The World of the End (21 page)

Ben stared at her in silence.

She lay down on her back and took his cold hand in hers. “I sound like a nut job, ah?”

Ben smiled. “Forget about how you sound…”

“But what about the way I look, right? You remember how each death in the family took a few literal pounds of flesh? Well, by the time I arrived here I was pretty darn skinny, and then the business with Menachem took another twenty-five pounds. As for the bird’s nest of hair, don’t think I don’t realize that I look like someone on the way back from a Salem witch convention. I just make it my business to look this way when I know your father’s coming over.”

“Coming over?”

“Yeah, Benji. In fact, he left about an hour before you arrived.”

Ben took his hand back. “But she told me that…”

“Yeah, yeah, that his Babel was broken and that he was at the labs getting it fixed? Ever since we met up again, he’s had to get his chip fixed about two dozen times, if you know what I mean.”

“He lies to her?”

“All the time. Each time he wants to come see me, he starts speaking a mix of Esperanto and Sanskrit and says he has to race to the lab. I feel sorry for that Norwegian girl. The first lesson in a relationship is to know when your partner’s lying to you. Otherwise, how will you ever know when he’s telling the truth?”

Ben nodded. “But Mom, why does he come visit you so often?”

Deborah tapped her temple. “Because he’s acting like a child, that’s why. From the moment I told him I wasn’t interested in having a romantic relationship he’s changed his skin, courting me like a man possessed. Typical male behavior—something is taken from you and you’ll go through the trials of Hercules just to get it back, even if you don’t want it! Now you see why I look like I do? He always calls before he comes, which gives me a chance to make myself as unattractive as possible. Not that it helps.…”

“Maybe he just loves you and isn’t willing to let you go?”

“Honey, he just can’t stomach the thought that I might fall in love with someone else. It’s possessiveness, competitiveness, jealousy—but it’s not love. Imagine the excitement he must feel each time he lies to his lover and goes off to try and woo his ex-wife.…”

“You were never divorced.…”

“Have you forgotten that death nullifies marriage?” Deborah asked, leaning forward, flaunting her perfect diction. “‘Till death do us part!’”

Noticing the frozen look on her son’s face, Deborah asked, “What’s wrong, Ben? Did I say something?”

“Mom, I didn’t tell you how I got here, or, more importantly, why.”

Deborah covered her open mouth. “Ben?”

“It’s Marian, Mom. She died a year and three months ago in an accident.…”

“Her, too?” Deborah said. “And then you followed her here.…”

“Only I haven’t been able to find her,” he said, head down, “and judging by your reaction, you haven’t seen her either.”

“No, honey. Nor has your father. If he’d seen her, I’d know.”

Ben nodded.

“Ben, I’ll do anything I can to help you find her. I promise.”

“Thanks, Mom. You won’t be angry if I leave now, will you?”

“Already?”

“I’ve got a lot to do.”

They exchanged fingerprints and he promised her they’d meet again soon. After trying to get him to stay one more time, she walked him to the door and rocked him in her arms. “You’ll find her, honey.”

Ben kissed her on the cheek and said, “Unless death
did
us part.”

*   *   *

Three hours later he was still roaming the streets, Anifried and his mother’s words tumbling around in his head. Even if he found Marian, her love was not guaranteed. Maybe she found new love, like Anifried; maybe she’s loving her newfound freedom, like his mother; maybe she’d just lost interest in him. Dejectedly, he came to the realization that there was only one place where he’d be able to verify Marian’s love, one place where he’d find solace, a place that the Mad Hop had warned him about time and again.

17

Les Enfants Terribles

Adam and Shahar lived in a private house on a small side street in the heart of the Bavli neighborhood in Tel Aviv. They inherited the place from their wealthy industrialist father, who, in death, bid them to maintain their fraternal loyalty and continue sharing their home. The old tycoon’s final instructions were not difficult to adhere to. The brothers had been watching each other’s backs since childhood and had sworn to live under the same roof till death came between them.

Their mother, who recognized their unique bond at an early age, figured that it was the product of shared blood, and not, in fact, the result of a soul searing experience. After Adam, nine, and Shahar, eight, lost their mother—a claustrophobe, whose heart stopped when she was locked in the basement of their villa—they grew even closer than before, much to the fresh widower’s delight. Their relationship to their father, though, hit rock bottom when, as young adults, they made clear that they had no interest in the family business. Both planned to pursue more creative endeavors. Their father, who dreamed his sons would reinvigorate the business he had started on his own and devoted his life to, felt sufficiently betrayed to banish them from his inheritance.

The brothers left the family villa in Klil and moved to the big city, where, for the first time, they saw how the other half lived. Scraping by with random jobs, the two of them, without ever uttering the family name, rose to the top of their respective fields, each a success in his own right before the age of forty.

Adam was a leading game designer. Thousands of hyperintelligent kids eagerly awaited each new edition of Cryptograph, his series of questlike games. The series was inspired by his romanticized vision of the Middle Ages, a time when monarchies, parliaments, ministers, and mere political agitators communicated via encoded messages, plotting coups against the rulers of their day. Adam combined his love of history with his undying adoration for intellectual brainteasers, giving his young fans an opportunity to play an active role in deciphering hundreds of historical documents, ranging from the Restoration to the world wars, the fall of the Roman Empire, the French Revolution, the American Civil War, and other events that changed the face of the world. Aware of children’s predilection for copious amounts of blood, he did not deny them the chance to engage in on-screen violence, allowing them to play heroic roles as a prize for solving a riddle, a formula that even the most refined parents found hard to resist. When asked how he understood children so well, he smiled bashfully and said he’d never lost touch with the child he had been.

Shahar, too, stayed close to his inner child, who used to pretend to be a cruel king, an arrogant nobleman, a captive princess, or a hunchback. When he grew up, he became a virtuosic actor, capable of taking on any part so long as it allowed him to shed his own self and step into someone else’s skin. Other actors, who worked with him on stage and in the studio, said he had the Day-Lewis syndrome of always leaving his personality behind when he came to work. Everyone knew that he was consumed by each new role. The word around town was that he was so good because he himself was a tabula rasa. In his fifteen years of acting, he’d played a deaf detective, a transvestite, a male stripper, a rock star, a beggar (which earned him Israel’s Best Actor award), a brain surgeon, a drug dealer, an alcoholic, a mouse, a ghostwriter, a crooked politician, a decorated general, a prince (Hamlet), a king (David), and a queen (Lady Macbeth). When asked how he understood the characters so well, he smiled bashfully and said he never lost touch with the kids they had once been.

When their father died, the brothers decided to honor his appeasing will and move in together to the posh house in Tel Aviv. For them it wasn’t much of a change, having always lived together. In this new house, a red door, unlocked at all times, was the only thing that divided their ample living spaces. In the evenings, Adam sat by the fire and helped Shahar read his scripts; in return, Shahar played Adam’s computer games, trying to defeat history. Nevertheless, each of them knew that they had yet to beat back their own history. Success did not erase the scars of the past. Even though they had drowned the neighbor who, back when they were kids, raped them once a week for three interminable years and forced them into silence by threatening to kill one if the other spoke, they were still, for all intents and purposes, owned by their past. The two never exchanged a word about the childhood “execution.” Instead, they focused on the gloomy present of a sexually inactive pedophile who compulsively masturbated to pictures of naked children he had brought to his house, and a frigid man who despised all human touch, unless it was mandated by a script. Shahar stood watch, ensuring that his brother didn’t cross forbidden lines, and Adam, in turn, guarded the soul with a thousand faces, which, all too often, stood on the brink of a breakdown.

*   *   *

More than a year had passed since Shahar proved the full extent of his loyalty to Adam, and the latter openly displayed his guilt for his brother’s sacrifice. Shahar said he was just doing what any good brother would do, but it was clear to both of them that they were extremely lucky to have escaped the incident unscathed. Ever since that awful day, Adam had been especially cautious, swearing to himself that he would never involve his brother again in his precarious pursuits. For three full months after that day, Shahar cordoned himself off from the outside world, begging his brother not to mention the incident. Adam agreed, thanking him a thousand times for his courage. Shahar caressed his brother’s chestnut hair. “Too bad I’m not thirty years younger.”

“Who you trying to kid?” Adam said.

Over a year later, Shahar spun the question back at him when Adam mentioned a woman that had caught his attention. Adam swore he was serious.

“A woman or a girl?” Shahar asked.

Adam smiled back. “She’s short and a little like a girl, but she has the expression of a woman. She’s not particularly pretty, but when I look at her I feel the same way I do about some of the kids. Like she’s never been touched.”

“Adam, I’ve never seen you like this before,” the actor said, his eyes coming to life, “she’s really got you worked up.”

“Shahar, I’m serious, I want her.”

Shahar burst out laughing. “I don’t believe my ears.”

“That’s not all, Shahar,” Adam said. “I think she likes me.”

“What gives you that idea?”

“She checks me out. Each time she passes by the health club she stops and looks at me for a few minutes. Day before yesterday, she smiled at me. I’m telling you, Shahar, she wants me but she won’t dare make a move. She’s just not the type.”

“And you, dear brother, are the type? Or do you plan on keeping her in the realm of fantasy?”

“Apparently I am,” Adam said.

“Apparently you are what?” Shahar asked.

“I followed her last night. I know where she lives. I sent her a bouquet of red Sweet Williams this morning.”

“And how will she know who they’re from?”

“I wrote ‘have a wonderful day’ on the card and signed it ‘Adam, the guy from the gym.’”

Shahar chuckled. “My brother, hitting on someone who doesn’t play with dolls? Too weird to be true.”

“At least your brother’s hitting on someone,” Adam said, taking off his glasses and leaning back, spreading his hands across the couch that often hosted some of his younger guests.

“And how does my dear brother plan on continuing his campaign with the little lady?”

Adam sucked his thumb. “The little lady, I like the sound of that. Your brother will keep on sending the little lady bunches of Sweet Williams and the little lady has his telephone number.…”

Shahar peered at the rug.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Adam said.

“What?”

“You’re worried she’s going to be disgusted by my deformity.”

“No, not even close. If that bothers her then she’s not even worth the trouble.”

“So, what? Why so sad?”

“I’m going to bed soon.”

“I told you to turn that role down. But you’re hardheaded as a bull.”

“Adam, come on, you know this role is an amazing challenge. I’ve never played a man who…”

“Forget it. I don’t want to go into it. Next week you finish filming and it will all be behind you. In the meantime, if you want to, I don’t mind sleeping in your room…”

“It’s alright. I’ll try not to scream as much.”

“The screaming doesn’t bother me.”

“So that’s how it is when you’re in love?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

*   *   *

Five days later, Adam started to form some vague ideas about the love burgeoning within him. He took his brother’s advice and stopped going to the health club, hoping that his absence would create an enticing stew of aloofness, longing, and mysteriousness. Also, for the first time in his life, his thoughts didn’t stray to boys and girls. When the long-awaited telephone call arrived—after the sixth bouquet—he placed a heavy weight on his foot, tamping down the nervous jitters, and spoke with feigned serenity. The woman on the other end of the line sounded peevish, repressed, on the verge of panic. A few stammered syllables crowned the long silences between them until Adam gathered the courage he needed and asked to see her. She laughed and said she hoped he wasn’t confusing her with another woman. He laughed back. She said she’d be delighted. He pushed hard against the weight and suggested a well-known restaurant. She didn’t know the place, so he offered to pick her up at seven thirty. She preferred to come on her own. He gave her directions, said good-bye, and put the weight back in place. Elated, he called his brother and replayed the conversation.

Adam showed up a few minutes late. He had forgotten his dark glasses on his desk and had gone back home to get them. As soon as he walked into the restaurant, he saw her, seated at a side table. Surprisingly, her face remained placid at the sight of him and he wondered if he’d gone overboard with the gel or horribly awry with his choice of navy blue blazer. As he headed toward her, the woman’s features began to reveal the distorted signs of comprehension. When he spread his seductive, kid-friendly grin, the color drained from her face, she blinked furiously, and bit her lip like a kid caught red-handed. When he came to the table and apologized for his lateness, she glared at him with muted embarrassment. And when he stretched out his hand for her to take, she stared hollowly at the open palm, coming to her senses only after a full thirty seconds. He sat down and smiled at the scared girl, who had the incontrovertible expression of a trapped mouse.