So, he wonders, fetching another plate, was it because of that bizarre story that Amsalem insisted he hustle down to Beersheba, or because of the woman telling it? Or both?
BUT THE STORY is interrupted, for Amsalem’s wife has enlisted her sister to help in the kitchen. Now Moses can recover and serenely amass his lunch upon his plate. He finds a seat at one of the small tables in the garden, and while eating he tries to decide who among the swirl of children racing around the empty swimming pool is the young beauty who became an aunt before entering junior high. An older couple, residents of Sderot, sits down at his table. They came to Amsalem’s house as a Sabbath respite from the rocket fire from Gaza. “But don’t the rockets,” asks Moses, “reach Beersheba as well?” Yes, they confirm, but only occasionally, with longer warning time, and besides, those who live outside of rocket range have not invited them to visit. They know who Moses is, Amsalem had invited them to the premiere of Potatoes, they loved it, even cried a little at the end. They have a big fruit and vegetable store in the produce market of Sderot and were pleased to see a story developed from such everyday material. The film he made was simple and realistic, they inform Moses, which is why it was so touching.
The boyish father enters the garden, carefully bearing a tray with plates full of food, as the grandmother, carrying the baby, scouts for a shaded table for the little family. Moses wants to join them but fears offending the greengrocers at his table. He signals to Amsalem, who circulates among the tables holding two bottles of wine, red and white. As red wine flows into his cup, the director whispers to the producer:
“Is this a true story or some fantasy of your sister-in-law’s?”
“Of course it’s true.” Amsalem is insulted. “I wouldn’t have dragged you down to Beersheba on a Saturday for a fantasy. You don’t lack for fantasies in Tel Aviv.”
“Where’s the baby’s mother?”
“You want to hear the whole story from my sister-in-law?”
“Give me the bottom line.”
“The baby’s mother is no longer here. I mean, she left Israel.”
“Who is she?”
“Was. I mean, still is. An American girl.”
“Actually American?”
“Also Jewish. Half, actually. From California. She came here with her father, who is a professor, geology or zoology. He came for a year to the desert research institute. She’s a year older than Yoav, but they put her in a lower grade because of the language. Even so she had problems, especially in Hebrew and Bible classes, because she knew next to nothing about being Jewish. But just so you know, Moses, I got to know her through my wife and sister-in-law, and she is a well-developed girl, both physically and personality-wise. Intelligent and cheerful, but neglected. Her father was always out in the desert doing his research, leaving her in an empty house, which became an open house where the kids, her group of friends, would hang out and have a good time, including our Yoav, whom she really liked. Just look at him, at the table over by the tree, a fine-looking boy — see? I’ll introduce him up close.”
“Why introduce?” Moses gets nervous.
“For the story… for a movie, maybe.”
“Wait… what is this? You’re going too fast… who said I want this story for my film?”
“Why not? It gives you a slice of life. You know there was a story like this in England? But there the youth are wild and violent. They were on television, two kids more or less the same age as Yoav who had a baby. The girl was big and heavy; the boy, the father, was like a little bird, a skinny English type, cultured… You didn’t happen to see it?”
“No, Amsalem. Wait…”
“I’m telling you. Believe me. If we don’t hurry with our movie, the Brits will beat us to it.”
“Let them. What’s going on? Why are you rushing?”
“I’m excited about the subject, the possibilities.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, problems of youth, too much freedom, permissiveness, alcohol…”
“But not here, not exactly. I still don’t get it.”
“What don’t you get?”
“Why they didn’t terminate the pregnancy.”
“Because this girl was essentially alone here, without her divorced mother, for whom the daughter was out of sight, out of mind, and with no family to understand what was happening. Her father, the professor, neglected her, spent too much time in the desert. By the time they realized she was pregnant, it was already late. Meaning that an abortion would have been too risky. So we all said, It’s not so terrible, let her give birth, then we’ll give up the baby for adoption. That’s what we all decided.”
“All of you were involved?”
“Yes, all of us. It’s such an unusual story, also from a family perspective. Though there were surely other boys who had slept with the girl, it was clear that our Yoav was the father. He was crazy about her, head over heels, and he took responsibility, though his father warned him to stay out of it. But his mother, my sister-in-law, defended her son, so her husband gave in.”
“And then what?”
“She gave birth… the delivery was not easy, she lost a lot of blood. For a minute there it was life-threatening, she was such a young girl. But at least her mother, who turned out not to be Jewish, came from America to be with her. But right after the birth, she and the zoologist and a sharp lawyer forced the girl back to America, so if the baby was adopted, his mother would not be able to stay in touch. So the baby’s American identity gets lost, but maybe when he grows up he can reclaim it.”
“Why wasn’t the baby put up for adoption?”
“Because the boy, the father, Yoavi — that’s the point — suddenly says he doesn’t want to give it up. If the baby stays with him, he believes, eventually the girl he loves will come back to him. Come back to her baby. In the meantime, he’s been trying, unsuccessfully, to stay in touch with her.”
“He loves her that much…” whispers Moses.
“What can you do? His whole life is ahead of him, and he’s caught up in this love for that crazy American girl. Now that she’s in America, he can’t get over her, and the love just gets stronger by the day. Meanwhile, he’s raising a baby with his mother. And who is this Yoav? Just a kid; he had his bar mitzvah two years ago. A real tragedy for him… So, Moses, we should let the English have a story like this? Why not grab it?”
“Why is it important to grab it?”
“As an educational film for our youth. To warn them. The Ministry of Education and also the Welfare Ministry could invest in it…”
Moses rests his head on his hand, takes a sip of water. He is uneasy with the transition from a tragic personal story to possible investment by a government ministry.
“Let’s talk later,” he says to the producer.
“Don’t worry,” says Amsalem, laying his hands on the shoulders of the greengrocers, who have listened raptly, “these are good friends, why shouldn’t they hear the story?”
The two nod their agreement.
“By the way, how was the roast beef?” continues Amsalem. “Want some more?”
“No,” says Moses. “If I want some more, I’ll help myself. You’re making me dizzy.”
“I don’t know why you’re dizzy — I suppose too much retrospective made you oversensitive. Have more meat before the cake and dessert. And before you go back to Tel Aviv, rest in the room I reserved for you. I know your siesta is worth more to you than all your friends.”
MOSES GOES TO the buffet, takes a fresh plate, and again inspects the meat dishes. But the story of the young mother has upset him and he puts the plate back, takes a bowl, and surveys the colorful desserts, then puts the bowl back, takes a red apple, sticks it in his pocket, and makes his way to the garden. The mother and son are sitting under an olive tree waiting for the little sister to finish her ice cream. He stops, puts a hand on the girl’s head, and bends over to look at the baby in the carriage. The tiny baby, light-skinned, flutters his hands. Moses touches the white scarf wrapped around his head. The father, tense, watches him, but Moses smiles and says, with the confidence of a veteran grandpa, “A sweet baby, but does he let you sleep?” “Not all the time,” says the boy, “in fact, hardly ever.” Moses takes a closer look at the boy. He is not much older than his own grandson, but he has already known a woman and sired a child and seems mature, serious. And Moses looks with warm encouragement at the young grandmother, whose allure has only grown in the sunshine. “Yes,” he says, “your brother-in-law told me the rest of the story, and I must admit, it is a truly unusual story.”