Friendly Fire (10 page)

"No, no, you're wrong. More than thirty years we've been working together, but despite the professional experience you've built up, I've been doing this longer. Between your father and me there were always agreements and understandings regarding the limits of our joint responsibility. And even after you took over, we agreed to continue in the same spirit; in other words, to coordinate our position vis-à-vis contractors and construction companies, so they can't pull a divide-and-conquer. How then does morality come into this? In the past we never used such a strange expression, and there is no need to use it in the future either. We spoke of joint legal responsibility and determined what its financial implications would be, and that way our partnership was conducted honorably, and we saved money too. So why not let sleeping dogs lie? The construction company is keeping quiet and not making any claims on us, but only trying to wear us down in a roundabout way, through the head of the tenants' committee. Even if he is a bereaved father, that's no reason to lose our heads."

"A bereaved father? How do you know that?"

"It's not only you that he's hassling, but me too, so I decided to find out just who this guy is and what gets him so riled up, and it turns out he is a bereaved father; his son fell in action a month or two before he moved into the tower. And even though one must treat such people with respect, you also have to remember that they have a different agenda in their heads. Unfortunately, over the various wars, I've had any number of bereaved workers at my plant, and I'm always careful not to get into any confrontation with them. I listen to them politely and nod sadly and promise to consider their request and try to take it into account, and afterward, carefully and delicately, I manage to get around them and do what I need to do. Because if you start to get tangled up with grieving parents, they can drag you a long way."

"You know that also ... in our family..."

"Of course. I was at the military funeral."

"You were there, too? I don't remember. I was taking care of my young daughter Nofar. She fainted at the gravesite, and I was so distraught I didn't notice..."

"Yes, I also remember how alarmed your father was; even then he used a cane ... How old was she?"

"Nofar? Maybe twelve. Of the four of us, she took her cousin's death the hardest, and I think even now, almost seven years later, she hasn't really got over it."

"That happens sometimes with cousins: they fall madly in love, in secret."

"Could be ... who knows the hearts of his own children, even a wife can surprise you ... But listen, let's get back to the complaint and agree that we'll devote one workday to it, to keep up our good name, yours and mine, and we'll split the expenses. We'll ride up on
the top of the big elevator, scanning the shaft very slowly with a searchlight, and figure out once and for all where the winds are sneaking in and what they're wailing about."

"No, habibi, I strongly object. I learned long ago that a machine is like a human body. You open it up and start poking around, you discover things you'd rather not know. Yes, my technician is very sensitive to sounds and noises, but believe me, she's also a little crazy."

"Crazy?"

"Too sure of herself. And therefore you have to set limits for her. Bottom line, as long as there's no formal complaint, we sit quietly in a corner. And if this man, head of the tenants' committee, hassles you again, tell him, You're right, sir, we are looking into the matter, sir, but it will take a little time, sir, to gently get him off your back. Howling winds aren't wolves who eat people alive. As for morality, my friend, that belongs in the family."

T
HE CHEFS REMOVE
the white hats from their heads and fan them over the cooking pots, to cool the food a bit before it is ladled into containers and placed in the big refrigerator. The meals won't be sent to the excavation site until three. In the meantime Yirmi proposes a short walk to his sister-in-law, to see a very unusual elephant.

"Elephant?" She laughs happily. "Lovely, but why unusual?"

"When you see him you'll understand."

"Why on foot? We can't drive?"

"It won't be a long walk."

"You're sure?"

"I won't take you for any hike your sister couldn't have handled."

She goes up to her room to put on gym shoes, thinks a minute, then also changes into the African dress, figuring that whatever
remote corner of Africa they are headed for will be the right place to see whether its bold colors are compatible with her personality. To her surprise, her brother-i n-law recognizes the dress that she bought years ago in the market near the Israeli mission. He had tried to talk his wife into emulating her sister and buying herself such a dress, but Shuli had firmly refused.

"I didn't dare wear it in Israel, because the colors are not only loud, they also clash."

"Pity, because African women of your age know that loud clashing colors only rejuvenate them."

"So now I'll be a rejuvenated African woman," says the visitor lightly as they step outside the farmhouse and into the blinding sun.

"Just a moment," she says, "stop. I'm not prepared for a sun this strong. You forget that I come from a stormy land of rain and wind."

But Yirmi scoffs at the ferocity of the Israeli winter. How stormy can it really be? He takes off his pith helmet and places it on her head—here, this is in honor of the equator—and leads her to a dirt track, easy to walk on. Even as she adjusts to the day's fierce light, she feels the purity of the air.

After a short and pleasant walk, they come upon a stream with black cows grazing on the bank. Yirmi addresses the tall herdsmen with a few words in their own language, and they reply at greater length.

Since her arrival last night, she has not spoken about her family. She has not mentioned Amotz, Moran, or Nofar and has taken special care not to bring up her two darling grandchildren; oddly he too has ignored their existence, hasn't asked after them or taken any interest, as if they had been swallowed by the abyss of his detachment. As they stroll now along the bank of the stream she decides to say something about them, for they have always been dear to him. And he walks at her side, indifferent and silent in his loose
khaki clothes, a tall man, his bare skull reddening in the powerful light.

"Excuse me, does this interest you at all?"

"To tell you the truth, not really ... but if it's important to you, talk, why not?"

She is shocked, trying not to recoil from the direct blow. True, she insisted on this visit not so she could tell him about her husband and children but rather so they could both talk about her sister, from whom he, perhaps, wants to disengage too.

Half an hour later they arrive at a broad river lined with huts and thatched sheds.

"See, that's where they keep the elephant." Yirmi points to a distant shed. Several youths gathered beside it suddenly run toward them. An elderly white-haired African, sitting by the entrance to the shed, recognizes the pale man from afar and calls out his name. It turns out that Yirmi has visited here a few times and paid an admission fee.

The elephant is not especially big, but his presence and smell fill the shed. One of his legs is tied with a long chain to a tree trunk whose boughs have been chopped off. Without paying attention to the visitors, he continues to scoop up vegetables daintily from the small feeding trough with his trunk and toss them into his pink maw. The African shouts a curt command, and the animal stops eating, raises its head and moves it closer to his guests. Now the tourist understands the reason for the visit. The elephant's left eye is narrow and normal, sunk into the black flesh of its cheek, but the right one is huge and wide open, a wise and curious cyclops eye, with a wandering blue-green iris that gazes at the world with melancholy humanity.

"What is this?" She is shaken and moved. "Is that a real eye?"

"Yes, it is. This man, who was a wildlife caretaker in one of the nature preserves, noticed this unique eye from the moment the elephant was born and also saw that because of this birth defect the mother elephant rejected her child and was even prone to attack it, so he got permission from the authorities to isolate the infant, in order to protect it and also to show its wonders to the world. Now he roams around with him from place to place, puts up a shed, and charges admission."

The African issues another command, and the animal takes a few steps toward Daniela, curtsies ceremoniously, and bows its head to give her a close view of the miraculous eye and to receive a reward in return. The visitor falters. The sharp stink of the elephant makes her dizzy. Pet him, orders her brother-i n-law, and she extends a hand toward that mesmerizing blue-green orb, then quickly pulls back. Yirmiyahu gives a strange little laugh.

Daniela looks at her brother-in-law, who seems pleased and serene. Yes, from the very start he displayed certain idiosyncrasies that bothered her parents, but his love and devotion to her sister banished all their worries. Now, without Shuli, he seems to be letting loose.

The elephant stands up again and in honor of the guests dumps his turds, which plop softly onto the straw matting. The African studies them with satisfaction and grins at Yirmiyahu, who nods in agreement.

"I see you are happy here," Daniela snaps as they leave the shed. "You've cut yourself off and left all troubles behind. You burn newspapers, you live without a radio or telephone. But do you really succeed in disconnecting, or are you just playing games? Don't tell me, for example, that you don't know that we have a new prime minister."

"I don't know," he says, lifting his hand to silence her, "and I don't want to know."

"You don't care who the new prime minister is?"

"I really don't," he shuts her up, "and don't say another word. I do not want to hear his name or those of the ministers and deputies. I don't care and I'm not interested. Please, Daniela, try to
understand where I am and what's important to me now. I mean, you came to revive your grief, not to poison my disengagement."

Y
A'ARI TRIES UNSUCCESSFULLY
to reach Moran. It's hard for him to accept the fact that his son's cell phone, ever ready for his calls, has suddenly become a mere answering machine, indifferently storing messages. So he calls his son's apartment, not in hopes of finding him, but rather to leave on a real answering machine a short, pointed message: a father's worry masquerading as an employer's demand to know exactly when his worker will be available. Afterward he again tries Efrat on her cell phone, aware that if she responds at all, it will only be a return call later on. Since Ya'ari knows that his daughter-in-law can identify his number on her screen and ignore it, he leaves her the strongest message that a father-in-law can leave the mother of his grandchildren without damaging his relationship with her. Efrat, my dear, he says in a voice tinged with desperation, if you've managed to locate your deserter, let me know right away, because I need him urgently.

In truth, today there is nothing at the office so urgent as to require Moran's presence. But the father seeks him not as an employee but as a son whom he can control with his love. Especially now, more than twenty-four hours after parting from his wife, whose absence, not physical but emotional, irritates him. His wife knows how to articulate problems that he has a hard time defining by himself and is also capable of easing them and minimizing their importance. And even though he would not degrade himself by complaining to his son the way he would to his wife, he wants him now as her reflection.

He phones his daughter in Jerusalem, but she doesn't answer either, which pleases him, since now he can leave her a message without getting into an argument. I hope, Nofar, he says, choosing
his words carefully, that you haven't forgotten that Imma flew yesterday to Yirmi in Africa. Moran has gone off on reserve duty, or more precisely, he was taken, and it's not yet clear whether he'll be back tonight or tomorrow. Efrat has yet another training course, and her mother is taking the children. So this evening I'm on my own. If you're not on duty, and there's nothing keeping you in Jerusalem, maybe you could come home to spend a little time with me and light candles together.

Silence. The pleasant aroma of tobacco strikes his nostrils. He stands up, takes his jacket and goes out of his office into the main hall. Though it's well before noon, the hall is nearly empty. In a corner, isolated by a small glass divider, sits the chief engineer, Dr. Malachi, peering pensively at a diagram of a large elevator on his computer screen. Dr. Malachi has given himself license, with no one else around, to puff on a pipe. Ya'ari draws near to savor the fragrance.

"The smell of tobacco is a big part of my childhood, from the good old days when people were still allowed to smoke at the office. If I didn't have my meeting at the Defense Ministry, I'd hang around to inhale some more. But please, before you go home, make sure not to leave any burning ashes in the wastebasket..."

"And you make sure not to promise them a fifth elevator before they commit to additional payment for all the design changes we'll have to make."

"We'll see," Ya'ari mutters, putting on his jacket, "we'll see," but does not reveal the nighttime sketch tucked in his pocket, for fear of a dismissive response from the man to whom he pays the highest salary in the office.

"S
O YOU'RE NOT
sorry I dragged you here to see the elephant?" he inquires gently.

"No," she answers. Under the visor of the pith helmet there is a glimmer of childlike sweetness in her no longer young face, she continues, "So an elephant with a freak genetic defect is more interesting to you than the prime minister..."

"Why? He's also a freak?" Yirmi laughs, turning his gaze toward the distant hills.

The sun has climbed high in the sky, and the path is awash in blazing light; the trace of shadow that she earlier imagined was trailing them from behind has vanished. They return to the little stream and tramp among the cows and sheep, and the tall herdsmen lean on their staffs and regard them solemnly. Not far off, on the side of a hill, a plume of smoke rises from a hut she didn't notice earlier. Tell me, she asks her brother-in-law, could we have a peek inside a hut like this? Why not? he answers, you'll see how people live; you'll understand the depth of the poverty and inhale its heavy stench. And they turn and trudge up the hillside. Beside the shack a cow munches grass. A big African woman stands on a tree stump to spread fresh cow dung on the roof of the hut. Yirmiyahu says something to her, gives her a coin, and nudges his sister-in-law toward the entrance.