A Hungry Heart (Lev Raev), Eshkol Nevo (pg. 1-10)
In the end I didn’t see Springsteen, said his father. He had come back to his apartment in Ramat Gan just a few days before. The doctors had informed him that his treatments were no longer helping and that there is no point in keeping him at the hospital. They said: at this point, it’s better for him to be with his family, and Eyal thought, what family.
So let’s go, said Eyal. Let’s find out where the next show is and let’s go.
Yalla, his father smiled. A weak smile. Let’s do it.
I’m serious, said Eyal.
Me too, Eyalik, said his father, and a spark lit up in his sickly pale blue eyes.
But no one will agree to give you medical insurance.
They won’t agree? I won’t agree! I don’t want insurance. I don’t want to see any more doctors!
Three days later they got on a plane to Paris.
*
His father started snoring five minutes after the plane took off. All of that standing in line had tired him out. Eyal watched his blanket rise and fall with his breathing and remembered, reluctantly, that flight in Peru. From Tumbes to Lima. No more than twenty passengers. A tiny plane. There were two seats on one side, and a single seat on the other, with a narrow passage between them. After he and Ido sat down in their seats, a stretcher bed with an old man connected to tubes was brought onboard. His eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell with the blanket that covered him. The nurse who accompanied him apologized for the discomfort and explained that he was a patient being flown in for urgent surgery. The old man’s head was right next to Eyal’s elbow, but nothing could be done about it. Weird, Ido said. What’s weird? Eyal looked up at him. The man has no smell, said Ido. Eyal bent down a little towards the old man, smelled him and said, walla. Maybe, Ido said, maybe right before you die the smell evaporates from the body. Why do you say dead? Eyal was startled. Why talk like that?
During the descent towards Lima the machines next to the bed started beeping. The nurse rushed to him, tried to switch between the tubes, and even gave the old man mouth to mouth but she couldn’t stop the beeping. When the plane landed, she covered his face with a blanket and crossed herself.
I told you so, Ido exulted.
What did they know then?
*
He leaned towards his father and sniffed him. The eternal Paco Rabanne fragrance reached his nostrils and calmed him, but not completely. He stayed awake for the whole flight, and barely touched the meal the flight attendant served. He decided he would wake him up before landing. Maybe there’s something specifically dangerous about landings. But the moment the captain announced that they were beginning their descent towards Paris, his father opened his eyes and said: why are you without a seatbelt, Eyalik? And once he buckled, rested a hand on his knee and said, do you know how much I love you, kid?
Yes, dad.
Maybe I don’t tell you enough.
You do, you do.
To the sky I love you, to the stars -
Dad, enough.
Why enough? Why does it bother you that-
I'm not a kid anymore, dad. I’m gonna be 40 soon.
So what? That’s exactly the problem, you know?
At a certain age parents stop telling their kids that they love them. And that’s where it starts to go downhill.
*
His father left his mother when he was nine. He had taken him to the beach before. Ga’ash beach. They went down the path that leads from the parking lot and he held his hand the whole way. They sat down across from the natural pool formed by the rocks and his father told him: I can’t live with your mom anymore. We are too stubborn for each other. But that doesn’t mean that I’ll stop being your dad, you understand? That’s not what it means, you understand?
Yes.
You’re the best thing that's ever happened to me and I’m not giving up on you. The best thing that’s ever happened to me, you understand?
Yes.
Even if it’ll be the only thing I do right in this life, that’s what it’ll be.
What?
It doesn’t matter where I’ll be and what I’ll be doing, I’ll always be there for you.
Dad?
Yes?
Can we get in the water already?
*
After leaving his mom, his dad also left his work at Bezeq and opened a frozen yogurt stand. After that, he closed the frozen yogurt and opened a minimarket that's open all night. After that, he closed the minimarket and got into the investment field. Earned a fortune. And lost most of it in a single forex transaction. After that, he became a real estate broker. Opened an agency. And closed it after four years. The big money is in China now, he explained to Eyal, and started learning Chinese. With a private teacher. That fell in love with him. How could she not? Like every woman who entered his radius. And she joined him on his trips to China. As a translator. Imports, exports. Goods. He made a fortune in Beijing and Shanghai, until one day, he decided he’d had enough. And he sold the company and broke up with the translator. These Chinese, he explained to Eyal, they don't have music taste.
After that he decided to stare into space. People don’t daydream enough these days, he explained to Eyal. Only through daydreaming, he argued, can new ideas grow. After a year and a half of daydreaming, he announced that he was leaving everything and moving to Ein Yahav in the Arava desert, to be the first to successfully plant an orchard there. An orchard? Yes, an orchard. To move to the Arava, at his age? Yes, kid, at my age. What did Meni Beger say? It’s never too late for Rock and Roll. And don’t worry, I'll keep visiting you twice a week, like usual. Even if I’ll need to take a flight.
Tuesday and Thursday. No matter what. No matter who. Even to China - he would fly on Friday morning and come back on Tuesday afternoon. In all the storms he caused this was his only anchor. You know you’re the most important thing in my life, kid, right? He would say at the end of every meeting, and hug him so tight that Eyal could hardly breathe.
*
Now his father went into the bathrooms. At the Paris airport. Eyal stopped himself from going in after him, to make sure he’s okay. And calls Naama. Hi, she already answers on the third ring. How’s it going?
A nightmare, he says.
Why a nightmare? She asks.
I’m always worrying about him. I don’t know, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to travel.
Try to enjoy yourself, she suggests.
How can I enjoy myself when he’s in this state?
You’re doing the right thing, she says. Her voice is warm. You’re doing something for him.
Ya, but -
Not just anything, something that he really wants -
Wait, he’s coming now.
Give her to me, his dad says and takes the phone before he can even hand it over. How are you, Naamonet? Listen, kid, no funny business while he’s out of town, okay?
You got a golden boy. Accountant. Handsome. You don’t play games with things like that, you understand what I’m saying?
He heard Naama laughing loudly on the other end. They exchange a few more punches, and then his dad hangs up, hands it to him and says, you married well you, not like your dad.
*
Naama and his father got along well from the very first moment. So well, that he even invited her to join them at a Thursday gig. Are you sure? Eyal asked him. You’ve never wanted my girlfriends to come. This, isn't just a girlfriend, his dad decided. This is the woman of your life.
You know, he said to Namma when they came back home after that gig, you’re the first girlfriend I’ve had that isn’t frightened by him. What is there to be frightened of? She said. He’s a kid.
*
Springsteen, his father says. They were standing in line next to the luggage conveyor and waiting for their suitcase to arrive. T-H-E B-O-S-S His father says. And with the E street band too. You know their drummer is Jewish?
Walla.
Max Weinberg.
Eyal was silent and thinking: what will we do if the suitcase doesn’t arrive? All of his warm clothes are in there.
Show me the tickets, his father asked. I need to see it again to believe it.
Eyal takes out his wallet and pulls out the tickets. His dad takes them, turns them over, feels them between his fingers and says, Ya’alla. Springsteen.
Their suitcase doesn’t come out. Just doesn’t come out. Now it’s just them, and two other people next to the conveyer.
You don’t understand, Eyalik, his father says. I’m going to beat the curse here. What curse?
Everywhere I went in the world, it turned out that I had missed Springsteen by a few days. Amsterdam, Chicago, Atuna, Hong Kong. Get to the city. Buy a Time Out at the kiosk. Look at the concerts and see that Springsteen had just played a day before or that he is coming to the city a day after I leave.
We’ll need to fill out forms, Eyal is thinking. Report the loss. Not good. His dad is not allowed to stand like this for too long.
You killed it, his dad hands him back the tickets and pats him on the back. A soft pat. Springsteen. In the Stade de France. Who would’ve believed it. And here is our suitcase too. Did you choose this ugly color?
*
During his Bar Mitzvah his father took him to the side and told him: now that you're a man, there is a place I want to take you. Be ready on Thursday, and bring a change of clothes with you in your bag.
The whole week he was sure that his father would take him to a whore house. That’s what always happens in the movies. The father brings his teenage son to the rougher part of the city, puts a bill in his hand, wishes him luck and waits outside while the teenage boy sits on the edge of the prostitute’s bed - wearing heavy makeup, and ripped stockings - and doesn’t know what to do with himself out of embarrassment.
Listen, dad, he said when he got into his car on Thursday, I don’t want to go to a whore house. And if I don’t want to, I don’t have to.
What…? From where…? Why…? His father didn’t understand. And then at once - understood. And burst out in his thundering laughter.
It isn’t funny, Eyal told him, and between the ‘isn’t’ and ‘funny’ his low voice changed to a high pitched one.
His father fought with all his might to hold in his laugh. I didn’t want to take you to a whorehouse, my love, he said.
No way? For my kid to pay a woman for her to sleep with him? Trust me that you won’t lack sex in your life with your beautiful face. I just wanted to take you to a concert. It’s time for you to start listening to good music, not all that trash your mom puts on at home.
And that’s how it started. The Thursday night gigs. The first concert was Rafi Perski’s. ‘How many times did you count to ten’. ‘A million dollars’. He’ll never forget that concert. After that they would go see anyone they could. Well known and less known. Successful and less successful. And guests from abroad. And jazz too. But mostly rock. Guitar-bass-drums, the holy trinity, as his dad called it.
Always on Thursdays. Always drinking one beer before, one beer during, and a cup of black coffee on the way, from the thermos he keeps under the driver’s seat. Always coming back to his apartment, taking off their clothes that smelled of cigarettes, showering, putting on sweatpants, and drinking a cup of tea with fresh mint from the potted plant, and recalling the show: arguing over what the peak moment had been. Because in every concert, even the worst one, there is one moment of magic that made it worth coming to.
Twenty five years, aside from his trip to South America, they didn’t miss a singleThursday concert. And then came the illness, which not only prevented them from going to concerts, but also caused his father’s eternal ponytail to fall out.
*
Bald and hunched over, he was now flirting with the receptionist of the tiny hotel.
Unbelievable, Eyal thought.
Thank you, gorgeous. He tells her. Of course, beautiful.
What a piece, huh? He tells him.
Have a nice stay, he says and takes the key to the room from her. She laughs.
I hope to see you soon, he places his hand on hers for a second and then removes it and says again, gorgeous.
Me too, Mr. Benjamin, she says.
How old does she look to you, he asks him on the way to the elevator. Around your age
Maybe a bit older, Eyal said.
I’m giving her fifty max, his dad says.
Let’s put the things down and go walk around a little? Eyal suggests.
You go. I need to rest a bit. To keep my strength for the concert.
Are you sure you don’t want to come? He’s surprised. That’s not typical of his dad.
Yes, I’ll go lie down. Watch some TV. Come back and wake me half an hour before we need to leave.
Should I bring you something from outside Dad? A baguette, Croissant?
Why not.
Which one, baguette or croissant?
Whatever there is.
Maybe anyways you’ll come for a little wander?
Yalla, get out of here already, kid. Just put on a coat. So you don’t catch a cold.
*
He’s cold. Even with the coat. It's drizzling a little. Those small drops, the annoying ones. He walks the streets of Paris and it looks too well-kept for him. All these stores. And people. Dressed too nice. A city for rich people. All the poor people they threw to the suburbs. He passes the Arc de Triomphe. Concorde square. Overlooking the Eiffel Tower. And it doesn’t do anything for him. It’s this rain. The drops that are seeping into his shirt. He buys an umbrella. Maybe this will help. But still everything looks gray to him. It's not the rain, he realizes, it’s his father. It isn’t like him to stay in the hotel. Something happened. He shouldn’t have left him like that, like a dog in the room. He went into a bakery, bought a baguette, a chocolate croissant and a croissant without anything. And walked back to the hotel. He didn't think he had gone so far. He hadn’t realized. And his father. Alone in the room. He calls his phone. No answer. He calls again. And still no answer. He hails a cab. Tells the driver the name of the hotel. And asks him to drive fast. He prepares the money in advance. So as not to waste time. And jumps out of the taxi the second that it stops. He walks past the empty reception desk. Drops the wet umbrella on the way. Climbs the stairs to the room. Skipping two by two. But when he gets to the door, slightly out of breath, hanging on the door is a ‘do not disturb’ sign.
*
He tries to open the door. It’s locked from the inside.
He taps on it, and there is no answer.
He knocks harder with a full fist. And there is no answer.
He pounds harder with his fist, a few times, and then hears a woman giggle followed by his father’s voice: Eyalik, i’m a little busy here. Wait for me in the lobby, honey. I’ll come down when I'm done.
*
After two and a half hours of waiting for him in the tiny and deserted lobby, after reading all the Time magazines in the basket, he calls Nama and tells her what was happening.
What a legend, she said gleefully.
What legend? He shudders.
We are going to be late to the concert.
We’re already late. And it’s dangerous too. In his condition. All that excitement.
So what do you want to do?
I don’t know. Break down the door.
Are you crazy? Let him enjoy himself. Who knows, maybe it’s the last time that-
Don’t say that.
Sorry. I didn’t mean to. But really Eyalik, cut him a break.
And what about the concert?
So you’ll miss a few songs. What's the big deal?
*
At eight in the evening, the time the concert was starting, his father came down to the lobby. Showered. With a coat and a scarf. Holding the hand of the receptionist. Goodbye, gorgeous, he says and kisses her on the mouth. Enjoy the concert, Mr. Benjamin, she says, and opens the door for them.
*
What do you have there, a baguette, croissant? Hand it over, I'm dying of hunger, he says once they got into a cab.
Here, Eyal throws him the bag. Knowing his dad would understand from the gesture that he’s angry.