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NOTES:
OPEN SHORT STORY COMPETITION 2008/2009
HIGHLY COMMENDED
Please note: this work is copyright by the author and may not be used, copied or shared in any way whatso-ever without his/her express written permission. If you wish to be put in contact with this author, please contact us.
This story text appears exactly as sent in by the writer. No changes or corrections have been made; however, all stories to be included in the published Anthology will be edited for grammar and punctuation before printing.
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"The Other Twin"
by Edmund Jonah - Rishon L'Zion, Israel
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Edmund Jonah: "I was born in Calcutta, India and educated by Belgian and Canadian Jesuits in Darjeeling, the Queen of the Himalayas. I moved to London where I spent 10 years, got married and moved with my wife and baby daughter in Israel. I have been an Israeli for over 40 years. I have taken two courses in creative writing, one in London and one here, in Israel. I have sold eight short stories and two articles to the Canadian magazine, Horizon. The New Zealand magazine Matrix has published 2 stories and 3 poems of mine. The Writer's Café published another short story in an anthology. The Jimston Journal, U.K. brought out another short story of mine. Sunpenny Publishing, U.K. judged also my story The Savile Row Suit HIGHLY COMMENDED in the "open" category competition, 2008.
"I have a completed book of Jesus from the Jewish viewpoint that shows him as a committed Jew who believes he is the Messiah and marches with this fixed idea and an awesome inexorability to his death. I also have a completed film script, Vaihiva, based on the novel The Dark River by Charles Nordoff and James Norman Hall. It had the eye of the late, great Samson Raphaelson who was impressed enough to offer me advice on how to improve it. I am now working on the film script of my book, which I hope to complete shortly. I also have written a short one-act play called A Case of Self-Defence.
"I was a founding member of English Theatre in Israel, directing several plays for my group, two of which won awards in International festivals in Dundalk, Eire. I also helped start the Shakespeare Reading Circle in Tel Aviv. On invitation, I have lectured several times on Shakespeare's Shylock. My lecture has now been published as an article in the Jewish Magazine."
COMMENTS FROM JUDGES:
A brutal but entirely realistic picture of what the twists in life can do, to body and soul. I liked the ethnic Israeli flavour to the voice. The writing was strong and vivid, even if in places the narrative was just a little pompous or documentary in style, and the dialogue needs a little attention, but I enjoyed this story's impact. Clear, hard hitting, but for me a slightly disappointing ending; it didn't go anywhere. After the strong build of the story, I felt the ending was somewhat flat; would have liked to see it more developed.
THE STORY:
I heard this story from my friend, a retired El Al pilot. He found it difficult to repeat because the memories it conjured up were bitter. The events themselves took place over a period of a quarter century and started before the birth of the State of Israel.
My friend is called Ehud and he was born in Jerusalem. The family lived in the neighbourhood across the main street from the Mahane Yehuda souk. It was a colourful and busy area, where Jerusalemites of all varieties, including both Arabs and Jews, came to bargain for fruits and vegetables, cheap clothes and household knick-knacks. His grandfather kept a little stall selling trinkets near the busy street just opposite the souk. His was an exciting life and the identical twin girls, Ariella and Rachel, in the house of the widower across the street from his, were ideal playmates. They and their garden made life that much more agreeable.
When he was ten and they were nine, a strange situation occurred. They stopped coming out together and took it in turns to play with him. One of them always had homework or something else to do. How was a ten year old to know both had taken a fancy to him and had decided to give each other a chance with him? Ehud was too much of a boy to be interested in girls that way. He simply played Hide-and-Seek and Stick Ball with one instead of two.
A year later, after the United Nations voted for partition, the surrounding Arab nations attacked the nascent Jewish state and put Jerusalem under siege. The Jordanians kept up a steady barrage on the city so that play became a dangerous occupation. After some weeks, children figured out, after a bombing round ceased, how long it would take to resume and they fit their playtime into those brief intervals. Parents curbed their natural desire to hold their progeny at home. Children needed exercise, fresh air and a bit of sun.
One afternoon, as the bombing stopped, Ehud turned to the girls in the bomb-shelter. “Let’s go and play,” he said. Their father was at work.
“You go, Ariella,” said Rachel. “I’ve work to do.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Go on.”
So they went to the garden. Five minutes later, the terrifying whistle of a bomb and a shattering explosion not ten meters away took them by surprise. Ariella fell to the ground and Ehud followed.
“Ariella, are you all right?”
No answer. He crawled to her. Blood oozed from a wound in her head where a piece of shrapnel had struck. He lifted her head on to his lap, careless of the blood. She opened her eyes for a moment, smiled at Ehud and expired. People gathered by the garden wall. Two men came into the garden to help. Ehud pushed them away. He lifted the girl and carried her into the house. Rachel led him to their bedroom where he laid her on her bed. Rachel sat on hers, dry-eyed and unmoving. He took a towel from the bathroom and wiped the blood from Ariella’s face. She looked as if she were sleeping.
Someone informed the father and Ehud heard his voice even before he entered. “Where’s that boy? I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him.” Ehud ran from the bedroom and slipped out through the back door. From that day, he went to another bomb shelter, kept away from the house and, fearing Rachel too blamed him, never played with her again. From his window he would see her sometimes and imagined it was Ariella, and that she really wasn’t dead.
Shortly after Ehud’s Bar Mitzvah a few months later, his father took his family to Tel Aviv. From time to time, Ehud would come up to Jerusalem to visit friends in his old neighbourhood. However much he wanted to, he made no effort to visit Rachel. Perhaps two years after he had left, to his surprise, Rachel came up to him and said, “You needn’t fear my father. He doesn’t blame you any more. He knows you were not responsible. At the time, he had to blame someone and he couldn’t blame me.”
“I’m glad, Rachel. Thanks for telling me.”
“I miss you.”
“Me too.” Ehud looked down at his feet.
“You know Ariella loved you too,” she said. She kissed him briefly on the cheek and ran home.
The next time he came, he heard Rachel’s father was not in good health and that he had sent her to a kibbutz school, where she boarded as well.
When he was 17 years old, he found a discarded motorcycle on a junk heap and with the use of his clever hands and a small layout of cash for needed items, he was able to get the machine operating again. With a roar of the motor and a great deal of panache, one mid-summer day, he drove to his old Jerusalem locality. Rachel’s was one of the many faces that peered out of windows to see who was making the unwelcome racket. She recognized her old playmate at once and rushed out of the house to meet him.
“Ehud, take me for a ride on your motorbike.”
“Rachel? Is it you? Is this really you? I can’t believe it.”
“Are you going to take me for a ride or not?”
“Of course. Hop on and hold tight.”
He drove up the Jaffa Road, turned into King George Street and sped on to the Windmill. He stopped there.
“Shall we go back?” he asked.
“No. Take me to the Valley of the Cross,” she said.
At that time, the Monastery of the Cross, in which ostensibly, was preserved a piece of the cross upon which, it was said, Jesus was crucified, lay in a wooded valley in an open area of Jerusalem. It was a well-known meeting place for lovers. Ehud was surprised she asked him to take her there, but he did not question it and re-started the motor. They arrived ten minutes later. He found a quiet spot to park. The trees and bushes on both sides of the road gave ample cover for the shenanigans that took place there mainly after dark. In the day, it was deserted.
“Your bike’ll be safe here,” she said. “Come on, let’s take a walk.”
“What’s this all about, Rachel?”
“I’ll tell you but let’s walk a bit first.”
They walked into the thicket for about five minutes and they might have been the only two people in the world. But for the sound of insects and bird calls, the place was as quiet as the monastery hidden in the thick foliage. They entered a small clearing where signs of liaisons were everywhere. She turned to him. “I’m going to be married.”
“Congratulations,” he said for want of anything better to say.
She turned a tearful face to his. “My father’s dying. When he goes, I won’t be able to maintain the home.”
For the first time, he noticed the beauty of the auburn irises flecked with gold set in the pure whites of her eyes; the shiny hair that flowed to her shoulders and framed a lovely oval face; the look which told him her emotions had settled on him.
“I’ve no family to turn to and the kibbutz won’t keep me as I’m not a member. There’s this boy, Gadi, on the kibbutz. My father likes him. Gadi wants me but I don’t want him,” she said. “I want you. I always wanted you.”
“But we were just kids playing together,” he said, while his spirit soared.
“I’ve never met a boy I liked more.”
“I can’t marry now, Rachel.” Ehud’s heart was torn. “I have to complete my matriculation. Then I’m going to University. I still live at home.”
She put her arms around his neck and pulled his lips to hers, now thick with passion. The sweet taste of that kiss came as a surprise and he was unable to pull himself away. She pressed her body against his and the blood surged to his loins. “Take me,” she whispered. “Take me. Just once.”
He pushed her away. He wanted to tear the clothes off her but he pushed her away. “I can’t,” he said. “I couldn’t do that to you. It would dishonour you and your father. I can’t. I simply can’t.”
Rachel sighed and cupped his face in her hands. “I understand,” she said, her eyes swimming in tears. “I wanted to make love with someone I really love, just once. I didn’t see it from your point of view. Forgive me. I was selfish. Take me home now.”
He heard her father died, that she married and settled on her husband’s kibbutz, somewhere in Upper Galilee, under the shade of Mount Hermon. He felt a sense of loss that refused to leave him. That is, until a couple of years later when he met Ayala and knew she was the girl he would marry. He entered flight school, joined El Al Airlines, married and had four children. As a pilot, he crossed several oceans several times to several continents.
Fifteen years after his parting from Rachel, he was in Paris, walking from the Etoile after dinner. He turned hurriedly into Avenue Hoche to get to his hotel. It was a drizzly autumn night but the hotel was too close for a taxi ride. He was startled when, passing a darkened doorway, a woman moved. He heard, “Are you lonely, Monsieur?”
The accent. The tone. Everything about the voice was familiar. She leaned forward in a cloud of cigarette smoke. The smart hat she wore shaded the light from the street lamp above them, leaving dark shadows on her face. For some reason, his mind went to Ariella and summoned up a vision of her bleeding head on his lap. He hurried on without saying a word. Five meters away, he stopped. Could it really be Rachel? If he spoke to her, would it embarrass her? He turned. She stood on the sidewalk under the lamp looking in his direction. He moved toward her and she said, “You came back.” It was she. It was definitely Rachel and he made an about face. His mind was in turmoil. What should he do? He took out a twenty dollar bill from his wallet and, on a sheet from his little notebook he wrote first his name in Hebrew, then Hotel Royal Monceau, Room No. 408. Once again he walked toward her. She was afraid of him now and took two steps backward. “What do you want from me?” she said. He stopped, looked around and found a stone on the earth around a sidewalk tree. He placed the $20.00 and the note on the ground with the stone on top of it and backed away. When she felt safe, she came forward and took them up. He then hurried to his hotel.
Half an hour later, a knock on the door of his room. When he opened it, she walked right past him, sat on one of the two chairs in the room and took a drag on her cigarette. “Give me a drink,” she said in Hebrew. He poured a whisky for both of them and handed her a glass. He did not speak. She looked at him over her drink. “I don’t want any lectures, Ehud,” she said. “You are surprised I know to find me here. I’ll tell you how it came about, but save your comments.” He said nothing. She took another swig from the whisky, drew on her cigarette and began her story.
“When I married, we lived on my husband’s kibbutz. Perhaps a year after I moved there, the kibbutz decided to give every member a chance to go abroad. The kibbutz was flourishing so they set aside money to pay for tickets and give each member a sum of money as well. It was insufficient so we started saving all the cash presents we received and five years ago, when our turn came, we set out for Thailand.
“To travel the country we rented a motorcycle in Bangkok. In one brief moment, what should have been the holiday of a lifetime, became instead a living hell. We met with an accident. I was thrown into a ditch and suffered only bruises and cuts. My husband was unconscious and his injuries were more serious. He remained in a Bangkok hospital six months, during which time he needed three operations. We had no insurance. The kibbutz fund did not cover that and we thought we’d save the cost and use it for the holiday. After all, we were indestruc-tible. The hospital fees and the costs for the operations were more than we could afford. I had to work. The only work I was fitted for was as a hostess in a bar. The operations multiplied and my husband’s hospital stay lengthened. The money I earned was not near enough to cover the bills. At first, I rejected offers I received at the bar. Finally, there was nothing else I could do, nothing else I was trained for.”
She paused, looked at Ehud and smiled.
“What?” said Ehud.
“You’re not going to believe how big a sucker, a jackass, I am.”
Ehud’s forehead puckered into a question mark.
“When my husband was well enough to fly home, he asked how we’d pay for the treatment. I told him it had been settled. He asked to know how. I believed my husband was a good man, a man of understanding, a man with heart enough to see I had no alternative, so I told him. The next day he flew back to Israel taking all the money and left me in Bangkok.” She lowered her head and Ehud thought she must be crying. However, when she faced him again, her gold-flecked auburn eyes flashed ire. “It took me another year to save up enough and a little extra to get me to France and carry me for a month or so. My father once told me he had a cousin in Paris, but I was unable to trace her. I have done well here. It is the only thing I can do to support myself.”
“Rachel, I…” began Ehud.
“I had no intention of coming tonight but I want you to do something for me – and it’s not sleep with me. I would like that very much, but now I can’t. It could never be what I wanted all those long years ago. And since I decided to come, I felt I owed you an explanation.”
She opened her purse, took out a cigarette pack and lit herself a cigarette. Then she took out the $20.00 dollar bill Ehud had left on the sidewalk for her to pick up. “Take this back,” she said, “and when you’re next in Jerusalem, buy flowers for Ariella’s grave and ask her – ask her to forgive me.”
Copyright (c) 2009 by Edmund Jonah - do not reproduce
without the author's written permission!
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