The Best Place on Earth (17 page)

Josie came to bed half an hour later, smelling of Scotch and cigarettes.

“Since when are you so fascinated by the Israeli army?” he said into the dark.

“Come on, who isn’t?” She laughed.

He lifted his head to reposition his pillow, smacking it twice before lying back down.

Josie was quiet. “Are you mad at me?”

He didn’t answer.

“Did it bother you that I was talking to him?”

David snorted a laugh. “My dad could never resist a beautiful woman.”

“That’s crazy,” Josie said.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said and turned his back to her.

The smell of brewed coffee,
rich and laced with cardamom, woke him. He sat up in bed and Josie squinted at him and put a pillow over her face. His dad was going to take them to the beach today. “I’m not going,” she said.

“What? You have to come.”

“No,” she said, taking off the pillow. “I’ve decided. I’m going to hang out here and read a book.”

“Josie …”

“Go.” Josie shooed him, waving her hand.

His dad leaned against the counter in Bermuda shorts and a sleeveless shirt, reading the paper. The kitchen was immaculate, the cabinets streaked with sunlight. He smiled when David walked into the kitchen. “Coffee?”

David nodded.

His father poured thick muddy liquid into a cup from a small pot on the stove. “You guys ready to go?”

David blew on his coffee. “I am,” he said. “Josie is staying here.”

“Everything okay?”

He took a quick sip from his coffee, burning his lip. “She just wants some time alone.”

David pointed his remote key at the rental car,
which beeped open, flashing its lights. His dad was walking in the opposite direction. They both paused and looked at each other. “Oh,” David said. “How far is it?”

“Not far. Maybe thirty minutes.”

David glanced up. The sun was climbing up in the sky. “It’s pretty hot already.”

His father waved his hand. “You’ve been living in Canada too long. Toughen up.”

“Aba, you know I’m not much of a hiker. I’m going to slow you down. You’re going to get annoyed.”

“It’s just a little walk. It will be good for you.” He could hear the irritation in his dad’s voice.

David sighed, scratching his head.

“Fine.” His father turned around. “Forget it.”

“No, no, we’ll walk,” David heard himself say.

They walked in silence for a while, out of the village and down the road. The Dead Sea sparkled in the distance. His father walked one step ahead of him, the sound of his sandals against the stones hard and purposeful, his dark, muscular calves bulging. They made it to a T junction, where a rusty signpost pointed south, toward Eilat, and north, to Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. The highway was empty, a long black snake disappearing into wavering haze, the asphalt shimmering wet in the distance. They crossed the road and hiked across a desert plain strewn with shrubs. The sun, which had risen from behind the Jordanian mountains, was blasting hot
on David’s skin, washing out the landscape. David thought of the last time he’d walked in the desert, in sixth grade, on a school trip. He had become overheated, and eventually twisted his ankle and had to return with a chaperone to the bus. He was happy to sit alone in the air-conditioning, eating snacks and sweets his mom had packed for him. When he’d lived in Israel, the news would sometimes report lost, dehydrated hikers who had gotten stranded in canyons, lain broken-boned at the bottom of cliffs, been swallowed up by sinkholes that cracked open without notice. There were snakes and jackals and foxes roaming the area, even leopards. Now it made sense, he thought. Of course his father would choose to live out here, build a home in this harsh and hostile land.

“Josie is great,” his father said, already three steps ahead. “I have to say I’m very impressed.”

“What do you mean?”

His father laughed. “I’m happy for you. She’s the real deal.” He half turned to David. “Reminds me of your mom. Feisty.”

David didn’t answer. He could do without the small talk. They reached a small cliff overlooking the water. David watched the view: a cluster of luxury hotels dotted with palm trees on the far right, the salt-mining fields spread out beyond. His father began walking down the rocky trail to the beach, skipping downhill with quick steps, no hands. David followed more cautiously, holding on to the wall, sweat trickling down his face.

“So how is your mom?” His dad looked over his shoulder.

“She’s fine.”

“Is she seeing anybody?”

“Aba, please.”

“What?”

“Why would you ask me that?”

“Can’t I care about what happens to my ex-wife?”

David shook his head to himself.

They made it down to the beach, which was wider than David remembered from childhood trips; the waterline had receded. They were walking on a stretch that had once been underwater. David was out of breath, sweaty and irritated. They had four more days here, four more awkward evenings and dinners—his father and Josie laughing while he ate in silence. He resented Josie now, for finding his father charming. She was supposed to be on his side. And what was so charming about his dad anyway? He wasn’t particularly smart or witty; his sense of humour was not very sophisticated. Once, in Vancouver, David had asked his mother what had drawn her to him. His mother had gazed up from the dishes she was washing, her eyes all dreamy. “There was something about Eitan,” she said. “Everybody wanted to be around him. He made people feel special.” She’s still in love with him, David had thought in dismay.

“Actually, she is seeing someone,” David said.

“Oh.” His father stopped to catch his breath. “Good for her.”

“I just don’t understand why you care.”

His father turned to him and David was startled by the wounded look in his eyes. His father quickly rearranged his face into a smile, but it was a faint one. “What can I say?” He shrugged and carried on walking. “She broke my heart when she left. Never quite got over it, I suppose.”

David stared at his father’s back, the sweat shining on his neck. He had always assumed it was the other way around: that his father had been unfaithful, that whatever happened between his parents had been his father’s fault, that it was his mother’s heart that had been broken.

His father stopped abruptly, hands on his waist, his shoulders rising and descending with his breath. He raised his foot to take another step and wobbled, his hands flailing, grasping at the air.

“Aba?” David grabbed his father by the shoulders, steadying him. “You okay?”

“I need to sit down,” his dad said, his voice calm and measured.

David looked around. He felt a quiver in his father’s body, under his hands. His own heartbeat quickened. There was a single tree a few steps away, its wild, dried branches brushed to one side by the winds, providing little shade. His father leaned forward, hands on his thighs. David’s rubbed his back awkwardly. “Aba.” His voice shook. “We just need to make it to that tree. You think you can do that?”

“Guess I better.” His dad managed a strained chuckle.

“I’ll help you,” David said, first rolling the backpack off his father’s sweaty back and tossing it over his, then wrapping his father’s arm around his shoulder. Every muscle in David’s body was tensed, engaged in the task of supporting his father’s weight. The two of them were breathing heavily now, not talking. When they made it to the tree, David slid his hands under his father’s armpits. “I got you,” he said through clenched teeth, lowering him to the ground, leaning him against the trunk. His father sat with his knees bent, eyes closed, the tan gone from his face. David rummaged with numb fingers through his father’s backpack. He found a water bottle, unscrewed the cap and handed it to his dad, who guzzled it in long sips.

David checked his cellphone. There was no reception. He stuffed it back in his pocket, placed his hands on his hips and scanned the area. He couldn’t see the road from here, the hotels or the village. They were alone. What if his father passed out? What if their
water ran out? What if he died? He felt a familiar heaviness, water pressing on his chest. Not now. David turned the volume down on the chatter in his brain. Not now.

“I’m okay,” his father said.

“Are you sure? I could run and get help.”

“I’ll be fine, I just need a minute.”

David squatted and rifled through the bag again, found a plump orange and started peeling it, digging his dirty fingernails into the skin. He handed his father one wedge at a time.

His father opened his eyes to a squint. “I had a heart attack a few months ago.”

“A heart attack?” David repeated dumbly.

“At the swimming pool. Got out and collapsed. Hit myself here.” He drew a line on his forehead, where David could now see a scar. “I was in the hospital for a couple of weeks. They opened me up.” He lifted his shirt; a long worm sliced through the centre of his chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His father shrugged feebly. “You were there. What could you have done?”

“You should have told me.” His father looked old suddenly, his face wrinkled and worn out.

“This is why I moved here,” his father said. “Things had to change. Life is too short.”

David sat down next to his dad, leaned his head back on the tree trunk.

“That is why I invited you here,” his father said.

The sun crawled up their legs. David pulled out another orange, peeled it and offered wedge after wedge to his dad, watching the colour slowly returning to his face, his breathing resuming a
normal pace. They sat in silence for a while, the sea lapping at the shore beside them, the sharp smell of oranges permeating the dry air. David thought of Josie and felt a twinge of regret. He wished she were here.

“I’m okay,” his father said. “I’m ready to go.”

“We shouldn’t rush,” David said.

“I’m fine. I’ll take it easy.”

“You thought you were fine before.”

His father chuckled. “Fair enough,” he said. “We’ll stay.”

David shifted his bottom to find a comfortable nook in the dry earth. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled. For a few minutes, breathing felt like work, but then everything slowed down: the buzz in his body, the noise in his mind; his breath easing into a rhythm in sync with the desert. Steps away from them, the sea was still and glassy, offering near-perfect reflections: hazy, pinkish mountains and salt rocks, white clouds sailing in blue water.

He glanced at his father, who leaned forward now, looking more like himself as he searched through the pebbles by his feet. He ran his fingers along the edge of one stone and then tossed it over his shoulder, bounced another on his open palm to gauge its weight. Finally he found a flat, smooth stone he seemed pleased with, and he flicked it with a quick snap of his wrist. The pebble skipped twice across the sea, disturbing the silence. David watched the ripples spread and widen, overlap, smearing the reflections like a watercolour painting.

“The water is good.” His father glanced at him while ransacking the earth for another stone. “Doesn’t get too deep around here.”

“Yeah?” David said.

His father brushed the sand off a large stone, blowing on it. “You can go in if you want,” he said. “I’ll wait right here.”

The water appeared calm again, the reflections intact. “You sure?” His father nodded.

David glanced at the empty beach, up at the sky, and then he kicked his sandals off, removed his shirt and pants and flung them on the ground. He jogged to the water’s edge, the stones hot on his feet. When he looked back, his father was watching him and smiling.

The water engulfed him, smooth and silky, like warm honey. He felt a sting where his sandals had cut him on the walk. He advanced deeper, until his feet were pushed up to the surface of the salty water, forcing him to lie horizontal. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t put them down. It occurred to him that he couldn’t drown in this water. He took a long inhalation of rich air, interlaced his hands behind his head and floated, weightless, buoyant.

Maya sees Ian,
pushed along by the crowd pouring out of Indira Gandhi Airport, and her heart starts beating faster. A good sign. In London, up until the day she left for India, they’d been together non-stop, hardly ever leaving the apartment, the bedroom growing stuffy, the windows steamed over, the bedside table stacked with empty plates, an overflowing ashtray, glasses with stale water. She’d missed him these past two weeks, though not as much as she thought she would. She’d enjoyed being back here, on her own.

Ian cranes his neck. A stream of people parts and flows around him. Maya doesn’t raise her arm, just watches him scan the crowd with quick, nervous glances. He wipes his forehead, passes a hand through his hair. Despite his dark skin, long eyelashes and thick eyebrows, he stands out, overdressed in his stiff jeans, his gelled
hair, his fluorescent green backpack. He spots her and his face lights up. He hurries toward her, drops his bags and hugs her. She pushes him away and whispers, “No, Ian. Not here.”

“I don’t care.” He slaps a quick kiss on her lips. “I missed you.”

She squirms, smiling and looking around. Two Indian porters stare at them, chewing, checkered lungis wrapped around their waists. One spits paan on the tattered asphalt, adding another stain, blood red, to the blemished pavement.

Ian looks her up and down. “You’re wearing a shalwar kameez.”

Her hand smooths the silky fabric on her thigh. “You don’t like it?”

“No, no. It’s just different.”

“It helps sometimes.” She blushes.

“And this.” He laughs, pressing the tip of his index finger to the round red bindi on her forehead.

“Fuck off.” She smiles, her matching bangles jingle as she waves his finger away. She doesn’t tell him that she’s wearing it for him, all of it: the bangles, the bindi, the V-necked top and flared pants, brilliant blue embroidered with green flowers, his two favourite colours. Wearing Indian clothing in public didn’t always help, sometimes it was just the opposite, the locals stared, couldn’t make sense of her: an Indian woman (or so they thought) in traditional clothing and a backpack, travelling alone. Once, while walking with a white guy, German, in a small southern town, she was called names by Indian men who spat at her feet, thinking she was a local woman who’d strayed. She has since learned to navigate between her personas, her borrowed and inherited identities; she only wears a shalwar kameez when she’s alone in markets and cities, trying to blend in, and opts for a loose skirt and T-shirt whenever she travels or walks around with tourists.