Шрифт:
(to the blessed memory of Jonathan Netanyahu)
There are some different times in a history of mankind when being on the six or seven side streets, you have to choose which way to go. And every way has its own ends. Then people will start looking for help from others. If it is in vain, they`ll turn eyes to the sky. Notwithstanding to this, the sky will not answer as quickly as they want. Hopeless, they shrug shoulders, silently asking for reason. In the hope of clarification to what heaven circle their prayers have soared, they will often more look at to sky, but day by day there will be little hope and eyes will begin to grow dim. Only the bravest will try to rekindle the extinguished sparks of the eyes asserting that the Lord will certainly answer them. At dawn they, like angels with white cape, will pass in crowds through the narrow streets of Baghdad. Old man David ben Solomon with tight eyes from the dull yellow light of the lamp that he holds in hand will be able to see only the white cape of the last of them. He will seem to him either as cousin who lives in Amadia or the son of neighbor – Jacob ben Isaac. At times he introduces himself instead of guy with the white cape. It happens, that he is dozing by the window in the hope of seeing him again. Then the shadow of his chubby average height falls on those dawn passers, by supposedly catching up with them. Peaceful breeze of peaceful Baghdad is mixed with the heavy sighs of the old man. In this silence he cannot find peace in any way. He often claims that he would be fine if they stayed in the war. The news of the defeat of the crusaders deprived the old man of walking for three days. He kept saying that Jerusalem was before his eyes.
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It really should be like this – says the eldest son of the old man Yerschalaim – I wonder how many times a day?
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With every breath – answers the youngest son John.
The eldest son has a small store in the central market of Baghdad where he sells ink nuts. John works as his helper. But sometimes the old man gets the idea that the guy in the white cape might be his youngest son, John. At the sight of a young man, the old man’s knees begin to tremble. Barely showing up he evanesces like a mirage. Despite the fact that the old man several times tried to talk about it with his son his desires were not crowned with success. “They are, probably, rabbis who in the morning go to read the Talmud” – said Yercshalaim. With the question of whether they would see Jerusalem again, the old man turned to people every day. Not having received an answer, he began to ask from everything that surrounds him. People did not consider it necessary to pay attention to the fact that the old man was completely weakening and talking to himself. It happened in those days. David ben Solomon, sitting on a log that is located on the edge of his small garden, took of his turban. At the same time his youngest son John appeared. For the first time in a long time he saw his father’s sparse hair white as precipitation.
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Messengers came – he announced in a low voice. David ben Solomon was surprised and didn’t know what to say. The incredulous smile on John’s face slowly vanished. Furrowing his brows, he continued to stand in thought.
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– They say that they are intermediaries of David Allruy, that they came to take us to Jerusalem – he said later with some kind of trepidation, still staring in disbelief. He was afraid to break his father’s dreams. The old man’s silence meant his consent. This was an omen that John should be careful. From the curious eyes of his father, he realized that his caution wasn’t in vain. A person who lives long in hope is very trusting. John foresaw that this news would please his father and hurried to inform before anyone else. Firstly, he wanted to see his father’s happy smile, secondly, he wanted to check his attitude to this news. Old David’s face was as calm as the sky of Baghdad. If left him in this position no one would be able to think of his homesickness.
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Finally – he said with a deep breath. At that time his eyes were in the stage of revitalization. When he stared at his son they had already begun to perk up. Sparks hit in the brown eyes of the old man. John realized that the more the father believes in this message, the more he himself doubts it. This was especially felt when the father walked by with a barely concealed smile. Some hidden sense of contradiction intensified his fear of the veracity of this news. During the day all baghdadians heard it. They, entangled in their narrow, endless streets, joyfully hastened to announce the good news, not paying attention to the advance knowledge of man. And each time felt like the first to hear it. In this turmoil, no one noticed a four-year-old girl, crying due to lack of attention from her mother and her mother, who runs barefoot down the street. People thought it was supposed to be. They were more and more inclined to believe what in everyday life would be considered strange. The more weirdness happened the more they believed in it. People are completely immersed in this news. Yercshalaim realized that from now on Baghdad will not live the same life. His clients were acting strange that day. One small stature red haired man who looked at everything around him with interest and funny forgot his wallet. Yercshalaim accidentally saw it before closing the shop. After red haired man came to the shop there were about four people, but it seemed that some unknown force was blindfolding their eyes and mind. For Yercshalaim it was all the same where they would live. His trade here brought good profits. Except that the hyakim of the city of Muktabi resisted for some time because of the recent riot, but now he was calm. Unlike others who consider the additional tax a disaster of trade, Yercshalaim is sure that his ink nuts, which he trades, will never be left without demand. He is not afraid of loss stories. Even then he will find a way out. He doesn’t look like any other merchants. Yercshalaim is a calm person for trading and always speaks in a calm tone. He gives change by checking the wave after another. Even now, when he has closed his shop and walked home through the narrow streets of Baghdad, he was dutifully looking at this confusion. Like a foreigner whom this turmoil does not concern, he is walking home with a gait that betrays his calmness at every step. Later, measuring the streets many times with a slow gait, he will remember the then Baghdad. He will try to restore the insignificant smallest details of things. Abandoned houses that were along the small streets, their open doors, even in a dream, will not leave him alone. He, having heard some sounds behind these doors, will want to be a guest there every time, but each time, approaching, his heart will beat faster, and thus wake him up from his sleep. Feeling regret, the calm merchant will wipe his sweat with a turban, and realize that this fear will never end now. That day, walking along the short streets of Baghdad, which are ending unexpectedly like his memories, he watched what was happening without much interest. Himself didn’t know what to do: to smile or not. Everything that happened in his mind was by no means imprinted separately with smallest details, but as a single whole without coloring. Forever before his eyes remained how people decisively got rid of household things, considering them guilty of everything, both: in taxes and in life in a foreign land. Among household items stood out by large number of dishes, blankets and various everyday life things. The sound that emanated from them when thrown out will forever remain in the ears of Yercshalaim. There would be no so much turmoil even if they were preparing for a feast. Imperturbable Yercshalaim walked, not merging with the bustle of the street. Later he will make an attempt to restore everything connected with that day. Here he is, engaged in trade, keeps himself on the side of bazaar. Calm Yercshalaim to whom the sea is knee-deep walks along short streets like his memories. Some women, one of them the last wife of their neighbor Jacob ben Isaac, he recognizes from the kadfe. Because she never takes kadfu off her head even is she gets confused in it. Because of the thinness of the body in this long kadfa, it looks like a silkworm that spins a silk. Yercshalaim’s family has one more neighbor, but they are not jews, more precisely, the mother of the head of the family was a turkmen woman from the ancient city of Merv, and the father was an arab named P. After the death of a turkmen merv woman who left her son, her husband marries a jewish woman for the second time and, on the advice of his wife, settles there. Settle then settled but for a long time they did not accept him as their own. So, P rarely left the house. It probably turns out that this confusion also passed by their house. No matter how hard he tries Yercshalaim remembers nothing more. Memories quickly bring him back to a small house with a waist-length wrought iron fence. Imagining his father’s happy face takes him a long time. And every time so. “Why are you so happy? Why, why…” as if asking himself he grabs his head. It causes him great pain. On that day, the Sun of Baghdad stood especially brightly, wanting to remind of her presence for as long as possible. At least people thought so. It did not descend from the sky in its time and this continued to excite people. The rays of the sun sought to penetrate either through the window or through the open doors of houses. People wanted to quickly change the Sun of the day for the long awaited Moon of the night. Because then when the Sun sets and the night falls, they had to go out on the roof of their houses and connect with the wind that will carry them to Jerusalem. The thought that they would fly away with the wind pleased them so much that they were ready to get rid off all unnecessary things so that they would not interfere with them during the flight.
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