The Book of Intimate Grammar

27

Gideon and Aron are friends again. He repeats this in various ways to himself: Hey! They’re friends again! Or (coolly offhanded): You know those two guys, What’s-his-name and What’s-his-name, who used to hang around together and then sort of didn’t, well, now they do again. He laughs happily to himself. Open-armed they ran toward each other like actors in a movie, like children in a drawing with O-shaped mouths, as if they hadn’t seen each other every day for the past two years, as if there hadn’t been an understanding between them throughout the separation that once or twice a week Aron would hand Gideon a yellow pill which he swallowed without water, oh, if only he hadn’t, but now they met like travelers returning from afar, unpacking their suitcases together: naturally Gideon did most of the talking, because Aron didn’t have much to say. But Gideon didn’t mind that: he told Aron about being a leader in the youth movement, and about his brother Manny’s maneuvers in the Fouga Magister squadron, and about Manny’s new girlfriend and about the Lambretta Zacky put together out of junk; Aron merely nodded his head and listened intently, and again Gideon told about Manny’s girlfriend, who was from Kibbutz Bet Zera and who slept overnight in his and Manny’s room, and he told him about the air force youth battalion, and that after Independence Day they were going to learn how to shoot a Czech rifle, and about how Manny kicked him out of the room when his girlfriend slept over, and Aron listened and kept silent. Together they rambled through the streetsof the workers’ neighborhood, and Gideon told him casually that a boy and girl in his youth group had started going together, and he intended to have a serious talk with the kids about the social implications of pairing up at their age. Aron let nothing show on his face. Then Gideon launched the subject of Anat Fish, who did in the end go with her boyfriend Mickey Zik to the beach in Eilat, and shared a sleeping bag with him; this wasn’t Gideon’s usual way of speaking, he seemed to be winding himself around Aron and pleading for help, but Aron couldn’t figure out why. He said nothing. Gideon too fell silent and yawned widely. For a moment their new thread of intimacy seemed to slacken, everything turned gray and saggy, but it was enough for Aron to think Yaeli, to pull in his stomach so that it tickled in that new place under the heart, hush, mum’s the word; but now Gideon was warming up to him again, displaying exuberant signs of closeness, gabbing about some girl from another class who dropped out of the youth movement and joined the social set, and Aron thought, After all this time, Gideon doesn’t shave yet either, still has last year’s peach fuzz over his lip, though his eyebrows are thicker now, soon they’ll grow together over the bridge of his nose and then Gideon will look more serious than ever, but there’s plenty of time till then, okay, his voice has changed, but that’s not new, we’re used to that, when Aron would phone him — in the days of their estrangement — and hang up right away, he wasn’t always sure who’d answered, Gideon or his father, Gideon had taught himself to speak in an indifferent, expressionless voice without a smile or question mark at the end of a question, and then there was the matter of height; he was almost a whole head taller than Aron by now, though maybe he would stay there for a while, and if you looked at it objectively, he really wasn’t that far ahead of him, he just had a little more confidence, that’s all, a few more bones in his face, and he walked like a cowboy, spread-legged, and if God forbid the pills worked, but they wouldn’t, would they, his heart contracted, they were way past the prescription date, so they couldn’t affect him one way or another, and there was another explanation, just a hunch really, which Aron whispered to himself in a language he didn’t know: maybe, deep down inside, Gideon was waiting for him to catch up. And with a wild burst of enthusiasm Aron suggested that they go to Mandelbaum Gate tomorrow and watch the police convoy come down from the Israeli enclave on Mt. Scopus after a two-week shift; he always liked to read the newspaperdescription of the tension in the air as they crossed through Jordanian territory, peering through the holes in their armored vehicles till they were safely over the border, but Gideon didn’t seem to be listening and started in again about Zacky Smitanka, who made himself, yeah, we know, a Lambretta, how could Aron forget, they were out there every Friday, Zacky and his new buddies, hoody types like him with Lam-brettas and motorbikes and leather jackets, driving the neighbors crazy with the noise, and Papa comes down in his undershirt and says, Hey, gang, what’you doing, busting our heads with all that noise, but they know him and they’re not afraid, they crowd around him like puppy dogs, ask him for advice, and he teaches one guy how to tune the carburetor and change the plugs, and eventually he hops on for a trial spin, and the biker rides behind him, hugging his waist, and Papa tears down the street like a hooligan, roaring with laughter, and don’t forget that Zacky let Papa take the first run on his illegitimate Lambretta; Aron was peeking from behind the curtain just then and saw the look on Zacky’s face, the way Papa smiled at him and the way Zacky smiled at Papa, like a real moron who finally manages to bring home a good report card; and Gideon said that, by the way, he heard it from reliable sources, Zacky himself, what Zacky did with What’s-her-name, that cow, Dorit Alush, something called “between the legs.” He blurted the news out quickly, looking away, desperate for Aron to say something quickly and dispel the foul sound of those words, the kind of words that had never passed between them, and Aron didn’t respond; so that’s what Gideon was getting at, that’s why he was beating around the bush, he had broken their tacit agreement again, he was a traitor, always stretching the delicate membranes of their friendship to the limit, he was getting to be so darn tough, growing from the inside and breaking out, and Gideon sensed that Aron was withdrawing from him and tried to repair the damage by saying that in his opinion kids their age weren’t mature enough for real love, and that he’d vowed not to fall in love until after flight school, and then he would marry his first girlfriend, not someone easy like Manny’s girlfriend, uh-uh; Gideon turned to Aron, his face aglow with inner conviction, his sincere and honest face again, and he swore to him that he would never debase the most sacred thing of all; friendship with a girl — sure, definitely, but nothing dirty or nasty, and Aron nodded with all his might, to signal Gideon that he was on the right track, and Gideon kept watching Aron’s expressions,which guided him, and then said slowly, as though deciphering a secret bulletin from deep inside Aron, that he wished he could persuade the kids in the movement to obey the tenth commandment of socialist youth, sexual purity, and Aron almost shouted, Me too, I swear it, and his eyes were moist and shiny as Gideon looked into them and remarked much to his own surprise, You notice that kid, What’s-her-name, Yaeli, she’s really starting to grow up, isn’t she?

Aron turned aside and looked into the distance, feeling a little like someone trying to keep the pupil in the next seat from copying, but since this was Gideon, his good friend Gideon, he forced himself to turn back and asked weakly if Gideon really thought so, and Gideon said, Absolutely, haven’t you noticed, there’s something about her, she keeps to herself a lot but she has this quiet smile, too bad she’s a bourgeois Scout instead of a socialist. Well anyway, she’s still young enough to win over to the movement. Aron could no longer contain his myriad emotions and fervently confessed his love for her to Gideon, telling him about their secret glances and the conversation full of hidden meanings by the drinking fountain. He described the nights he lay awake and saw her dance before his eyes. He told him about the scraps of paper with her name written on them that he stuck in his sandwich at school and swallowed, sitting right next to her during recess, and how he went to the nurse’s room with some excuse and stole Yaeli’s dental records, and then hid them, and look, these are flowers from the honeysuckle bushes in front of her house, I keep them in my handkerchief.

Gideon slapped his knee with a loud laugh, and Aron too began to laugh uproariously, listening to himself in pure amazement, and they ran together, breathless, on fire, all the way to their rock in the valley, where they sat down with tears of laughter in their eyes; what a laugh that was, not the kind he could squeeze from the glands in his armpits and squirt out through his mouth in a dirty artificial spray, and Gideon was all eyes, his pupils darting around in search of the fine gold vein. Go on, tell, describe some more, and Aron, drunk and princely, prodigal as the forces of nature, told everything: about her face when she danced for him, the way she suddenly appeared in her leotard, extending’her slender leg in the air, noble and free, the way, the way, the way; as he spoke he felt the agreeable prickling sensation in the new place, her place, somewhere to the south, as they say in the army, the root of thesecret shining over the point he had established there, beware! The cruel eye is watching, the wind of ruin blows hither, freezing everything, and down below, a round new world is floating inside him, an adorable bubble, with a tiny dancer tapping her toes inside it; wait, she isn’t really in there yet, she keeps disappearing every minute, maybe he’d been too explicit in his thoughts, maybe the suspicious eye had stirred beneath its marbly lid, tracing every spark of light, tracking radarlike after the waves of heat and joy; this is nonsense, gobbledygook, so he told Gideon only what he was allowed to tell him, and used his mouth to etch the lips pouting over her chin, to whittle the arching muscle of her calf, the sweet little space between her big toe and the others … Gideon’s eyes grew round as he watched Aron’s lips dripping the first words of love he had ever spoken aloud, words imbued with what they described, and Gideon too could taste her skin, her rounded cheeks, the sweetness of her childish lips, the lower one swollen and smiling. Sometimes Gideon seemed to be trying to control himself, to protect himself, to draw comparisons, whether out of pettiness or concern, between Aron’s description and the girl he knew, but gradually the pendulum stopped swinging, he forgot the little girl and her slender legs, absented himself completely from the green eyes in which only Aron was reflected now, a tiny figure paddling relentlessly, and Aron too could not help marveling how the words coming out of him not only showed Yaeli as she was but beautified and refined her, transforming her into a vision of who she would shortly become, eliminating a flaw or two, the proud smile as a possible foreshadowing of conceit, a certain note of resolve and worrisome striving in her nose, and even her wonderful lower lip, which at times, from a certain angle, appeared too full, too earthy for a girl like her; these he mercifully concealed from Gideon, erased them with a wag of his magic tongue, and now he was worthy to love her unto death in the rosy future to which they would jointly aspire.

Finally he stopped talking, dry-mouthed and breathless, surprised to see evening had already fallen. Gideon’s eyes remained fixed on him, with a thread of spit between his parted lips, and Aron vaguely recalled a different mouth, gaping at him thus, with the same thread of spit, and he felt a tickle of pride inside that he, Aron, was being looked at like this, he and his words had accomplished this, and the thread ofspit was not disgusting, not in the least, for Aron and his words had created it, and Gideon’s face resumed the cast of the child he was, shucking off its bony hardness.

“Listen.” Gideon spoke at last in a voice so quiet it sounded like his old melodious voice. “If you’re so crazy about her, why don’t we walk her home sometime?”

“You mean both of us? Together?” Aron’s eyes lit up. “You want to?”

But the next day, in the first few minutes after they joined her on their way home, a stupid argument flared up between her and Gideon, so that instead of talking as Aron had imagined countless times, about her and her parents and her girl friends and her ballet class and her ambition to be a dancer and his to play the guitar, Gideon started lecturing them, as usual, preaching to the world, and never once looked at Yaeli. She walked with them in silence, as usual, and if it thrilled her that two boys had dropped out of the group to follow her home, she didn’t let it show. A blush spread over her throat, not the shade Aron treasured in his memory, but a louder pink, with an unbecoming red at its center.

“The whole class will break up!” Gideon summarized his argument and sniffed with fury.

“Aren’t you exaggerating slightly?” said Yaeli with a self-assurance that took Aron’s breath away. “Look, if you have enough backbone as a class, what’s the harm in letting kids try out different things.”

Aron exulted inwardly: Good for you!

“Different things!” Gideon practically shuddered at the words, raising his arms and still not looking at Yaeli. “What do you mean! All they want to do is sit on the railings on Saturday night and whistle at girls!”

“That’s their privilege. There’s no law that says you have to spend Saturday night at a youth group or Scout meeting arguing about politics.” Aron gloated with an inward chuckle. Wow, she’s really letting him have it.

“Great! Terrific!” cried Gideon, and his voice cracked twice. “Next you’ll tell me you’re planning to drop out of Scouts so you can be completely free!”

“Not me.” Yaeli answered him with a powerful stare. “But I would certainly understand someone else wanting to try something different.”

“Phew! Great! Copying America! That’s what results from a lack ofidealism among today’s youth!” shouted Gideon, his collar fluttering. Aron waited tensely for Yaeli’s answer. Her wavy black hair was full of electricity, he could almost hear it breathing over the clamor. But instead of answering she broke into a silent smile which Aron found himself mimicking unconsciously.

“Go on, laugh.” Gideon turned to him with stifled anger, in his seemingly indifferent voice. “What are you laughing at, huh? Why don’t you let us in on it instead of laughing under your mustache.”

He meant no harm by it. That’s how all the kids talked. But Aron’s heart sank.

“I … don’t … I haven’t thought about it much.”

Idiot. Jerk. Why didn’t he make something up? Now she’d think he had no opinions. That he was shallow. Actually he wasn’t sure what he thought about the matter, and at first, when everyone was joining a youth movement, he tried going to a couple of meetings, but then he quit. He couldn’t stand those assemblies and standing in rows, and the ceremonies and the anthems, and doing everything together like a bunch of robots, so he kept making wisecracks and joking around till finally they kicked him out. And now it was too late to join again. They were all filled up, and anyway, by now everyone knew he was — was what? What was happening to him? He ought to be getting ready for his great awakening, approaching it with giant steps, how come he couldn’t answer such a silly question? And why were they arguing about it? He had planned this very differently. And now look at him, so listless, almost paralyzed. But even after the scolding he couldn’t open his mouth, not just because he was excited that they were walking her home, but because of something else, something inexplicable that was going on here, the way Yaeli was talking, for instance, and the way Gideon was answering her, only, how would Aron be able to guide his love when Yaeli was so far ahead of him, she must have been honing her opinions for quite a while, and she certainly did look feisty with her lip sticking out like that. Hey, they’re arguing like grownups, he thought unhappily, they were getting all that practice in their youth movements while he spent his time daydreaming or playing with Pelé and Gummy, or hunting spies.

Aron wilted. They spoke so confidently, with the verve of the wise and experienced. So why was it so hard for him to utter words like values and ideals, responsibilities, institutions … “I personally believe,”said Gideon, flaunting his seniority, “that you fail to grasp what happens to a society made up of isolated individualists without a frame of reference or a guiding principle.”

“Do you know how to dance, Gideon?”

Her tone of voice as she spoke his name. The fact that she spoke it. He had to get hold of himself and work his way into this phony conversation.

“You don’t have to know how to dance to know what goes on.”

“Maybe you should try dancing sometime, then you’ll see it isn’t so terrible.”

A tiny figure danced in the center of his little world and retreated on the tips of her toes. Malice flickered in the sleepy Cyclopean eye. Everything was sinking, sinking.

“I appreciate that it’s fun to dance,” he said, more cautious in his strategy.

“I personally like ballet, but I can still go crazy over the Beatles.”

Uh-oh, thought Aron, now Gideon’s going to start up again.

“All I can say is, thank God the Ministry of Education wouldn’t allow them in the country!”

“I was sorry about that, actually.”

“Oh right! I can see you now, screaming and fainting with the rest of those birdbrains!”

“Uh-huh, and scratching my face! And then I’d come home and laugh at myself, and be happy I’d been there, because when will we get another chance to kick up our heels? When we’re forty?”

“Oh right, and you don’t give a darn what impression we’d make on the youth of other countries, going haywire over four lousy beatniks!”

She smiled dismissively. Will you listen to the two of them arguing, mused Aron with a trace of satisfaction. He had to stop clamming up like this. He had to get his feet wet. Five steps more and he’d take the plunge. At the next cypress tree. Around the corner. Again and again he swallowed and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. What should he say? Where should he start? In his loneliness of late, words had come to be utterly inward, whispering a grammar so intimate and tortuous they could never break forth into the light. He cleared his throat, mumbled something in preparation, something about rock ‘n’ roll, Beatles, youth today, but it only wearied him, so he stopped beforethe words could reach their ears. What now? He walked beside them with downcast head, angrily tonguing his stubborn milk tooth. He neither spoke nor listened to them, heeding only the girl on her toes, the dancer in the leotard who was everlastingly redeemed because he had chosen her, again and again; but what about the outward Yaeli, and the outward Gideon too, for that matter, and who was Aron anyway, this outward Aron walking beside them, moving his arms and legs; how could they fail to see into him, to see what was going on? Seething with rage he lagged behind them; he would win the lottery and enroll himself at the music academy, and then someday he would play for Yaeli and she would dance to the music of his guitar; his fingers strummed the air, and Gideon would be there too, of course, little Gideon, his green eyes flashing, his eager high-pitched voice, and his warm smile the time they made the covenant in the cave. Aron mumbled to remind his inward Gideon, but the question remained, what price would he pay for being with them now, here, on the outside, in the phony world? What was the penalty for this betrayal? His lips moved, his face knitted belligerently, and over him closed the frozen steppes; how would he get out of here, what if he never could, who would be left inside, abandoned forever? He would, he would be the one who was abandoned, and again like a parrot he mimicked Gideon, the transistor generation, the “go-go” kids, what did any of it have to do with what was going on within, and who knows, maybe by now he had ceased to exist on the outside. Hey, wait up, he shouted, why’re you stepping on the gas, you two? Even these simple words rang in his ears like a bad translation, an unfaithful rendering of himself. He pursed his lips and hurried to catch up.

“What’s wrong with that,” Yaeli answered Gideon imperturbably; how patient she was with him, why didn’t she just tell him to shut up already and say what she should in that soft voice of hers: I want to be a dancer. I used to play the guitar. And you stopped. Yes, but I’ll soon start playing again. I know, I believe in you. It’s kind of hard to explain it. Never mind, Aron, I understand you without words;that’s how she’d spoken to him the other times. That’s what she beamed at him from the place under his heart — maybe he ought to give it a code name to confuse the enemy — the place that hurts when you eat a fried omelette or after a long run. “I don’t see any reason why young people with ideals, as you call them, should have to wear blue shirts and khakitrousers. What do you think, Kleinfeld?” What did he think? Caught in a dream again. He’d barely been listening to them. Why were they getting so worked up? What was that she called him?

“Kleinfeld gets bored whenever anyone starts talking about ideals,” muttered Gideon.

“That doesn’t mean he’s morally inferior to you,” retorted Yaeli, flashing her eyes at Aron and setting his heart aglow.

“Well, I personally think it’s pretty egotistical not to care about values,” said Gideon in the same biting tone, and Aron regarded him with a crooked, tentative smile to show he bore no grudges. He had a fleeting vision of himself, dimly depicted as a weak old man, near death perhaps, with a flustered young couple at his bedside asking for his blessings and forgiveness. “I personally would be interested to hear what His Majesty has to say about this!” fumed Gideon, his face looking strangely red all of a sudden, and Aron braced himself and quietly, truthfully, expressed his opinion: “Kids our age don’t understand what values are, all we do is imitate the high-sounding language we hear from grownups.” He said it simply and sincerely, really and truly he didn’t know what these values were that everyone kept talking about, at his house nobody ever discussed them and that didn’t make his parents any less decent; they never stole from anybody, for fear of being caught, and the only time they ever cheated was on their income tax, which was a mitzvah, but then there was that stuff about if you find something in the street, you keep your mouth shut and put it in your pocket, and Papa’s special telephone token with the string tied to it, which had already saved him a heap of money, or their sending Aron to the door when Peretz Atias and his wife came over, to lie and say his parents weren’t home; outside of that they were honest, though, never harmed anyone, all they wanted was to be left in peace. So what are values, Aron wondered, and how exactly do you raise children to have these values; for instance, was Mama’s warning not to tell strangers what goes on in the house, considered a value, and maybe their not telling a doctor about his problem was a kind of value too, but what if Gideon was already more adept at values than he was? “I think,” he added faintly, “that until we grow up — when we’re, like, mature — we won’t be able to understand for ourselves what values are.”

“I totally agree,” Yaeli thrust at Gideon, and with that the argument died down. Aron throughout had teetertottered on the changing expressionsof her face: when she addressed herself to him she was soft and fluid, but while letting fly at Gideon, there were flames of war in her almond eyes, and when Gideon caught fire, a smile flickered brightly in the corners of her mouth and the glow of a blush spread over her throat.

They walked her home and dawdled in the yard, the two of them talking, arguing really, bickering endlessly, needling each other and making up again, and Aron engraved her gestures in his heart, the way she spoke, the way she smiled, nurturing his own Yaeli and filling her with more and more life, till eventually her mother stepped out and with a smile just like Yaeli’s asked if they were planning to come in or to stand there waiting for the Messiah, and only then did they say goodbye.

They walked on in silence, Gideon pensive, Aron ecstatic: all his doubts had been dispelled by the smile she beamed at him before turning into the house. Their glances had generated an electrical storm in front of the honeysuckle bush, and Aron had won, he had won the final glimpse from her almond eyes. She was his. She was his. Inside and out Yaeli was his. And Gideon, really, he would have to be taught how to behave around a girl. Aron picked a honeysuckle blossom and sniffed its fragrance. You have to know how to love, he mused, you have to love to know what life is. Love conquers death. Orblike words revolved inside him, and he decided to note these emotions in a secret diary so he would remember them forever and ever: and you have to be open to love and the pain of love, he thought. But then of course Mama would peek in his diary and find out. You have to be willing to pay the most terrible price of all: your own life in martyrdom for the sanctity of love. Maybe he would write it in code and conceal it from her that way. He stole a glance at Gideon, who was engrossed in himself, blushing slightly as his lips moved in private speech. Aron smiled: Good old Gideon, even to himself he has to lecture.

“Why did you have to argue with her like that,” said Aron loftily. “What do you care if she thinks differently?”

“Me argue with her?” Gideon was startled. “What, you mean it looked like I was arguing with her?”

Aron laughed. He punched Gideon in the shoulder. Gideon blushed harder, and smiled at his friend with shining eyes. “Hey, what do you say, let’s ask her to the movies.”

“You mean Yaeli?”

“Sure, why not? We’ll go together, the three of us. It’ll be fun.”

“Okay, but which movie?” asked Aron. “Some of them are restricted, you know.”

“Your choice.”

There, Gideon understood.

“Uncle Tom’s Cabinis playing at the Smadar.”

“Whatever you say. Even that.”

“And we’ll go half and half on her ticket?”

“Half and half.”

“She probably won’t let us pay for her.”

“Yeah, probably not,” said Gideon, smiling. “She’s a girl of principle.”

“So how will we tell her? Do you have the nerve to ask her?”

Gideon halted a moment and kicked the asphalt with his shoe. Then he shrugged his shoulders.

“You ask her,” he said. “You’ll know better how to persuade her to go.”

“Who me? What do I know? You.”

“No, you.”

“No, you.”

They stood there shoving each other, jabbing each other lightly on the arm, and Aron even landed a weak punch on Gideon’s elbow the way he saw them do in Tel Aviv, and Gideon retaliated gingerly and giggled; it was Gideon’s embarrassment, in fact, and his fairly weak fists that cheered Aron, he wasn’t at all the tough guy yet that he fancied himself to be, and their school bags rested between them on the pavement, nestling together like puppies who had cleverly brought their masters together.

“What do you think?” asked Gideon with a grin. “Does she wear a ‘thingy’ yet?”

“Don’t know.” Aron instantly cooled off, crushed and offended by the crudeness of the question. He picked up his school bag, followed by Gideon, who didn’t notice his glowering face. No, he wouldn’t, he had already betrayed their understanding with its threadlike nuances, and you have to pay for being on the outside, you have to sacrifice something to be able to ask a question like that, in a voice like that, about Yaeli. “’Cause I’ve never noticed a stripe across her back, have you?”