Motti (13 page)

C'mon, said Edna to Menachem a few days later, are you coming to bed already, Fatty?

What'd you call me? Menachem straightened up in his chair.

What? Fatty? repeated Edna.

Menachem got up from his chair and then stood there thinking, rubbing his belly, which had started to swell.

C'mon, what are you making a big deal about? said Edna. You may be a fatty, but you're my fatty. Come to bed already, I swear. I'm half dead from exhaustion.

I'm coming, I'm coming, said Menachem. It really grew, my gut, huh?

A little, said Edna. It doesn't bother me.

So I should probably start exercising a little, huh? said Menachem and patted it. A man needs to watch himself.

Do what you want, said Edna. If you think you'll enjoy it, why not.

Menachem rubbed his neck with an aching hand. I have to start running or something, huh? Just have to.

Do what you want, repeated Edna, but how about later. Come to bed already, c'mon. Fatty.

That's Mr. Fatty to you, said Menachem, like it was a line from a sitcom. And I'm coming to bed—he raised his voice, but only very, very slightly, so as not to wake the children—I'm coming to bed, and I'll crush you, look out!

Edna giggled like a young girl. I know how to take care of myself, Mr. Fatty. Don't threaten me. Just hurry, I'm already falling asleep standing up.

They went and he crushed. Edna turned over satisfied and fell asleep immediately. Menachem was still thinking: Tomorrow after work I'm buying running shoes.

So, how was it? Asked Edna when he came back sweating and let Laika loose into the space of their living room.

Hard, motherfucker, said Menachem, but I feel awesome. We ran up to the big intersection and circled half the neighborhood.

Way to go, said Edna, who was already back to cutting vegetables for a salad.

Yeah, said Menachem. But a little difficult with what's her name, Laika. Every second she wants to stop and sniff.

Teach her to heel, suggested Edna.

Sure, said Menachem, and slumped down on the armchair.

And don't flop down on the chairs like that, added Edna, who heard the springs creaking. At least change your shirt.

I'm hitting the shower in a second, said Menachem and massaged his knees.

Great, said Edna. Food will be ready in ten more minutes. Come here, Laika, she said to Laika, who stared at her. Who wants some carrot? Who wants some? Who's my sweetie? Go ahead! Laika gently took the carrot and hid it in her secret cache in the folds of the armchair in the living room. Immediately returned to ask for more, and got it, too.

The next day Menachem took advantage of his lunch break in order to head over to a nearby mall. I need to teach a dog to run with me, he said to a salesman at the pet store. Teach her to heel? asked the salesman, his cell phone still in one hand and his girlfriend waiting on the line. Yeah, super, said Menachem. Wait a sec, sweetie, the salesman had brought his cell phone back to his ear. I'll call you back in another minute, okay sweetie? Me too. Me too. No, you first. No, you first. Okay, together, he winked to Menachem. One, two, and…hung up. Here, he said to Menachem. Choke collar. Exactly what you need. Put it on her. If she doesn't go with you, give a good pull once or twice. They learn real quick with these. Is she a big dog?

Bigger than life, said Menachem. Pack it up for me quick, okay, buddy? I need to get back to work.

He packed it up for him quick. And in the evening Menachem came home full of energy, a decision is a decision, changed clothes just like that and put on the new shoes. Laika, come here! He called. Let's go for a walk!

And Laika came. He put the jangling collar on her, connected the leash, and out they went. When she stopped to sniff, he pulled hard. Started to run, pulled again, and her after him. Did she have a choice? They ran. From time to time, whenever she dawdled, he pulled. And when he stopped at the big intersection to tighten his laces, he bent down and put the leash under his foot. Laika now pulled back, one quick pull. Hup, she freed herself. Right into the street she ran. The truck was already approaching fast. Menachem looked away.

When he looked back, Laika was no longer there. The truck continued on its way, the street empty. At night the driver of the truck went home and took off his shoes and his wife made him a cup of tea. Laika! called Menachem. Laika! Come here, Laika!

Laika didn't come. And why should she come. He continued searching for her. And for another night or two after this as well. Edna searched too, and said, maybe she'll come back on her own. Maybe she'll go back to Motti's place, let's swing by there, take a look. But Laika didn't return. Not on those nights and not on any others.

Menachem called Motti. And Motti was called from his cell to the phone. And Menachem said to him, I don't know how it happened, believe me. One moment she's there, the next I don't see her.

Motti's legs failed him. Not the way they write in books, “his legs failed him,” did they fail. I mean, they truly failed. Went out from under him. He tried to suck in some air but there was something stuck in his throat, something large, very large, nothing went out and nothing came in. His knees now on the cold floor and the guard looking at him, astonished, perhaps concerned, hurrying to put a kind hand on his shoulder, to calm him, but Motti, what does he have to do with him. Just a whimper escaped and he collapsed, his hands went to his face, then fell shaking to his chest, returned shaking to his face. As if his body was trying to draw itself inward, to fill up the terrible hole. And he was surprised that all his bodily functions were still functioning, more or less. That is to say, breathing, sweating, the pressure in his bladder, even his nails grew a bit; only the beats of his broken heart were affected, were quickened, it was certainly possible to hear them on the other end of the telephone line. Motti thought he would die, but nevertheless knelt there next to the phone, the floor cold and the hand of the guard warm, and nevertheless went on breathing, his internal systems continued to function normally, all in all, and this is just more proof that even an unbearable pain can be born.

You lost her? (Motti almost wailed, almost vomited.) You lost my dog? When I get out of here I'll kill you, Menachem. Do you hear me? When I get out of here I'll kill you.

Go ahead, go ahead, you piece of shit, Menachem screamed now, he suddenly erupted, who do you think you're threatening? Shut your mouth, you fuck, you weirdo, or I'll come out there and tear you a new one.

“So that's it,” said Guard B. “That's my life. That's my story, that's what happened. That's it. Sometimes I still ask myself what happened to them, to everyone. Where they are now. Where's Jimbo, where's the aunt, the widow, old Sammy Clemens…Like, where are they, you know? For sure you've found yourself thinking about that here a lot, too, huh? All day long just sitting and thinking, what else is there to do here. Just thinking where is everyone now.”

And Motti, sitting in his cell, and all this was already days, months, maybe two or three years later, his eyes are already dry, asked where is she now, really. He asked himself. And an entirely new door suddenly opened up to him. The where is she now door. We thought there was no limit, this head of his goes everywhere, these stories run everywhere, but where is she now, actually? With the wolf packs, the wild dogs, wandering around the city, and it's good for her, so very good. Wandering sometimes around the prison walls and waiting for him. And then that other one, asleep in bed, mouth open a bit, a bit of children's saliva accumulating on her pillow. Sits with her parents in the living room and watches television. Hides behind the sofa, she's not allowed to be awake at this hour, and in spite of this she's in the living room, sitting behind her parents and watching television. Packs a bag for tomorrow, spreads a slice of bread, peels a cucumber. Does homework. Falls asleep to music playing, a girl band or a boy band, things that you listen to at that age. Opens a book. Sleeps nevertheless. Crouches over the toilet. Throws a tennis ball against the wall and catches it, then throws it again. Brushes her teeth. Pets a cat. Showers. (He imagines only the youthful silhouette from the other side of the curtain. No, not even that. Just the sound of the water from the other side of the door.) Places the clothes for tomorrow already folded on a chair, she's such a good girl. Sits at the table at the house of a friend from school, eating French fries with their hands, dipping them in ketchup, sprinkling salt, gulping down juice with an intense color. (“And then I remember—did I tell you this already? Stop me if I did, but suddenly I recall, I recall the two of us, me and Tom, how we hid there in the thicket and watched everyone,” laughs Guard B. Motti isn't listening to him.) Cries, maybe she got hit. Cleans her ears with a cotton swab. Argues with Mom. With Dad. Tennis ball against the wall, catches again, throws again. At a class party, a bottle spins in a circle, all the kids are giggling. At home, asleep for some time already. At a class party, in a closed closet, seven minutes in heaven, she and a boy. No. Yes, in spite of this in a closed closet, she and a boy, breathing heavily and outside everyone laughs, and he puts his hand under (no) (yes, he puts his hand under) he puts his hand under her shirt, the two of them hold their breath, enough, c'mon, she's asleep in bed, and the saliva accumulates…but no, at a party nevertheless, in a closet, and the boy, the hand, the shirt, there's still nothing there, nothing has sprouted there, she's just a kid, c'mon, enough of this, enough of this, with the jealousy and with, c'mon, she's just a kid and what does it matter anyway, no, it's not jealousy, something else now, what is it, doesn't matter, no, she's definitely sleeping now anyway, nothing has sprouted there yet, chest flat like a boy's, and the hand, c'mon, the breath, enough already with all of this, enough with this already, a tightly closed fist into the wall, anything not to cry, even hitting the wall this way like a spoiled boy, c'mon, boy, enough, enough with this, enough already, his knuckles hurt him, but how do you cut off this flow of thoughts, how do you cut it off.

And after they slept together at Motti's place, right in his bed, after he entered her from behind and they moaned and then lay back down and then went up and down like children playing, slowly and then quickly, very, very quickly, after all this she got up and went to the bathroom and he, Menachem, remained resting and fixed his eyes on the ceiling. Make some room for me, too, said Sigal when she returned to the bed. (He didn't cheat on Edna again after this, it was a one-time thing, or nearly one time, and Motti's apartment is empty, where else could he bring her, he has a key, it was bound to happen, and anyway he was already there a few days earlier, the downstairs neighbors called because of the leak, he arrived to open up for the plumber, because Motti or no Motti, he still has the key, suddenly the urge to stay there after him, after the plumber, to stay there alone, but he didn't stay, no, paid in cash, didn't even take a receipt, left and locked up, descended the stairs together, each man went on his way, and a few days afterwards Sigal and everything, well the apartment's empty, and Edna, what she doesn't know can't hurt her, and she won't know, she'll never know, and after all the years that will stretch out from this point he too will almost forget that all of this ever was.)

Hugged her, that doesn't cost him anything, suddenly thought about Edna and the kids, perhaps twitched a bit, Sigal didn't feel a thing though her head rested on his right arm. After some time she smiled at him, they were silent, she got up and put her clothes back on, it was clear to her as well that nothing would ever come of this, he never considered telling her, I'll leave my wife for you, he never even thought to lie like that, nor did she expect it.

All right, I'm off, she said to him finally. Uh, and the toilet won't flush.

I know, Menachem got up, too. It's because of the plumber, with the faucet. Need to wait for it to dry.

I once went out with a plumber, said Sigal. Now why did I tell you that? she laughed. I'm like that, don't know how to keep my mouth shut.

It's okay, said Menachem. Okay bye, said Sigal and kissed him on his cheek.

Bye, said Menachem too.

Closed the door after her and wandered around the apartment. In the morning he argued a bit with Edna (don't you raise your voice with me, she screamed at him as if his voice was a big stick and he was lifting it up, high into the air, and threatening her), now he's there alone, in the evening he'll be home again and they'll make up.

Paced around the apartment. Where is it, he asked himself. Where is it, Motti's father box? Went from room to room, lost interest, went into the bathroom and stood over the toilet, when he finished he reached his hand out for the handle, remembered not to, drew it back, zipped up, washed his hands. In the bedroom he spread out the sheets that were covered in dust and the dust that covered them had already been disturbed. Out of habit he opened up the refrigerator, it's empty, would have been better if it was left open in the first place, it's a haven for mold. Put on his shoes, the windows are closed, turned off the lights, got out, locked up.

The time passed and more time came and it too passed. Eyes dried again and observed the ceiling. And they were telling him to leave, well, everything was regulated to begin with, and when he left the cell for the last time Guard B escorted him on the long walk down the lit, the well-lit, whitewashed corridors. “Think,” Guard B said to him, “all these years of your life because of alcohol, damn it.” “Yes,” said Motti. “My father also drank a lot,” Guard B said to him. They walked and walked. “Did I tell you that already?” “You told me,” said Motti. “Alcoholic,” sighed Guard B. “Tried to quit once, tried a thousand times. Would throw out everything in the house, some house, would empty everything into the sink, throw the key out the window, some window, last a day, last two days, in the end he'd crack. He'd always find something in the end. Once drank a bottle of aftershave. Threw it all up.”

Motti stopped. This is the bridge, this is the bridge, he thought. Sayings, bastardized sayings—language is the bridge, these are the bridges to him. “The chins of the fathers shall be visited upon their sons, huh?” he tried.

Guard B look at him, amazed. “Not at all, he never visited me again after that,” he said.

“Of course he didn't,” said Motti and closed his eyes for a moment. “Of course he didn't.”

And they had already arrived at the entrance, and Guard B put a hand on Motti's shoulder, in spite of everything he put it there, no one said a thing, they stood like this another moment, oh my, look, look at them, at all the people in this novel, almost all of them, if someone would really hug them, if someone held them tight, they'd fall to pieces.

“Keep in touch, yeah?” Guard B said to him. “Give me a call, I'm in the book.”

The phone book, that is.