Take Up and Read--A Novel by Shimon Adaf

Author:Shimon Adaf
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux

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Chantal returned from walking Cocoa Pup in the midst of the cleanup project, after Tova fearfully took the broom from Simo’s hands and he’d retired to the kitchen. We heard him rummaging through the fridge, clumsily pulling out vegetables and other groceries, the rustling of bags, the banging of the fridge walls, the slight squeaking sound as the door closed by itself.

Chantal looked at the mask in my hand. She said to Tova, Why did you make a special one for him?

Tova didn’t answer. Cocoa Pup’s leash dropped from Chantal’s hand, and he pranced around us and hopped onto my lap. I gave him the quota of attention I’d budgeted for that day and pushed him off. I’m going to the party, I said.

Tova said, To Sylvia Gozlan’s Purim party?

Chantal said, But you can’t dance.

Walla, said Tova, I forgot about that.

Chantal smiled, her paleness suddenly stretched into mockery, her small teeth resting against her bottom lips, painted a dirty white.

I said, How do you know about Sylvia Gozlan and her parties?

Softly, Tova said, Everybody in Sderot knows.

Decisively, Chantal said, Everybody in Sderot.

Look, said Tova. She offered the dustpan with the heap of glass. The bits were lying among dust and lint pilings. So dirty, she said, looking around her. The floor needs a serious cleaning. Mom hasn’t mopped it in like a week.

New sounds rose from the kitchen, the bell-like tide of pots banging against pots, the swooshing of knives and forks. Tova’s eyes widened as she whispered, Dad’s making dinner.

From the kitchen doorway, we could see the chaos Simo had caused. Drawers pulled out halfway, heaped tomatoes, crushed garlic cloves, thawing fish, potatoes, all sorts of sages and parsleys and cilantros, a blade raised above them and chopping them up. You want me to help? said Chantal. Cocoa Pup echoed her words with sharp barks.

Simo had his back to us and did not turn around. Blandly, he said, No, and get that smelly dog out of here. He’ll get diseases in the food.

Tova whispered to me, Mom’s going to kill him. She walked closer and began gathering the unnecessary dishes. A guilliotine fell on the onion, slicing it in two. We moved away from the kitchen. Tova said, Why is he using onions, what’s he putting onions in the fish for, why is he even cooking fish on a weekday, Mom’s going to kill him.

I recognized tension behind Msodi’s typically unbiased expression as soon as she walked through the door. Her eyes shifted in their sockets with greater alertness than usual. I was in the living room, looking at Simo’s outdated amplification system. Tova and Chantal were in the yard, playing with Cocoa Pup. His happy squeakiness invaded the home. I wondered how complicated it would be to move the system into my room. My mother shot me a quick look. The rustles from the kitchen drew her attention.

The walls absorbed part of her shouting, which was muffled by brick and plaster. Allah ister, what did the kitchen ever do to you? All you know how to make is a mess.

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