3
It was already late afternoon, but the sun still burned down mercilessly. A whole block had been roped off for the party. The music pulsed loud and fast through the surrounding streets. Hannah and I joined the line to get our bags checked. It hadn’t taken me long to get used to those checks. The only thing that irritated me was the age of the soldiers. Most had only just finished high school and were already wearing uniforms and holding automatic rifles.
The majority of the guests wore face paint to make them look like elves or fairies. They too were armed, mostly with water guns, but there was also the occasional Uzi. A pudgy man with dark, glistening eyes, his face painted red and yellow, aimed his water pistol at me. I yelled Lo, which supposedly meant No in Hebrew, and waved my arms. This didn’t have the intended effect of scaring him off. His grin grew wider, he shot and I didn’t avoid the jet of water. Hannah gave a loud laugh, yelled something in Hebrew at the guy, patted my shoulder, and disappeared into the crowd. The attacker approached me, also laughing, and talked at me in even more rapid Hebrew.
“Ano lo metaberet ivrit. I don’t speak Hebrew,” I said.
“Not at all?” he asked, disappointed. I shook my head and he continued in English: “That’s a pity. I just said that I owe you a beer.”
“You owe me an apology.”
“You’re not from here, are you?” He laughed and extended his hand: “I’m Sam.”
“I don’t care,” I said, and left.
A man sat at the bar and smoked. He had light eyes that rested clear and concentrated on my face. I sat down next to him and ordered a glass of water. The bartender took my order with raised eyebrows. Hannah had long ago disappeared with a bearded man.
“The dog is a whore. Bamba. That’s her name. Well, this dog’s name,” said Ori and pointed with his eyes at the gigantic Saint Bernard that lay stretched out on the floor next to him.
“Bamba. Like the kosher peanut snacks?”
“Exactly. But she would never touch snack food. She eats nothing but steak. Here she always begs for food and the chef spoils her every time. She refuses to eat at home now.”
“Is she yours?”
“She belongs to my neighbor. But I get to take her out to dinner.”
Ori ordered another beer and said nothing else.
“You’re a regular here, aren’t you?” I asked after a while.
“It’s my second living room.” Ori grinned. “I’m gonna go for a piss.”
I petted Bamba’s red-brown fur, then she disappeared between the legs of the other guests, whining for food. My attacker sat down next to me. He nodded at me and lay his weapon down on the bar.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
“You don’t even want to know my name?”
“I’m Sam, but I’ve already introduced myself.”
“Masha.”
“German?”
We switched to German. Over the next fifteen minutes, Sam, short for Samuel, told me he’d been born in Berlin and made aliyah a few years ago. Then he reproached me for living in Germany. He would be too worried about marrying a non-Jewish girl. Sam asked whether I was Russian and ordered a vodka for me and a glass of cold milk for himself. I downed my vodka and planned my escape, but the milk had left a white mustache on Sam’s upper lip. I stayed. He pontificated. I was so dark, surely not an Ashkenazi. The Caucasus folks, they are the mafia here, slaughtering each other. Only Russian girls get involved with Arabs. Sam would never let an Arab into his apartment, because there are guns lying around, quite a number of them, actually. His roommate is part of a special unit, not one that would be found yawning at a random checkpoint.
“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t have anything against Arabs,” he said.
“I used to date one.”
“At least you’re not an Arab. I have Arab friends. Well, one Arab friend. Actually, you’re right. I only have an Arab CD, but I like it. I really like it. You think I hate Arabs?”
Sam worked online for a big company. Saturdays, too. But there are things that he would never ever do. Pork, for example. Sam said that Russians aren’t real Jews. When he said that I felt a hand between my shoulder blades.
Ori asked in a whisper whether my conversation partner was getting on my nerves. I repeated for Ori what Sam had said about Russian Jews. Ori turned to Sam and exchanged a few sentences in Hebrew with him. Sam left the bar.
Ori scooted his stool closer. “Everyone here is a friend. A precious moment, rare enough. To have only friends in a bar. Get it? Now you’ll have to become a friend as well.”
His English was clear and fluent. I wasn’t sure if it was his mother tongue. His speech melody was natural, but I couldn’t place his accent. It was neither Australian nor North American nor British. Then he made a mistake and quickly corrected himself. He had spent a few years in London as a child but then ruined his British accent with American TV.
“What are you doing here?” Ori carefully placed his hand on my back. I pushed it away.
“Working.”
“Seriously? I had no idea that our economic situation was that good.”
I shrugged.
“I’ve got a friend in Berlin. He always wants me to visit. But I don’t know why. On the other hand—Israel won’t exist for much longer.”
“What?”
“Of course not. If things continue the way they’re going, in twenty years this is going to be a religious state. You just heard the guy. Democracy will be abolished. The only thing that’ll be taught in schools is the Torah. Women will be banned from the beach. On Shabbat no one will be allowed to go farther than three hundred feet from his house. And, last but not least, wearing a yarmulke will be compulsory.” I regarded the slightly arrogant line of his mouth that didn’t fit his sad eyes. He was joking, but his body told of unhappiness.
Neither of us said a word. Ori tried to look me in the eyes. I drank my beer.
“Care to dance?” I suddenly heard myself ask Elisha.
“Are you serious?”
I nodded and went out onto the dance floor. Elisha followed. Instead of air-conditioning they used an irrigation system. A fine curtain of mist hung over the dance floor in the back of the room. Our clothes were immediately soaked. I felt his breath on my face. I kissed him. His lips opened.
Ori called just a few hours later. I had started looking around for something he might have forgotten in my bedroom this afternoon. Nothing lay on the floor except my bra, which I snatched up. But it was too late for prudishness and so I tossed the bra back on the floor. I picked it up once more when Ori said he wanted to see me again. I was so dumbfounded that I agreed. After his call I wrapped myself in a thin blanket, went up to the roof deck and spent the next few hours staring out at the sea, peacefully rolling back and forth.
I lived on the top floor of an old Bauhaus building. I had gotten the apartment through my job and had signed the lease, sight unseen. It was an annex on the roof, barely insulated and with bad wiring, but it had two small rooms and a deck. My bedroom windows were open most of the time and looked out onto a two-star hotel. The windows of the hotel were open as well, showing different people doing the same things day after day: beach, shower, sex. Couples never showered together. It was always one waiting for the other to finish. Often the one waiting leaned on the rail of the balcony and looked into my bedroom. Vacation guests have no shame. They stare straight ahead, eager to satisfy their curiosity. Men who travel alone have a tendency to take pictures of women who live alone in their bedrooms. I put a bar stool in front of the deck railing to get a view of the sea. The planes were flying so low that I could’ve thrown tennis balls at them. But mostly I preferred to aim those at the hotel guests. I sat on my deck or my bed, smoking pot, unsure how long I would stay. Maybe forever, maybe just a few months. Decks in Tel Aviv were worth a lot, and the neon sign of the hotel at least offered a point of reference.