麻豆约拍

Did you see her? With the hair up like that and buttons down her chest? Walla. For a girl like that鈥� What do you mean, I鈥檓 not religious? For a girl like that, wouldn鈥檛 it be worth it? Married, nice religious family, what the hell, little hat on my head, the whole thing. Look at her.

What was I saying? Yeah, listen 鈥� I鈥檓 outta here. I go eat around now. You鈥檒l get the hang of it. Most people in this dining room don鈥檛 show up till past one, they gotta chew the fat with at least two people, they got to wonder what they鈥檒l do this afternoon, by then I鈥檒l be back and you鈥檒l be fine. Just try and keep up, ok? Put the glasses over here, in the big trays. The machine washes, but it鈥檚 not so fast. You get used to it.

Hey, here she comes again. Man. What is she doing here? She should be 鈥� I don鈥檛 know, in Jerusalem, with all those other rich, long-sleeved national service girls that never come near the army. What鈥檚 she doing out here with me? You see a girl that sweet staying here? Two months, six, religious class for girls on kibbutz, then back to the noise, back to her real life.

You know older girls? Ones that come back after the army? They鈥檝e been around. Even if they鈥檙e religious, they teach boys. Stand in front o鈥� eighteen year old boys from the projects, trying to teach them math, they learn or they go under. They come back old. Or if not old, the shine鈥檚 gone off of them. But that one鈥�..she鈥檚 tender. Like you could still tell her something. I gotta go eat鈥�

You seen her again? I found out about her. From Tel Aviv. Religious family, but rich. She鈥檚 not going into no army. She鈥檒l be national service, all the way. And you know what鈥�.she鈥檚 got a boyfriend.

How do I know? I know, how do I know. Are we on kibbutz? Do the cows have eyes? How many streets are there here 鈥� one avenue, where do you hide? And I been watching. I see when she comes and goes in the dining room, her little sleeves all down below her elbow. Nobody comes and nobody goes here without I see what鈥檚 under their armpits, even if I am in the kitchen. I wash her tray. Personally. I see her put it on the conveyor belt- and you don鈥檛 never take it off. I wash her knife and fork.

He鈥檚 a kibbutznik, her boyfriend. Itzik. Son of a dairy guy. Got knuckles like he鈥檚 born walking on all fours on the ground and he鈥檚 all made of fat and muscle, not like me. I鈥檓 tenderloin. Kids like him, they鈥檙e all potatoes. I could just sizzle if you touch me. But she don鈥檛 know that.

Kibbutzniks, you know, I got no problem with them. But I wouldn鈥檛 live here if you paid me. Y鈥檏now why? We live in the town, they live out here. And they got no respect, I mean, c鈥檓on 鈥� I worked here two years. I bust my ass. Six in the morning to ten at night, when there鈥檚 a wedding. Do I ever get a birthday present? From the janitor, sure, he lives across the street from me, but from somebody who lives under these trees? Sure they care but they don鈥檛 know how to respect a working man. Kibbutz is kibbutz, you live here you鈥檙e closed. You live in town, you鈥檙e like 鈥� involved 鈥� with everybody. I wouldn鈥檛 live here even if they begged me, begged me on their knees, to marry one of their daughters. Nice water though, sometimes, to go and swim. And the fishes they cook, out of their pools, they鈥檙e something. Tender.

This Itzik she鈥檚 with, won鈥檛 ever go away. He鈥檚 like one of the trees. Got shadows round him, where he stands. But these kibbutzniks, thing is, they鈥檙e innocent. They been living out here, religious place, family place, they don鈥檛 know what the score is. Like in town, where I live? My sister got herself a kid, she was sixteen years old. Still draws her cheque every month, from the post office. You learn what not to do, if you want to find a place, a little privacy. You know all that when you鈥檙e five, you live in town. How do I know Itzik don鈥檛 know? Because I asked him. Matter of fact. Itzik is a friend of mine. You believe that? I lend him CDs, he gets my mother fish from the fish ponds. I get him all kinds of things. He comes to me,. 鈥榗ause I know the world and how you move through it so you don鈥檛 get your clothes caught on the pins.

You wanna bring some of your own music in here sometime? Why listen to that garbage they play over the speakers? Tell me you don鈥檛 like that noise. Hey, you see that, what she did with her hair? I saw her with him again. Last night. Talking. I told him not to rush it but does he listen? Outside the dining room, holding her mail. She gets letters from Daddy. She鈥檚 two hours away from Tel Aviv, never goes anywhere without her cell phone. You would think there鈥檇 be nothing to say. But no, she gets letters. That girl is loved. That girl ain鈥檛 marrying some nobody. I told Itzik I鈥檇 make arrangements for him. Get his package. So he don鈥檛 have to buy in the kibbutz store what his Daddy don鈥檛 buy, let alone some little kid. Not that they have such things. You think they want you to not have babies? They like children here, it鈥檚 more bodies to pick the fruit off the trees.

I said he鈥檇 have it for her Friday night. Can鈥檛 you keep it in your pants till Friday night? C鈥檓on Itzik. Isn鈥檛 she worth a little wait? Wouldn鈥檛 you give up the world for her? If she asked you to, or even looked your way?

Only kids who want to leave here don鈥檛 want kids. They want a big wedding 鈥� Jaffa maybe, big hotel with a pool, like they don鈥檛 have a bigger pool here 鈥� a rabbi to say the right things, a band, six to seven hundred plates, hors d鈥檕euvres, gefilte fish, the meat, the wine, dessert. They want all that.

Her mother and father. I know them, even though I鈥檝e never seen them. I know how they smell. They smell like good clothes. You know, clothes that haven鈥檛 knocked around a kitchen for a couple of thousand hours.

Itzik鈥檚 going to take her to the palm groves tonight. He told me. He don鈥檛 make a move without I say it鈥檚 cool. Don鈥檛 want to ruin her great future. I mean, he wants to ruin her, but he don鈥檛 want to ruin everybody - her rich father, mother with the diamonds down her ears, grandmother dribbling hot sauce on her kube 鈥� from Yemen, Morocco, who the hell knows 鈥� she鈥檚 got eyes, y鈥檏now, like she鈥檚 got blood with chilli peppers mixed inside of it.

So, tonight, you wanna go some time, look in the pools? They鈥檙e just down there. You can see right in the bottom of the pool and the fish push each other aside like children. You wouldn鈥檛 dream what they pay for them fish if you don鈥檛 have a sideline going like my mother.

Where you been? Did you get sick? Listen. Did you see her? Man, for an engaged girl, she looks terrible. I mean, these are the happiest days of your life, right? It鈥檚 gonna be a kibbutz wedding. Itzik鈥檚 family wouldn鈥檛 hear of it 鈥� going to Tel Aviv for a wedding? Nobody鈥檚 going outside this fence for a wedding. The dress will be from the kibbutz down the road - apparently her Daddy isn鈥檛 too pleased to spend anything now, not even a veil. Not such a man of the world as you鈥檇 expect, living there in the big smoke. Well, kibbutz weddings can be nice. And I鈥檒l wash dishes for them. I鈥檓 invited. Until ten.

What do you mean, do they love each other? She went out in the palm groves a girl and came back a kibbutznik. It does something to you, this view, even if you don鈥檛 want it. And the precautions... don鈥檛 always work. Just like the gas masks the government gives you, in case of chemical attack, they all have a sell-by date. Can鈥檛 be too careful who you buy from. I mean, would you buy a gas mask from that Prime Minister? Well, why would you buy from a guy who works in the kitchen? Some guy who鈥檚 always been looking at that girl, if you only had eyes outside your ass to see somebody, rather than look down on him just 鈥榗ause he washes your dishes. That鈥檚 the terrible thing about this country now. No faith in anybody. Anything could have a hole in it. Whether it鈥檚 a car or a little rubber coat you wear to make sure you don鈥檛 have fifty kids before you鈥檙e twenty.

I went out there, that Friday night. To the fish pools. It was a full moon. You could see the fishes rubbing up against each other, like silver knives in the moonlight. Princess of the Nile they call those fishes. Jumping up and down, they鈥檙e so close, one on top of the other. I could see him moving with her, two more shadows in the palm leaves. Then I saw it, or maybe just imagined it, him stop to take what I gave him out of his pocket, and tear it open and just for a minute it shone in the moonlight, before they melted back into the shadows.

It鈥檚 a funny thing, kibbutz light. You can see it sweep over the fence, going out every way, looking out for things. But the lights of town, the blue and yellow police lights and the streetlamps, always seem so deep when you look at them from out here. From the town, we hardly ever look at the kibbutz. If you鈥檙e out here at night though, there鈥檚 nothing to do but look at town. You could get lost if you went out there. I mean, what is there out there? Just hills and the dark and maybe a girl, if she鈥檚 willing. A girl who doesn鈥檛 care what God can see. A girl who grew up so loved she doesn鈥檛 know her Daddy can鈥檛 buy her out of maternity wear.

Do I think she鈥檚 nice? She鈥檚 something else. But after a few years here 鈥� she鈥檒l be the same. A wreck, slung low, moving against the ground like a baby machine that鈥檚 made to pick dates down off the trees. I鈥檓 crazy about her. But I don鈥檛 think she鈥檒l be special so long. And now she鈥檒l stay here, with me. She doesn鈥檛 want to stay, but she鈥檒l stay. We鈥檒l be married, her and me, to this place. Walla, you want to know from beautiful? Forget about it. She was born to be the girl I watched one night taking a swim. She was born to jump right out of the warm water and fall back down. She was born to say, 鈥淵ou want my tray? Then wash it.鈥� And I will. She鈥檒l be my reason to leave. When I don鈥檛 love her anymore, I鈥檓 outta here.