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  In any case, he sent a substantial sum of money our way, via a lawyer who was not at liberty to reveal his identity. My brother invested the benefactor’s money successfully, doubled it, then reinvested his earnings and this time did even better. Luck has a life of its own. When my mother left for a nursing home and Iris died and Noah moved to Berlin, my brother and I decided to use the accumulated capital to buy a new home. For my brother the idea of family is sacred, like shrines or holy days for religious people, and I was the last of the Mohicans, now that everyone else was gone. So he bought this house for the two of us and we turned it into a mini Shangri-la. We were like children playing at make-believe, except that we had the means to make our fantasy come true. Our house was not particularly large; houses in this country are not usually extravagant in terms of size. Luxury takes other forms here: an oval swimming pool, original paintings on the walls, bathrooms with sunken baths and two sinks, a fireplace for the winter months, pine furniture, stained-glass windows and matching lamps, Persian tile murals. We went too far, in the end, and though I loved our cozy hideaway, I was sometimes embarrassed by it and more than a little ashamed that we had spent the money on ourselves and not on more needy people or causes. Iris would have disapproved, and even my mother would have preferred to see us help her destitute artist friends, but I believe Kostya wanted to compensate me somehow for my disasters, and like the storybook prince who builds a castle for the king’s daughter, he was compelled by a sense of mission.

  I was only slightly offended by Kostya’s assumption that I would never marry and therefore didn’t need a place of my own. His assumption was based, I must admit, on my own insistence that I had no intention of marrying, ever. I had told him many times over the years that I planned to stay single, but I may have expected a protest. “Nonsense, Sonya,” he could have said. “You’re beautiful, charming, and altogether irresistible to the opposite sex, and eventually you’ll fall in love and decide to marry.” But I’d never had a boyfriend of any kind and my brother doesn’t like to intrude. I can’t blame him for thinking that I meant what I said. Moreover, he assured me that I had only to say the word and he would move out; the house was in my name, and he continually reminded me that as far as he was concerned, he was a guest. Poor Kostya!

  NOAH’S DIARY, SEPTEMBER 15, 1980.

  In the news: a Skyhawk crashed right next to a school! With 950 kids! 100 meters away! We are freaked out!!!!

  Today I’ll describe our crazy house and everyone in it. We live in this pathetic tiny house in Hadar Yosef which is in the north part of Tel Aviv, four kilometers east of the sea, on Yahud Street. The house is totally falling apart and is only being held together by prayer and electrical tape (that’s what Gran says). It belongs to this Israeli couple from the university who moved to Canada. They didn’t sell the house in case they ever get in the mood to come back, but so far they like Toronto.

  We don’t have a living room. When you come in through the front door there’s a kind of corridor that’s parallel to the front of the house. It used to be a porch and it’s dark and smells weird (Dad says it’s mold). This corridor leads to three rooms. In the middle, facing the front door, there’s a big open kitchen. Dad spends his life there. Either he’s cooking or cleaning up or reading or playing his horrid screeching violin. On both sides of the kitchen, like a pair of ears, are two bedrooms. Gran and Sonya (who’s seven) have the bedroom on the left, which is also where we have the TV because Dad never watches and Mom isn’t home a lot. Mom and Dad have the smaller bedroom on the right. You get to the bedrooms from the corridor. We’re always getting in each other’s way and everyone needs the bathroom at the same time. Gran keeps joking that we’re a very close family ha ha. The toilet is the scariest part of the house, all night it howls like some demented animal.

  I’m the only lucky person in the house, as I get to live in the screened porch at the back. It’s like sleeping outdoors—you can see the moon, the stars, everything. I have a sleeping bag made of down on my bed and I’m basically camping full-time. Oren is really jealous. Everyone in my class is jealous, in fact. Only in winter if it gets really cold I have to move to Oren’s. But that’s fun too. So all in all I’m the best off in this crazy house. From my bed I have a good view of my basketball posters.

  Now for the people in my family, who are mostly quite strange. First, Sonya. Dad is her half brother, but she calls him Dad because I do, so people think she’s my sister. Even I forget sometimes that she’s my aunt, not my sister. Sonya’s kind of an old-fashioned name, but Gran wanted that name. On Sonya’s birth certificate they put Tziyona because Gran doesn’t read Hebrew that well and couldn’t tell the difference. But no one calls her Tziyona. Her kindergarten teacher, Mira, tried to call her Tziyona, but Sonya can be very stubborn, and whenever Mira said “Tziyona,” Sonya pretended she didn’t know who was being addressed. So Mira gave up and went back to “Sonya.”

  The big problem with Sonya is that she follows me everywhere. I can’t get rid of her, she’s stuck to me like glue. Super-glue. I have to take her with me to parties, soccer practice, biking, everything. When Oren and I want to be alone it’s almost impossible to get rid of her. She’s like a cat. You send her home, she shows up again. No matter where we hide she finds us. She still sucks her thumb and she’s chubby and clumsy so everyone thinks she’s a little retarded, but people like her. Actually she’s sort of a genius but we don’t tell anyone, as Dad doesn’t want her to be a freak. Good luck, Dad!

  As for Dad, he’s the quiet type. He likes things to be at the same time every day. He pins our socks together so they don’t get lost in the laundry. And that’s all I have to say about him. I already mentioned the violin. Sonya plays too, by the way. What have I done, God?

  Okay—now to Mom. She works nonstop, she’s a lawyer. She’s on the left which basically means that everything about the country makes her mad, and I mean everything. I don’t tell people she’s on the left because most people are on the right and they don’t like people on the left. Even people who say they’re on the left aren’t really on the left a lot of the time so it’s best not to take a chance. One time I used the word occupation in class and I almost got lynched—not one person was on my side. Even Oren was quiet, he only got involved when Shimi told me I should be hanged in the courtyard. And I heard Aida’s mom, who’s supposed to be totally on the left, tell Ariella’s father that she no longer knows what to think.

  Living with Mom means putting up with her moods. Last month she was in a bad mood because she lost a case. Her client got six months for demonstrating against closing the Abu Dis college, that’s a college no one’s heard of but it’s near Jerusalem. Also he got a huge fine (Mom’s raising the money). All he did was demonstrate but you have to apply for permission to demonstrate and they didn’t. The judge said he was giving him six months because as an Israeli Arab he was supposed to be loyal. Mom was ready to hit the ceiling. But today she’s in a good mood because she got two Arabs off a murder charge. She convinced the judge that they confessed “under duress.” But of course Mom is never satisfied. She said the judge didn’t care that much about the case because it was only a prostitute who was murdered. Sometimes I think Mom is just looking for things to complain about.

  By the way, this house was Mom’s idea because her parents came from Libya and they gave her this idea that you have to have a garden, you can’t live without a garden, you might as well lie down and die if you can’t have a garden and grow your own lettuce or pansies or whatever. I guess in Libya they have a different attitude to these things. Anyway we’re poor so the only way we could have a house with a garden was renting this dump. We shouldn’t be poor because Mom’s a lawyer and Dad’s a doctor. But Mom’s clients never pay her and Dad’s paying back all the loans they had to take out when he was in med school and Mom was studying to be a lawyer, plus he only works part-time so he can be with his family and make up for Mom being away a lot of the time.

  That leaves Gran. Gra
n is a waitress, though I think lately she’s been doing less waiting on tables and more just hanging out at the café with all her friends, who are always coming over for supper and reading us their horrible poems about dead horses, right when we’re trying to eat. She’s also an actress but she can’t get good roles anymore because she can’t act too well in Hebrew. In Moscow she was Juliet, but here all she can get are small parts. She was the housekeeper in Uncle Vanya (by A. Chekhov), the musician in Twelfth Night (by R. Shakespeare), and a neighbor and nurse in An Electrician Named Desire (by Tennessee Williams). She goes through a lot of vodka. Sometimes when she sends me to buy her a bottle of vodka at the supermarket the cashier says, “How’s your gran?” I wish people would mind their own business.

  That’s it for my family. The only other important people in my life are Oren and my teacher Ruthie. She wears garters.

  LETTER TO ANDREI, FEBRUARY 13, 1957

  Dearest, I have not heard from you in over a month and of course all my worries come to the fore and I imagine the worst. But maybe something has happened to our “postal service”—maybe Heinrich has been delayed in Vienna, or in Moscow. I wish he would write and let me know when he plans to see you, but it’s very kind of him to act as our courier, and I don’t want to impose on him further. Do you remember our “electrical service” when the fuses blew! Such memories fill my nights.

  Kostya is thriving. He broke his wrist but it’s healing well. He’s involved in some very complicated war among the neighborhood boys (and two girls). I couldn’t follow it if I tried. The intrigues, mixed loyalties, betrayals, and dramas could compete with anything that goes on you-know-where. Well, during one of their ambushes he fell and broke his wrist. He went to three libraries looking for an anatomy book so he could figure out exactly what happened to his bone, but he couldn’t find anything that satisfied him, and the new university here isn’t really on its feet yet and doesn’t have a science library.

  Now here is what happened, and it was quite wonderful. We have very good mail delivery here—everyone relies on it because it’s so difficult to get a telephone. You can send plain white postcards in the mail and they arrive quite quickly. Well, Carmela sent a postcard to someone who knows someone else who works at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem who has a daughter who comes to Tel Aviv who is friends with someone else who works with Carmela … in short, five different people coordinated the bringing of an anatomy book from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv for Kostya! Everyone wanted our Kostya to have that book, and they went to so much trouble for him. I told you Carmela was invaluable.

  Well, it was not a waste, because Kostya was glued to that book all week (he was only allowed to keep it for a week), even neglecting his playtime with his neighborhood friends. I thought this might be a sign that he has a future in medicine. However, when I asked him what he wanted to be, he said he wants to wait tables in a restaurant like me so he can get free cakes! I often bring home small cakes and pastries that I’ve stolen from the restaurant. Of course, our dear Kostya doesn’t know that they are not exactly gifts … but don’t worry, dearest. Nothing at all would happen to me if I were caught—they don’t take such things very seriously here.

  We now have seven actors of varying ages and ranges and a translation of As You Like It! Still no stage and no budget, though, but Carmela is hopeful about an American organization she dug up. Tanya is not Slavic, by the way, in spite of her name. But I’m not sure where she’s from. She never mentions her family—I think I told you she’s a runaway. Not too clear where she’s living, either.

  Feingold and I had a bit of a fight. Not really a fight, you know how I dislike any sort of conflict! However, he wants me to play Rosalind or at least Celia, and he’s quite stubborn. He doesn’t understand that I simply cannot memorize such a long text in a language that is still so foreign to me. I will barely be able to manage one of the smaller roles.

  He feels betrayed. He says I am our only good actress and that if I tried, I could learn the text—he would help me. I know my limits, though! I would ruin the play, I’d forget my lines or get them all wrong. Every third word is new to me. I am still searching constantly for ordinary words like regret or flour. Some Hebrew words are easy to remember (bakbuk is “bottle” and galgal is “wheel”!) but many are not.

  In the end he gave in but he was sulking heavily. He’s going to cast Tanya as Celia and start looking around for a Rosalind.

  There was a performance of Stravinsky and I had no money at all. Guess what I did, dearest? Tanya showed me a place where you can climb into the auditorium through the window. Imagine it! The usher saw what I did but I sweet-talked him and he turned a blind eye. I was so hungry for some live music! I found an empty seat without difficulty, as some people buy tickets but don’t show up. The players were very professional and enthusiastic and the first violinist was excellent. I enjoyed every minute and was only sorry that it ended so soon. It’s so good to leave all one’s problems behind for a small stretch of time and be transported to another world. I thought of you from start to finish and imagined that it was you sitting next to me and not a tiny Polish woman with blue-framed glasses.

  My battle with the cockroaches never ends! Remember how we fought the bedbugs? But in the end we were triumphant. These creatures are indestructible. Darling, I saw one nearly the size of an infant’s foot the other day, on the stairs of the building. I hit it with my shoe a dozen times at least. I hit it as hard as I could, over and over, but you know, this was the Rasputin of cockroaches! It just would not die. Finally I poured boiling water on the monstrous thing. I know I have to learn to live with this nuisance if I am to stay in this inexpensive neighborhood. Maybe I should move, but our rent is so low here and this way I can afford all sorts of other treats, like Kostya’s favorite cheese, which costs a small fortune. At least in this country we don’t have to wait in long lines for food!

  Darling, I love you. I am enclosing a little embroidered doll’s dress I made for Olga. I miss her terribly. Take care of yourself. If only I could send inside this letter some of the mild weather we are having. Dress warmly, darling.

  SONYA

  I finished my toast, brushed the crumbs from my skirt, and looked out at the garden. We no longer had a vegetable patch which required daily weeding, a task we all shared when we lived in the house on Yahud Street—that is, apart from Noah, who found it tedious. When Kostya decided to revive the destroyed garden of Yahud, he and I were in our reckless post-Yahud phase, and we focused on comfort and pleasure. A winding trail led from the patio to a miniature fountain of Venus and next to it a white cedar garden swing dangled from its sturdy frame, waiting for customers. Sweet, healthy-looking flowers alternated with large stones or waved hi from handmade clay tubs.

  The garden was slightly overgrown at the moment, and soft blue petals touched my knees as I sat on the steps. I was waiting for one of the neighborhood cats to come by for a treat. Until last year we’d always had a dog; King Kong lived to be very old, and so had King Kong II, but our most recent dog—a fragile, shaggy thing whom we called Zulu—had died unexpectedly in the winter. I’d suggested to Kostya that we take in a cat, but my brother said he preferred pets who could be trained not to scratch furniture or jump on tables. The minute your back was turned, he said, a cat did what it wanted to do. All the same, the cats on our street knew me. I liked giving them treats, and when I sat outside they generally found their way to me. But today they were either busy or asleep.

  I was suddenly filled with desire. I longed to have a lover, for example, or to find an ancient coin buried in the earth, or watch a turtle moseying along. These waves of desire came over me regularly, in varying degrees of intensity. When they were at their most persistent, I felt that nothing short of a miracle would satisfy me: a goose laying golden eggs or angels hovering amid the yellow roses, which swelled against the blue sky like expensive gifts. I touched the silky petals brushing my knees and contemplated my virginity, a subject that was never far from my
thoughts—especially in recent years, as I was getting ridiculously old for a virgin.

  Technically I was not a virgin, of course. I was one of the few people in this country who, without being famous or dead, had made the front pages twice, and my sexual status was known to anyone who cared to remember the story. Stories never die here because people keep them alive. No one seems to have any secret tragedies and sorrows, except maybe my brother.

  But since I’d never had a lover, I considered myself as chaste as a lily in May. I’d say as chaste as the driven snow, but we don’t get much snow here and I’ve seen snow only twice in my life. My brother was constantly urging me to travel, visit other countries, broaden my horizons. He wanted me to see Venice and Paris and Buckingham Palace. But I didn’t want to go alone, and if I had to travel with Kostya I’d end up strangling him within two days. My brother is fine when his life proceeds according to a fixed routine, but when he’s away from his routine his obsession with order becomes extremely trying. How a person like my mother, who was vague and easygoing, managed to give birth to my brother was always a bit of a mystery. He most likely takes after his father, a married man whom my mother left behind in Russia when Kostya was eleven. Impossible to imagine, but my mother had once wanted to be a physicist; the married man, Kostya’s father, was her teacher. She was forced to abandon her studies after only one year because she’d slept through two exams, and she ended up on the stage instead. It was mostly for Kostya’s sake that my mother decided to tear herself away from her lover and attempt an escape from the Soviet Union. She was a well-known actress by then, and she managed to get away while performing in Vienna. She decided to try her luck in Israel, where there were subsidies for immigrants and which she pictured as a land filled with palm trees and quaint sunny villages.