“Yes.”
“And I wanted to employ you …” He said, partly in bitterness, partly in amusement.
I examined the vehicle. It was in a thoroughly neglected state. I called Hamid to inspect the engine and told Erlich to check the market price. An hour later they both reported to me. I said to Erlich, “Right now, give him the money and buy the truck.”
Erlich wasn’t keen on the idea.
“What do you want a tow truck for?”
“We’re going to start towing at night, it’ll bring in more customers.”
“But who’s going to do the driving?”
“I am.”
“You?” He didn’t believe me.
“Yes, why not? I know you think I’ve forgotten what work is …”
NA’IM
The next day he didn’t come to the garage. The Arabs didn’t ask me any questions, it was like they really didn’t care about me sleeping at his house. Only Hamid asked me what job I’d been doing that night and I told him Adam was repairing a rusty old water tank in his house and I was passing him the tools. So I lied quite calmly though he never asked me to lie.
The next day Adam came to work but he didn’t say a word to me, another day went by and it was like he didn’t see me, and then another day and then another. Once he saw me and smiled and said, “How’s the poetry?” but before I could answer he was called away to the phone and disappeared. Maybe two weeks had gone by since that night and it was like he’d forgotten me. Forgotten that I’d slept in his house, washed in his bath. And I don’t know why, it made me sad, even though I didn’t really expect anything from him.
I didn’t feel like reading poetry either. I tried as hard as I could to keep close to him, so he’d say something to me, give me a job to do, but he ignored me. I got to be like a little hound, I could sniff him out anywhere, follow his tracks. But he was busy, running backwards and forwards all the time. He’d bought a second-hand tow truck and he spent all his time on it, he wasn’t interested in the garage. He overhauled it, painted it, fixed all kinds of gadgets on it.
The days are getting longer. It’s light when we leave for the garage in the morning and it’s light when we go home. I’m bored stiff already. Tightening brakes all the time. Lying underneath the cars and shouting to the Jews “Press, let go, harder, ease off, slowly, press.” The Jews do exactly what I tell them.
And the days go by and they’re all pretty much the same. Nothing happens. They’re talking about war again and the radio’s buzzing all the time. We start listening to what the Jews are saying about themselves, all that wailing and cursing themselves, it pleases us no end. It’s nice to hear how screwed up and stupid they are and how hard things are for them, though you wouldn’t exactly think so seeing them changing their cars all the time and buying newer and bigger ones.
Late one afternoon he brought in his tow truck to have the brakes tightened. He himself got down underneath and I pressed on the brake pedal, it was like he didn’t trust me to do the tightening for him. By now we were sick of that machine of his, all of us, he messed around with it all the time, like a kid who’s never seen a car before. Then he finished tightening the brakes and crawled out and stood there beside the truck, drooling over it and wondering if there were any more fancy things he could do to it. Just the two of us there. I was afraid of him slipping away from me again and suddenly I came out with:
“How is the grandmother?”
I’d meant to say “How is Dafi?” but it came out as — the grandmother. I blushed.
“Whose grandmother?” He didn’t understand.
“The grandmother we visited that night, the one who went into a coma and got better.”
“Oh … that grandmother? …” He roared with laughter. “Grandma … ha ha … she’s fine, she sends you her regards.”
And he started working the winch, raising it and lowering it. Suddenly he turned and looked at me, staring at me so hard you could tell he’d just had an idea.
“Listen, I need you for night work with this tow truck. Would your father let you sleep in town?”
“No problem …” I got all excited. “My father doesn’t care where I spend the night …”
“Good, bring your things here tomorrow, your pyjamas and the rest … you’ll be starting to work nights with this tow truck … we’ll tow cars in … tour the roads … you and me …”
My heart beat fast, I lit up inside.
“Fine … but where shall I sleep? At your house again?”
He looked at me a bit surprised.
“We’ll find you a place to stay … don’t worry … we’ll fix something for you here at the garage … or perhaps even at Mrs. Ermozo’s … Grandma’s …” And he started to laugh again. “Perhaps you should sleep at her house … an excellent idea … she can look after you and you can look after her a bit.”
ADAM
And the next day Na’im came in carrying a big suitcase, wearing a winter coat too big for him. The Arabs watched him from a distance as he came towards me. I’d noticed before that they were very interested in our relationship, the association seemed to them suspicious and strange.
“What did you tell your father?”
“I said you were going to take care of me.”
“And what did he say?”
“Nothing.” He blushed. “He said you’d look after me as if you were my father.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
They don’t seem to care much about giving the boy up.
“Good. Sit here and wait.”
And all day he sat there at the side in his big overcoat, the suitcase beside him, waiting quietly, already apart from the other workers, watching me, wherever I went those dark eyes followed me. Suddenly I had a boy at my disposal, as if I’d adopted a son.
At midday I decided to have a word with Hamid.
“I’m taking Na’im with me to help with the night towing, he’ll be staying with an old lady. It’ll be all right, don’t worry.”
But he had no intention of worrying, hardly even looked up, went on tightening a nut in the engine in front of him, not understanding what I wanted from him.
After work I took him to the old lady’s house, I rang the doorbell, heard her shuffling little footsteps.
“Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Adam. I’ve brought the boy.” And then she began shifting the bolts, drawing back one after the other. At first I hardly recognized her. Standing there small and upright, in a flowery pink dress, wearing glasses, her face full of life. And this was the old lady who a few weeks before was lying unconscious in the old people’s home, a nurse pouring porridge into her mouth. I put my hand on her shoulder.
“How are you, Mrs. Ermozo?”
“Fine, fine … as long as my brain is in the right place everything is fine, even though I’m working all the time, cleaning, tidying … please don’t look, everything’s in such a mess …”
“What do you mean, a mess … I hardly recognize the place … it’s all so clean …”
But she interrupted me.
“Do you call this clean? This is nothing. You should have seen the place forty years ago, you’d have seen what cleanliness is. You could have eaten off the floor.”
I pushed Na’im forwards.
“I’ve brought Na’im here. Do you remember him? He came with me that night.”
She looked at him closely.
“Yes … yes … this is the Arab who climbed in through the window … How are you, boy? You can come in through the door from now on.”
She addressed him in Arabic and he blushed bright red, looking at her with hatred.
“He can stay here for a while, during the night he’ll help me look for Gabriel.”