“No, I mean you. I met your brother yesterday evening at the beach.”
“It must have been night.”
“What does it matter? The important thing is that we met.”
“Maybe you interrupted something he was doing?” Dov asked, and the man lifted his hand to his blackened eye. “Something he enjoys doing very much? You don’t know my brother. I do. And let me tell you something: his prick is his Achilles heel.”
“It’s you I wanted to speak to, not your brother.”
“What about?”
“I wanted to ask you to tell your brother that hitting people is not nice.”
“He knows that,” Dov said. He speared another piece of corned beef with his knife and shoved it into his mouth. “I’ve been telling him that all his life.”
“Then you agree, Dov?”
“Agree with what, old bean?”
“That it’s not nice to hit people.”
“Yes,” Dov said. “Absolutely. God, this corned beef tastes awful.”
“So you’ve changed, Dov,” the other said. “Even though it’s not easy to change when a man’s turning forty.” He tossed his pipe and mallet to the ground, wiped his hands on a rag, and got to his feet. “Or maybe you haven’t? Maybe you say that just because you’re on parole and you don’t want to get into any trouble?”
“You have a head on your shoulders, so figure it out for yourself. Thinking is difficult at first, but once you get into the habit it can be real fun.”
“I guess you haven’t changed at all, Dov Ben Dov,” the man said. “That corned beef must be salty, no? You can have some of my beer.”
Dov took the offered bottle, raised it to his lips, and took a long swig. “Have you ever met me before?” he asked.
“No, but I know guys who did. In Haifa, Tel Aviv, Jerusalem.” He paused. “And even in Akko.”
“In Akko?” Dov asked.
“Yes,” the other man said. “In Akko.”
“Well, well. And what did you think of that jail?”
“I thought it was a very fine jail. Not that I’m in any hurry to get back to it; I didn’t find it that special. I came to Eilat straight from there, Dov. I’m not a tourist. If I could choose a different place, I would.”
“How long do you have to stay here?”
“Five years. Five long years. Some guys start losing their hair and teeth after two years here, Dov. I’m not a young man anymore. It’s hard for me to live under police supervision. We have to live peacefully, whether we like it or not. It’s easy to make trouble for guys like you and me. Anybody can do it. Anybody who wants to. Any silly little thing is enough. And then the judge says: The conditional release hasn’t worked so it must be revoked. That’s what I’m afraid of. Many guys here in Eilat are.”
“You need to tell me this?”
“I wish your brother was like you. But he’s young and hot-blooded. His young body has quickly adjusted itself to the local conditions. Five years from now he’ll still have his own hair and teeth. And he doesn’t even have to take any salt pills. Want some more beer, Dov?”
“Yes,” Dov said. He reached for the bottle the man held out to him, but instead of taking it, he raised his hand and touched the man’s face. “What did you do? Get drunk and start counting stairs with your face?” he asked, and only then took the bottle.
“No,” the man said. “Though I wish that were true. I wish I could say that. I can’t. It was your brother; he slugged me a couple of times yesterday. And I couldn’t hit him back, just like you couldn’t have if somebody had slugged you, right, Dov?” Big and fat, he walked up to Dov, moving with an effort, and stopped half a yard away from him, his hand raised in the air. “Right, Dov?”
“Right,” Dov said. “I couldn’t have.”
“Even if he had called your mother a whore?”
“Yes, even then.”
“Even if he had said you’re a worthless bum,” the man continued, his hand still high in the air, “an officer stripped of his rank and booted out of the army, a man left by his wife, a man whom nobody in the whole country trusts enough to lend one measly pound?”
“Yes,” Dov said.
“What if he said your wife had started whoring around and would soon give birth to somebody’s bastard? If somebody came up to you and said all those things, would you hit him?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Dov said.
“You and I are in the same position,” the other said. “You know why I didn’t hit your brother last night. But I don’t hold a grudge against him. I even want to do something for him.”
“Like what?” Dov asked.
“I want to lend him some money.”
“He doesn’t need it,” Dov said. “He has to live on what he makes himself.”
“He’ll need it to pay his way,” the man said. “So he can leave Eilat and go wherever he wants. I’m afraid, Dov. I’m afraid one day he’ll provoke me so much that I’ll forget myself and hit him. And you know what that would mean for me. Tell him to leave Eilat; tell him I’m ready to help him. He can pay me back when he gets rich. I can wait.”
“He won’t leave Eilat,” Dov said. “And he doesn’t need your money.”
“I advise him to leave, Dov.”
“He doesn’t need your advice either. He’s got a father and an older brother.”
“I want him to leave Eilat,” the man said. “I don’t like looking at a man who’s hit me in the face.”
“He’s losing his livelihood because of you,” Dov said. “You can’t expect him to like you.”
“Dov, your brother is young and strong. He can fish from a rowboat. I’m twice as old as he is. And I spent five years in a German camp before coming here. I wanted to make some money, enough to survive on without having to look up to people or cater to them. So I did something I shouldn’t have. I got caught and landed in jail. Now all I want is to live in peace. It’s not my fault I’m not as young as your brother.” He paused and then went on. “Tell him to leave Eilat, Dov. For five years men hit me in the face and I had to bear it. I had to look at them day after day. But I won’t bear that here in Israel. I don’t want to see your brother ever again. Tell him to leave.” He turned to the other two men who were standing some distance away and said, “I’ve finished! I need your help now!”
He and one of the other men tried to lift the wheel and put it back on the axle; their necks and arms turned red from the strain, but their efforts were unsuccessful.
“No way,” one of them gasped. “We need two pipes and some bricks.”
Dov had been standing motionless; now he tossed away the half-full can of corned beef. The men turned quickly in his direction. They looked at his pale, sweaty face and his joined eyebrows. He walked up to them and pushed them gently away, then dropped to one knee, lifted the wheel and placed it on the axle.
He got to his feet, breathing hard, and wiped his hands on an oily rag. Then he turned to the men; they backed away from him. But he just stood there, catching his breath.
“Forget the bricks and pipes,” he said. “The trouble with this pit is that it’s much too shallow. Can you move your truck out now so he can bring in my jeep?” He turned to the garage owner, who’d come in, the beer bottle still in his hand. “Get going on my brakes, okay? I’ll be back in an hour.” He was almost out the door, half a step away from the glare and sunlight, when suddenly he stopped. “My brother was born in this country,” he said. “He has a right to live wherever he wants and do whatever he likes.” He wiped the sweat off his brow and strode out into the glare and dust.
ISRAEL HAD ALMOST FINISHED SHAVING WHEN ESTHER entered the kitchen. He turned to her.
“I borrowed your mirror,” he said. “I took it without asking because I didn’t want to wake you up.”