“Good enough for my coach to say, think about the Olympics for Israel. But that would have meant devoting hours to running. I lacked the drive to work that hard. Without drive, forget it. Still, I could move, as the yeshiva boys found out.”
“Those poor white boys never had a chance,” Sammy remarked.
“Such is life.” Koby turned to Rina. “The lamb is delicious.”
“Then you’ll have more,” Rina said.
“Please.” Koby took another small piece, then started laughing. “Okay. So after the escalator rides, they get the bright idea to take us bowling. That is upstairs-a bowling alley and a snack bar. We’re running across the lanes. The manager screams at the boys in Hebrew, the boys scream at us in English, which, of course, we don’t understand. And the few Israelis there… they’re smoking away, shaking their heads in very much disapproval, saying‘Ayzeh chayot’-‘those animals.’ The boys finally hold us by our shirts-literally. Then we start begging them to buy us something to eat.”
He turned to me.
“The snack bar has noteudat kashrut-a certificate that states a place as kosher-and these two religious boys do not want to buy us anything from an uncertified place. We beg and beg and beg. They cave in and buy us a Coke. We beg some more. They cave in and buy us potato chips in a bag with a kosher symbol. Then I see this boy blowing up the bag and punching it until it makes a pop.”
Sammy started laughing. “I used to do that.”
“I know you did,” Rina said.
Koby said, “It is no problem if the bag is empty. Only I don’t know this. I do it with the potato chips still inside.”
Dad smiled. “So what happened after they arrested you?”
“The boys get us out in time, otherwise I’m sure I have a record. It was an unmitigated disaster. But I tell you this. Those boys… they had patience. They came back the next week and tried again… and again. They make a deal with us. If we learn ourChumash,they’d play basketball with us in the afternoon.”
“Were they any good at basketball?” Sammy asked. “It’s a yeshiva sport, you know.”
“Yes, I know. They teach us the game, Sammy. What do we know about organized sports in Ethiopia? I come from a small village near Lake Tana, not Addis Ababa.”
“Do you still play?” Sammy said.
“Basketball? I used to play all the time. Point guard, of course. Speed was never my problem. And I can shoot, hit layups in a game of HORSE and do swish shots from the perimeter. But I have problems when I play with people.” He laughed. “They get in my way.”
“A perfect metaphor for my life,” Dad said wryly.
Rina thumped his shoulder.
Koby said, “Especially here in L.A., they play rough. They block you and push, and slam and hit and shove. And then you push and shove and slam and hit. It gets very physical. In three months, I saw one guy twist an ankle, another break a wrist falling on it the wrong way, a third fall on his face and crack his two front teeth. The final thing was a very good friend of mine was guarding against a layup. The guy with the ball did a one-eighty spin with a raised elbow and caught my friend’s nose, snapping the septum. I had just turned thirty; I say, that’s it. God gave me one body. I keep it in shape by running four times a week, but no more weekend basketball.”
“One day, I’d like to play a game of one-on-one with you,” Sammy said.
“Sure, that I don’t mind. It is safe.”
“Now Dad here… he’d have to play center, don’t you think?” Sammy said.
“That’s because I’m too heavy and slow to move across the court.” Dad looked around the table, then at Rina. “Where’s Hannah?”
“She was reading on the couch. Maybe she fell asleep.”
It could have been my imagination but Dad looked envious. What he did was smile at Rina. “The meal was superb.”
“Thank you.”
Decker sipped wine. “Notice she doesn’t offer me another helping.”
“Take whatever you want, dear.”
“Actually, I’m full… more like stuffed.”
“Me too,” Jacob concurred.
“You hardly ate,” Rina said.
“Not true. I’m just leaving room for dessert.”
Dad said, “I need to take a walk.”
“I’ll come with you,” Jacob said. “God forbid you should have any solitude.”
My father smiled at my stepbrother with loving eyes, an expression he had yet to grace me with this evening. “I would love for you to come with me.”
“Wanna come, Shmuli?” Jacob asked.
“I’ll help Eema clear.”
“I’ll help her clear, Sammy,” I told him. “Go ahead.”
“Then let’s make this a true male-chauvinist outing,” Sammy announced. “Koby, you can come with us.”
He shook his head. “I thank you, but I shall pass.”
“Go,” I told him.
“No, no,” he insisted. “I’m fine.”
For the first time, I noticed the fatigue in his eyes. “Did you work a double shift again last night?”
“I’m fine, Cindy.”
“You’re falling off your feet.”
He shrugged. “Could be the wine. Perhaps we should sayBirkat Hamazon.”
“Absolutely.” Rina passed out prayer booklets for Grace after Meals.
My dad gave Koby the honors of leading the family in the singing of the prayers, not only because he was a guest but also because he was a Kohen. Five minutes later, Rina stood to gather up the dishes.
“I’ll help you clear,” I told her.
“No way,” Rina said. “I’ll make you a care package and then you both go home.”
“Oh please, don’t bother,” I said. “I’ve eaten enough for a week.”
Koby echoed my sentiments. He shook Rina’s hand. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Decker. This was a real treat for me.”
“Anytime… with or without her,” Rina answered.
“She means it,” I told him.
“You’re very gracious.” Koby turned to my father. “It is a pleasure meeting you, sir.”
“Same.” Dad gripped his hand and shook it with spirit. Then he patted Koby on the back, walking him to the door with his arm looped over his shoulder. I think at final count, Dad had polished off half the bottle of wine. “Drive carefully.”
“She’s driving,” Koby told him.
My father looked at me and rolled his eyes. “All the more reason for the caveat.”
Ileft Decker’s house,knowing that the Loo was peeved, but what could I do? He had played his part, had been gracious after the initial stiffness, even downright funny. I was thankful that however miffed he was with me, he had had the decency to keep it under wraps.
It was late by the time I pulled into Koby’s driveway. He offered a nightcap, but I declined, feeling drained and not very sexy. Plus, I still had some miles to travel before I got home. I think Koby was relieved not to play host, having worked so much overtime. We settled on a dinner date for Sunday.
I slept in Saturday morning, then met Mom for lunch. My luck was holding because she was in a great mood, and the hours passed as smoothly as oiled gliders. When I got home, I took a long bike ride west down Venice Boulevard, hitting the ocean and back in a little over an hour. After showering off the sweat and salt, I checked my phone messages and my e-mail. Koby had my phone number but hadn’t called. Instead he had e-mailed me, telling me how much he had enjoyed last night. I answered him back, then turned off the computer, along with the rest of the outside world.
Dinner was a tuna fish sandwich and a good book in bed. I turned in at midnight, determined to sleep eight hours without nightmares. Partial success. But even after being jolted awake with the usual shakes and a rapid heartbeat, I was able to calm down enough to fall back asleep.
I got up early on Sunday to prepare something warm and fuzzy for Dad, deciding on a breakfast of French toast and vegetarian breakfast links, with fresh orange juice and Ethiopian coffee. Even if no one ate anything, at the very least my place would smell good. Unlike Koby’s house, my interior decor was generic-basic furniture and a serviceable kitchen. The best part of my tiny apartment was the fireplace mantel that had once been filled with glass figurines and family photos representing better times in my life. Now it lay bare. I had meant to fix it up with homey touches, but after a maniac had trashed and violated my personal space, the energy was lacking. I needed an infusion of something.