I knocked on the door and combed my hair back with my fingers, in her honour.
She opened the door, and before I could say hello, she pulled me over for a hug and right after that, she shook me by the shoulders and said, you came just in time. We’re having a party. She made the music louder, tossed her hair from side to side, then grabbed my hand and twirled me around so that I passed under the bridge that our hands made. Amir danced alongside us, and I said to myself, if he’s brave enough to dance like that, moving like a camel, then why shouldn’t I, and I started dancing. At class parties, I’m always a wallflower and after Gidi died, I stopped going to those parties altogether; I mean, at first, I really did stop going and then later on I wanted to start going again, but they stopped inviting me and I’d started to think, that’s it, I’ll never learn how to dance. I had hoped that in Australia kids my age didn’t have parties, but now, in Amir and Noa’s apartment, with all the furniture pushed to the sides so it wouldn’t get in the way, I suddenly felt I was a good dancer. The floor shook under our feet like a heart beating, and I waved my arms and danced the number eight around Noa and the number five around Amir for no real reason, just because I felt like it. I passed under the bridges they built and went through imaginary tunnels, all to the rhythm of the music, which was a kind of long song without words that never ended, never ended, never ended. Until it did.
You’re going to break a lot of hearts, Yotam, Noa said after we flopped on to the sofa.
Yes, Yotam. You’re terrific, Amir said.
I put on a modest expression, but inside I felt really puffed up.
You know, I’m very jealous of you, Noa said.
About what?
I always wanted to go to Australia.
Everyone who hears we’re going says that. My English teacher. Dor’s brother. I don’t get it, what’s so great about Australia, the kangaroos?
Maybe it’s because Australia is as far away from here as can be, Amir said, and sighed the way you sigh when you drink a lot of water.
What’s so bad about here? I wanted to ask, but I knew that was the kind of question grown-ups make a when-you-grow-up-you’ll-understand face after you ask it, so I didn’t.
So when are you leaving tomorrow? In the morning? The afternoon? Noa asked.
The flight’s at eight-thirty in the morning. And we have to be there two and a half hours before. So we’ll probably leave at five.
That means … we won’t see you tomorrow, Amir said, and all of a sudden there was this kind of sad silence, like the silence there used to be before Noa left and came back.
Well, then … Amir said, bent over and pulled a football out from under the sofa, this is the time to give you your going-away present.
He threw me the ball.
I caught it.
And couldn’t believe it.
On the white squares were the autographs of all the Beitar players. All of them. Ohana. Abucsis. Harazi. Kornfein. All of them.
How did you get this? I yelled. Noa laughed.
Beit Vegan, you know it? Amir said and gave a little smile.
Course I do! Our practice field!!
Avraham Levy, you know him?
Course I do, the Beitar manager.
That’s the whole story, Amir said, his smile getting wider. I went there yesterday, told him a bit about you and asked him to get all his players to sign the ball.
I don’t believe it, I said, running my fingers carefully over the ball. I was afraid I’d erase Ohana’s autograph with my fingers.
Believe it, Amir said, then touched the ball and said: this is so you won’t forget Jerusalem, even when you’re on the other side of the world.
And this is so you won’t forget us, Noa said and handed me a picture in a frame. It was a picture of me and Amir playing chess, with the empty lot in the background. At the bottom was written: To Yotam, our best friend in the Castel, from Noa and Amir.
Wow, this is great, I said and kissed Noa on the cheek, even though the truth was that, at that moment, I was more excited about the ball.
Then we all ate some Bamba peanut snacks from a huge bag and Amir and I played a last game of chess that ended in a stalemate. Then we put all the pieces back into the box, the black separately and the white separately. We did it really slowly to make it last longer, but finally all the pieces were inside and there was no choice, so I got up to go. They said, you can stay longer, and I said, no, I promised my mother to help her pack. I hugged and kissed and high-fived them goodbye at the door. Noa started crying and Amir put his arm around her shoulder. I said one last bye and walked away without looking back. But a few seconds later, I came back and knocked on the door again to take the framed picture I’d forgotten in all the excitement. They gave it to me and Amir laughed and said, go quickly before she starts crying again. He gave me one last hug, a man’s hug, and closed the door again.
The sun was starting to set and I’d promised Mum I’d be home before it got dark, but I had one more thing to do. I walked slowly through the lot until I got to the monument. I put the framed picture down next to it and shoved a stone under the ball so it wouldn’t roll down.
This is the last time I’ll be visiting you here, I said to Gidi. Maybe I’ll build a monument in Australia too. It depends on whether there’s an empty lot there. I hope you’re not cross with me for leaving, I said, and added three more stones to the monument. Two of them fell down and one stayed. Because I’m not cross with you any more and I’m not waiting any longer for you to surprise me and come back some day, or answer me when I talk to you. I know you can’t. Anyway, Gidi, I hope you’ll keep watching me from up there even when I’m in Australia. From heaven, it’s the same distance, right?
The stones didn’t move, and I got up. And picked up the picture. Then the ball. And I said goodbye to Gidi because ‘see you later’ didn’t seem right, and then –
At first, I thought I was imagining it. Then I closed my eyes and opened them again.
A giant kangaroo was jumping around the lot, between the rocks, over the piles of rubbish. It wasn’t a dog or a cat, but a real kangaroo, just like in the pictures Amir showed me in his album, with a long tail, enormous ears and a pouch. Sitting in the pouch was someone I didn’t recognise at first because the kangaroo was too far away from me, but when it cleared the monument in one jump and came closer, I saw that it was my brother Gidi. Wearing a uniform that was almost the same colour as the kangaroo. Hi, I said, holding out my hand. Hi, he said, holding out his hand to me too and smiling with his eyes. But before we could do our regular handshake, with our fingers and everything, he and the kangaroo gave one more jump and moved away from me. I ran after them, but I didn’t have a chance. They jumped all the way to the bottom of the lot, crossed the road and over Madmoni’s brand new house in two springy jumps. I looked around to see if anyone else was watching, but the street was completely empty. They started jumping down in the direction of the wadi and I ran up to the highest spot in the empty lot, climbed up the pile of boards and from there I could see them jumping, hippity-hop, straight to the sun. I put my hand on my forehead to shade my eyes and watched them for another few minutes, jumping over bushes and huge rocks, getting smaller and smaller, smaller and smaller, until they disappeared, and so did the sun.
I went home and Mum was angry with me for being late, so I didn’t tell her about the kangaroo because I didn’t want her to think it was an excuse. Then we had to find a place in one of the suitcases for my new football and decide what to do with the old one, and the next day, we drove to the airport and then there was another kind of excitement.