Killing the Second Dog

10

THEY WERE LEAVING THE NEXT DAY. AFTER BREAKFAST I rang for a taxi and picked up her suitcase to carry it down to the lobby.

“No,” she said, taking it out of my hand. “You’re still too weak.”

“I won’t say good-bye to you,” I said.

“Why not?”

“There’s a saying that welcomes are nicer than farewells.”

She stood in front of me, smiling, then she turned and climbed into the waiting cab. “John would like to speak to you,” she said through the window.

“Will it be very painful?”

“Who knows?”

I turned; the kid was standing behind me, solid as a rock. Robert was arguing with the taxi driver over the fare.

“You want to talk to me?” I asked.

“Yes,” Johnny said. “But not here. Let’s go somewhere.”

We moved away from the cab. But he didn’t say anything; he just stared gloomily at his sneakers.

“What’s the problem, Johnny?”

“Listen,” he said, jerking up his head, “I know you could have smashed my daddy to bits.”

“Is that so?”

“I know you could have made him spit chalk. And I know why you didn’t.”

“Did your mom tell you?”

“Nobody had to tell me anything. I’m not dumb. Mom didn’t tell me anything, by the way.”

“Okay. Consider the matter closed. Thank you, John.”

But he hadn’t finished yet. I saw tears in his eyes; I knelt down and embraced him, and he threw his arms around my neck.

“I’d like to ask you something,” he said.

“Go ahead, ask anything you want.”

“When you come to the States, can I call you Daddy?”

“Sure,” I said. “You can start calling me that now.”

He left, and as soon as he climbed into the cab, it drove away. Precisely at this moment the bouncer appeared, as suddenly as if he had emerged from under the ground. I’ll never know where he had been hiding so well that nobody saw him, neither Robert, me, nor her. He was beaming; he looked like a potato gifted with intelligence.

“Okay,” he said. “Now we can settle our accounts.”

He and Robert sat down; so did I, but I didn’t listen to them. A group of young women in uniform were walking down HaYarkon Street singing. I watched them for a while, and then turned back to the two men. When I did this, my share of the money was waiting for me; I pocketed the bills without counting. Robert and the bouncer were arguing again about an earlier deal.

“Where did you go?” Robert asked.

“I went to see J.”

“J knew nothing of this scheme. I told you to go see G.”

“I won’t let you order me around.”

“And I won’t let you swindle me.”

I remembered it was time to collect our new dog, and since Robert’s squabbles usually bored me, I decided to leave him with the bouncer and go to Jaffa by myself. I knew how much Robert enjoyed arguing; now I also knew about the bouncer. As I was slowly walking down HaYarkon Street, it crossed my mind that in fact I knew the whole city, the whole country. I passed a nightclub, which was closed this time of day. I knew the black man who played drums there; I thought of his drums covered with dust until evening when his quick fingers would bring them to life with the beat of a song. I passed a small hotel where a queer who was in love with me worked as a desk clerk; whenever I wanted to get money from him, I would cut my face with a razor blade and make him watch. I did this when I was really broke.

I knew many places and many people here. Why couldn’t I write about them? Why could I feel so much but not be able to put it down in writing? I don’t know. Why haven’t I ever said or written that there is no greater misery than living without awareness of God, contrary to His commandments? I don’t know. And why haven’t I ever said that the worst sin is to betray the love of another human being? I don’t know. Maybe it was too hot for such profound statements, or maybe I’ve forgotten. I had seven hundred American dollars and over a hundred pounds in my pockets. In Israel, seven hundred dollars is a lot of money. And I expected to score some more in Tiberias. I’d be able to rent a separate room for myself, buy lots of books, and read them; evenings I’d go to the cheap movie theater on Ben Yehudah Street, and late at night I’d listen to the rain fall on the city. And so it would be till spring. Until spring I wouldn’t have to talk of love to anybody; till spring I wouldn’t have to hustle any more broads. But why did I have to be poor, why wasn’t I born in some rich bastard’s bed? If I were rich, I could live in solitude among millions of people and share their joys instead of only their exhaustion. Nothing will ever change for me.

I had to get that goddamn boxer. On the corner of HaYarkon, a poor man sat who made his living shining shoes. I walked up to him, sat down, and watched his old hands polish my shoes. When he finished, I pulled out a pound note, rolled it into a ball, and tossed it to him.

“God bless you, mister,” he said. “You’re a good man.”

“I like that,” I said. I took another pound note from my pocket, rolled it into a ball and threw it at him. He looked up at me expectantly. “I like what you said,” I told him. “In about an hour I’ll be coming back this way with a dog. When you see me, say that again, okay?”