A Pigeon and a Boy (47 page)

He checked to make sure the cloth strips were loose enough for the sapling to move a bit in the wind. “That causes her to use her muscles a bit. Makes for a thicker, stronger trunk.” He stepped back and said, “That’s it. She’s planted. Now we’ll give her a little water, and when we fix up the garden we’ll wind a few irrigation drips around her base. In the meantime, visit her every day with a watering can in hand so she learns to wait for you and rejoice when you come. And while you’re watering her, take the opportunity to give her a good look. Check her leaves and her bark—that’s the way to find out how she’s maturing and what her problems are, and she’ll know you didn’t just plant her and take off, that you’re continuing to take care of her.”

We sat down beside my new fig tree, me on the ground and Meshulam on the upside-down pail. He lit himself a cigarette and said, “It’s a good thing you don’t smoke, Iraleh. I want my Tiraleh’s fellow to be strong and healthy And I want to give you another piece of advice, because I don’t know if I’ll still be around when this tree bears fruit. You were right: I’d already prepared this sapling before you came to me with this house of yours; it’s a cutting from the tree Tiraleh likes better than all the rest, one of the green ones with a little yellow in the peel. I’ll tell you how you should serve the figs to her: chilled and cut crosswise, not lengthwise, so they look like figs should. You understand what I’m talking about, don’t you, Iraleh? Because that’s the way you tell her what you want and what you like about her, but politely, without being crass. And with the fig you bring her a little bowl with a tiny bit of arak inside.

“That’ll make her really happy,” he promised me. “You’ll see. She’ll be pleased, she’ll laugh. A woman likes her man to feel what she wants without having to say so. So don’t tell her that I taught you this little trick. Let her believe you understand everything about her on your own.”

After pondering briefly, he changed his mind. “You know, if Tiraleh asks you, then tell her the truth. Yes, Tiraleh, it was your father who told me the secret. He wanted me to please you, he wanted us to be together, and he decided to help out a little. And then she’ll laugh: So that’s it? Every nice thing you do for me I’ll wonder if it was my father who put you up to it? And you’ll say No, Tiraleh. Not every nice thing.
This was just the fig. And then she’ll ask, Are you sure? He didn’t tell you about other things I like? And you’ll say, No, Tiraleh, most things that girls like, their fathers don’t know about. Come on, let’s not talk anymore about him, because now it’s just you and me, and what do we care about that old pest anyway? That’s what you’ll tell her. Now, Tiraleh, we’re like Adam and Eve: we’re all alone, just you and me. And this is the Garden of Eden we made for ourselves, and nobody’s going to drive us out of here.”

A
FTER
M
ESHULAM LEFT,
I lay on the floor of my house. It was good: in spite of my unabating love for my contractor who is a woman, I found it very pleasant to be alone. The construction was nearly completed, the beams of the roof had been fixed or replaced, the roof tiles laid, the ceiling stood between them and me, Steinfeld’s floor tiles underneath my body The windows and doors had been installed, the countertops and sinks and faucets were in place, the walls were plastered and whitewashed. The only things missing were furniture, bathroom and kitchen cupboards, closets. And there were a few spots that needed repainting, and the light fixtures needed to be connected.

I lay on the floor of the empty house looking upward and felt a strange feeling, as though I were lifting off inside it. I do not usually sleep in the afternoon, but this time I fell asleep and at last I dreamt another dream about my mother. Since that last one, in which she had said “Yair … ? Yair … ?” over the telephone, I had not dreamt of her again. This time I even got to see her.

In my dream I went outside the house, into the yard. Dozens of workers were laboring there, and many guests — some of whom I recognized but most of whom were completely unfamiliar to me—were milling about and chatting. The scent of festive activity filled the air. Several tractors were at work, digging and pulling and swinging about, and one of them, an especially large one with my tractor operator driving it, was carrying an enormous cube of rock that was hanging from the tractor’s shovel by the wide straps used by movers. The rock was so heavy that it caused the tractor to tilt dangerously I wondered: Where’s Tirzah? And Meshulam? And where are the two workers? Did they return to China?

I drew near and saw that in the front yard of my home, which leads onto the street, there was a group of people, and you were among them, lovely and alive and happy, wearing one of your favorite dresses from my childhood, the kind you don’t see anymore today: a light-colored, wide, flowered cotton sundress with a cinched waist and short sleeves and a rounded collar that seems more generous than it really is and suits even small-breasted women.

Clearly I understood that you were dead—it was as plain to me in the dream as if I were awake; I even felt the astonishment one should feel when dreaming such a thing. But the knowledge and the surprise did not keep me from filling with joy I said to you, “How wonderful that you came.” You hugged and kissed me and said nothing, while I—why, damn it, couldn’t I think of anything else to talk about?—repeated, “How won-derful that you came, Mother” and “How beautiful you look,” and then the dream dissolved and it was as though it had never happened, the kind of dream that is forgotten as it is dreamt, even before the dreamer gets to tell the person he is dreaming about what it was he wanted to say and before he has heard the answer.

I did not feel myself awaken, but suddenly I was awake, and the pleasantness inside me in the dream continued beyond it. The twilight and the cool air told me it was evening, that my afternoon nap had gone on too long. I called out, “Tirzah … Tirzah …” a few times in order to tell her about the dream, perhaps even to boast about it, but Tirzah was not there. Nor were the workers. But I was not alone; I could feel that clearly

I turned on a light and saw a pigeon. She was sitting on the floor, motionless. My body froze, my hair stood on end. It was a completely plain-looking pigeon: bluish-gray with scarlet legs. Apigeon like a thousand others. Round eyes. Two dark stripes like those of a prayer shawl adorning the wings and the tail.

I let out a scream. The pigeon was startled, too, and she flew about flapping her wings. She slammed against the new ceiling and plunged. She took flight again, hit the ceiling again; then she grew confused and began flying about the room, until finally she landed in a far corner. I was standing at the center of the large, empty space. We looked at each other. Silence fell.

“Where did you come from?” I asked at last.

Pigeons have no way of indicating directions or places. “To you,” she answered.

“I do not want you,” I said. “Go back to your home.”

“I have been flying all day long,” the pigeon said. “Please give me rest for the sole of my foot, refuge for a single night.”

“Not in this house. Not in my home. Not you.”

“I will cower in a dark corner. I shall not disturb you. You will neither see nor hear me. Who better than you could know that pigeons can gather themselves in, vanish—in the wicker basket, in the wooden crate, even in a pocket.”

“Now!” I shouted. “Leave at once!”

“The sun has already set,” she pleaded.

But I clung to my fury I felt myself gripping it firmly “I have closed off all the holes in the roof. I have sealed all the cracks. There is no place for a pigeon here.”

“You closed off, dammed up, sealed, yet I am here. A pigeon.”

I stood up. The pigeon flew off again around the room, while I leaned down and took hold of one of the planks dropped there by one of the dwarf roofers, and I leapt forward with a sprightliness that surprised even me. I swung at her as if she were a baseball, still airborne. She slammed to the ground, fluttered, fell silent. Her right wing was broken and dangled at an odd angle. Her thin broken bone could be seen whitely through the shredded flesh. She was breathing through her gaping beak. Her eyes were clouding with fear and agony

“I am the flesh and the soul,” she announced, like some ceremonious tape recorder.

“Shut up,” I said.

“I am the breeze of the body and the burden of love. I am wind and strength.”

I took hold of her, went outside, and in a single movement I decapitated her and hurled her head with all my strength into the darkness. I ripped the down from her belly and her breast and tore the plume from her neck and back. The body, now plucked and exposed, was naked and tiny Her wing feathers seemed to belong to some other creature. Were it not for the pain it had obviously endured, I would say it even looked ridiculous.

I took the Leatherman hanging from my belt—the next time Liora or Benjamin make fun of me I’ll be able to tell them that I finally put my useless equipment to use—opened it and sliced off the tips of the wings and the tail. With a quick slit from the breast to the stomach I bisected the belly and pulled back the sides. All the internal organs—the craw,
the stomachs, the intestines, the air pouches, the large heart, the developed lungs —I gathered in my hand, then ripped them out and pitched them.

I went down to the back of the property, turned on the lights strung between the branches of the carob trees, gathered a few thistles and boards, and lit a fire. Within half an hour I had a nice pile of whispering coals. I roasted my pigeon on them and ate her. A strong and pleasant taste of blood filled my mouth. Was it her blood I was tasting or had bone splinters cut the insides of my mouth?

I undressed, lit one of my luvey’s memorial candles, and got under the shower she built for me. I rinsed my hands of the blood and my body of all the rest, and when I turned off the water and stood naked, letting the drops fall from my body, I suddenly heard the soft crowing, dripping as well. I lifted my gaze to the darkness and saw nothing. Cranes do not always pass over this area, and the crowing, like the flapping of wings, could be heard not only from the highest heavens but from my deepest depths as well.

Chapter Twenty-Five

T
HE MAN
from the electric company installed a new meter. The man from the regional council installed a water meter set to zero. The man from the gas company installed tanks and pipes. The man from the Bezeq telephone company put in telephone lines. The house—a golem whose flesh is bricks and mortar, gravel and sand—felt a flow in its veins and came to life. It stretched its tendons, its windows opened and closed, absorbing light and darkness, views and images. Its beams gave support, its walls partitioned, its front door stands ajar or shut. Tirzah had finished her work.

The house emptied of people. The new phone rang suddenly. I picked it up, slightly surprised, and heard her laughter: “It’s me, luvey Your contractor who is a woman. I’m in the garden, next to the carob trees. I just wanted to inaugurate your new phone line.”

Night fell. We ate, showered, entered the house. Tirzah said, “It’s already our home, with a floor under our feet and walls around our bodies and a roof over our heads.” She noted that my camping mattress was “good for a single fakir, not for a couple of hedonists. It’s time we bought ourselves a proper bed.”

The next morning I woke up very late. The sun was already high in the sky and the air was filled with the aroma of cut vegetables. Tirzah was squeezing a lemon into her hand, letting the juice drip between her fingers into the salad and tossing out the seeds.

“Finally up? I’m making us the kitchen’s first salad.” She rubbed her hands together. “I learned to do this from my mother. It’s good for the skin and gives the body a nice lemony scent.”

While she was tasting and improving the salad, I sliced the bread and the salted cheese she had brought, and I put out plates and knives and forks. “Now that all the other guys are on the table, waiting,” Tirzah said, “it’s time to prepare the eggs.”

We sat on the wooden deck she had built me, eating the first breakfast we had prepared in the new kitchen. Tirzah said, “That’s it, Iraleh. All we need now is to buy furniture and get rid of all the tools and the leftovers and the mess, but the work is done, and I have a gift for you.” She handed me a small, wrapped box. I opened it. Inside were two keys and a brass plaque that read
Y.
M
ENDELSOHN, PRIVATE.

It was autumn. In my luvey’s eyes the yellow was waxing and the green was waning. “These are for you,” she said. “If you want to give me one key, this is the time to do a
FOR
and
AGAINST
and come to a decision.”

I handed her one key, and she was happy I was happy too, and from the sky came that soft, wandering croaking, which at first enters through the skin, then grabs hold of the tissues, and only then can be heard and comprehended.

“What do you see there?” Tirzah asked as I tented my hand over my upraised eyes.

“Those are cranes. They’re flying south to their other room. Look.”