “What do you want me to swear by? By our Pop, that crazy old fool? Or by your wife that you still love even though she’s big with another man’s bastard?”
Dov regarded him in silence. There was a grimace on his face, and he was breathing hard through his open mouth.
“Don’t do anything while I’m here,” he said quietly. “And remember that every man’s wife can be turned into a whore. Sometimes it doesn’t take much urging. She’ll do it herself when things between her and her husband really start falling apart.”
“I’m sorry, Dov,” his brother said. “You should’ve hit me.”
“Come back safely.”
He made a U-turn; the wheels got stuck in the sand, so he reversed gears to free them, spraying sand all over Little Dov, who stood rooted with his head bowed, like a child expecting to be hit. Dov saw his brother’s blond head in the rearview mirror until he reached the highway. He drove to the airport and left the jeep in the parking lot on the other side of the runway from the barracks. He crossed the runway, feeling sweat gather on his back and soak his shirt through. The man he wanted to see was sitting at a desk, breathing heavily; his face was contorted as if he were dying, even though three electric fans stood in front of him, filling the room with their soft, gentle hum.
“Good day,” Dov said. He picked up one of the fans and directed the stream of cool air at his face.
“It’s only your second day in Eilat; soon you’ll learn that days are never good around here,” the man said.
“Do you have the passenger list?” Dov asked.
“The plane will land at ten-twenty. They told me over the phone there should be some passengers on board.” Suddenly he jumped up from his chair, jerked the fan out of Dov’s hand, and aimed it at his own sweaty face. “I hope they’ll like it here. I hope they’ll like it here more than I do.”
“I’d like to post some notices,” Dov said. “You know: jeep and driver for hire, something like that. Maybe it’ll catch somebody’s eye.”
“You believe that?”
“No,” Dov said. “But I’d like to do it nonetheless. Two or three notices, if the authorities won’t have any objections.”
“I’m sure they’ll have plenty of objections,” the man said. “Lucky for you, no authorities know exactly where this airport is. All the equipment we have is one windsock and one fire extinguisher. Too bad no plane has ever gone up in flames here yet; if one did, things would improve quickly.”
“Okay then, I’ll be here at ten. Me or my partner.”
“Oh, so you have a partner in this wonderful business? Now all you need is a secretary who speaks six languages.”
“Just find me some tourists,” Dov said. “Somebody must come here for pleasure, for god’s sake! You’ll get your share. Now I have to go and get my brakes fixed.” He turned around.
“Hey, Dov,” the man suddenly called out after him.
“Yeah?”
“You can put up all the notices you want, but if anybody from management asks, I’ll say I knew nothing, understand?”
“Sure,” Dov said. “I understand. You came here from Europe leaving behind a herring stall or some equally important business. And now you blame Moses for not consulting you as to where to go. Thing is he was ashamed to enter any city leading a rabble of men like you. That’s why he went out into the desert.”
“You’re a Sabra, aren’t you?” the man asked.
“That’s right,” Dov said. “A Sabra.”
He bought two cans of corned beef in a store opposite the airport barracks and drove off to the garage. The owner of the garage was standing in the shade, drinking a bottle of beer.
“My brakes don’t work,” Dov told him. “What should I do?”
“Sell that jeep for scrap metal and ride around in a taxi.”
“Listen, wise guy, I’m not feeling well. My head hurts and my eyes are jumping out of their sockets from the glare. So I’ll ask you again: what should I do?”
“Write to Elizabeth Taylor,” the owner said. “I hear she’s endowed a theater in Tel Aviv. Maybe she’ll want to help you too. She might even adopt you.”
Dov grabbed the bottle the man was holding, tore it out of his grasp and splashed beer in his face; the man jumped back into the shade.
“A little work will do you good and your wife will love you all the more for it,” Dov said. “I need that car in two hours. And I want those brakes fixed so good they’ll last me until winter.”
“I can’t use the pit now,” the owner of the garage said. “Some men are in it. Go talk to them. They should be finishing soon.”
Dov tossed the beer bottle back to him; the man caught it deftly. Dov walked into the garage. When his eyes adapted to the dark, he saw three men and an army GMC truck parked over the pit. The left back wheel was off; one of the men was placing a new bearing in the exposed axle, using a piece of pipe and a wooden hammer.
“Will you be finishing soon?” Dov asked.
The kneeling man turned his face up to him; there were bandages on it, and one of his eyes was swollen. “Yes,” he said. “If only this goddamn pit wasn’t so shallow! I would have finished long ago if there was a proper car hoist here.”
“Is there any other garage in town?” Dov asked.
“No. Be grateful for this dump. At least you can grease the chassis once in a while. My problem is I can’t fit my body into a pit this small.” There was a proud note in his voice. “I’m too fat and too tall.”
“Maybe you’re not too tall,” Dov said. “Maybe you’re a short chap, only your legs are long.”
The man looked at him again. “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” he said. “You’re Dov Ben Dov, aren’t you?”
Dov opened one of the cans of corned beef and began eating its contents with his knife. “That could be me,” he said, pausing between bites. “Though you might have in mind my brother or my eighty-year-old father.”