“Why so glum, habibi?”
Margie used the diminutive that Rafi had taught her.
“Watch,” Rafi half-growled, half-pleaded, his
normally barely distinguishable Israeli accent garbling the single word. Margie
plopped in Gordon’s slightly tattered, downmarket black leather recliner and
set her hands on Rafi’s shoulders in anticipation of giving a shoulder rub, but
before the first squeak came out of the matching footstool on which Rafi
sat, she thought twice.
It was 6:45 am on a Wednesday morning during summer
vacation. Rafi never adjusted his chin from the bookshelf that his left fist
created, elbow on his knees. Barefoot, in jean cutoffs, and a tie-dye T-shirt
with an irradiated indigo and orange peace sign on it, Rafi looked like he was
Gordon’s twin, from the 6o’s and not a decade younger. Rafi last remembered going
unshod in front of anyone he cared to impress when he was part of the Chovevei
Tziyon dance troup performing r’kudey am, the national dances of Israel,
for tourists. Oh, yes, and when Salman was in Israel for the Interzonal. I spent
so much of the time playing beach volleyball with the Mermaid and her friends
that there wasn’t any reason for shoes. Girls who were half the weight,
physically and in every other measure, as Margie. Remote control in his
right hand, he focused on the tank dominating the screen, and the scrolling
English subtitles that some bleary-eyed State Department translator had spent
all night refining. He could barely make out the white pouf of the alcoholic,
frequently depressed President of the Russian Federated
Soviet Socialist
Republic, but from the
coverage from the previous day, he had the voice committed to tape recorder.
“Citizens of Russia:
On the night of 18-19 August 1991, the legally elected president of the country
was removed from power.
Margie’s head snapped up. “This guy is crazy!” she
exclaimed in her best “everybody-is-sleeping-except-for-my-obsessive-boyfriend”
voice.
“Yeah. Hishtaga legamré. What if the guy in the
tank shoots him in the crotch?”
“And that’s why you’re sitting here looking like a
church choir director in summertime? I thought you had no use for the Party.”
“Margie, on the kibbutz I hated
everyone and everything, but I loved The Dream. These halutzim, the
pioneers, saw what they did as prophecy, but the prophet was as much Marx as
Moses. It was on us to perfect the human spirit. Only we could bring
about a true equality and carry out God’s vision. You’ve taken the Intro to
Judaism class. What do the four most important words in the prayer service
mean?”
“But there are six.”
“No, Margie, stick to the liturgy, not the Torah.
Here they are, ‘L’takein olam b’malchut shadai.’ That means, ‘To
perfect the world under the Kingship of Heaven.’ That’s Marx. That’s Engels.
That’s Herzl and Golda and Ben-Gurion and...”
“Rafi.”
“What?”
“Rafi ben-Berak.”
“You get it! See, these bastards, from Stalin on,
excepting Khrushchev, created a cult of personality. No Little Red Book, like
Mao, but still! Communism was not tried and found difficult – “
“It was found difficult and left untried.”
“That’s why I like you, Margie; you have less
patience than me.”
“Birds of a feather. But why does it matter?”
“You sound like a chaver kibbutz, a real kibbutznik.
“Mah ichpat l’cha? Do you have any idea how many times the other kids
asked me what did I care? – ‘I don’t wanna do chalivat boker.’’Tough,
it’s your responsibility.’ ‘Mah ichpat l’cha?” Or, ‘There’s a
big debate between Labor and the Party tonight.’’Mah ichpat l’cha?’ Or,
‘OK, batlan (good-for-nothing), can you clean your supplies off our
lab bench before we go plant?’ Mah ichpat l’cha?’”
“But Rafi,” Margie asked, half with credulity
and half with empathy. Rafi cut off her response.
“It does matter! If Communism is proven
fraudulent, who the hell am I, anyway!?”
The commentator was trying something akin to
historical analysis.
“He’s talking so far out his asshole that his head
comes out in the same place and nobody can tell the difference.”
Click. Now MSNBC was replaying the speech, but in
addition to the crawl, there was a twentysomething (maybe) voice-over
talent reading the State Department translation. At least, as far as Rafi could
discern, the State Department knew Russian. The Soviet guys didn’t know any
English, as anyone who was alive twenty-four hours ago knew by now.
“Regardless of the reasons given for his removal, we are dealing with a
rightist, reactionary, anti-constitutional coup. Despite all the difficulties
and severe trials being experienced by the people, the democratic process in
the country is acquiring an increasingly broad sweep and an irreversible
character.
"The peoples of Russia
are becoming masters of their destiny. The uncontrolled powers of
unconstitutional organs have been considerably limited, and this includes party
organs.”
“Would it make you happier if the people chose
Communism?” interjected Margie.
“Later,” Rafi snapped – but then reached back and
patted Margie’s left knee with the hand that had cradled his brooding chin. The
broadcast continued.
“…has adopted a resolute position toward the Union Treaty striving for the
unity of the Soviet Union and unity of Russia. Our position on this issue
permitted a considerable acceleration of the preparation of this treaty, to
coordinate it with all the republics and to determine the date of signing as
August 20. Tomorrow's signing has been canceled.
“These developments gave rise to angry reactionary forces, pushed them to
irresponsible and adventurist attempts to solve the most complicated
political and economic problems by methods of force. Attempts to realize a coup
have been tried earlier.
“We considered and consider that such methods of force are unacceptable. They
discredit the union in the eyes of the whole world, undermine our prestige in
the world community, and return us to the Cold War era along with the Soviet Union's isolation in the world community. All of
this forces us to proclaim that the so-called committee's ascendancy to power
is unlawful.
“Accordingly we proclaim all decisions and instructions of this committee to be
unlawful.
“We are confident that the organs of local power will unswervingly adhere to
constitutional laws and decrees of the president of Russia.
“We appeal to citizens of Russia
to give a fitting rebuff to the putschists and demand a return of the
country to normal constitutional development.
The speech continued for another moment. Margie
delivered that promised shoulder-rub. Ted Koppel, his own coif looking like he
had never missed a moment’s sleep, was commenting on ABC. Neither person
made the obvious comment, until after ABC inserted a media portrait of Yeltsin
in the lower left corner of the screen. Without a word, Rafi and Margie started
giggling. Then they grabbed their faces to suppress the growing laughter. Rafi’s
olive cheeks glowed no less red than Margie’s vitiliginous ones. Laughter
turned into breathless hacking. Tears puddling on his hand, eyes slammed shut,
Rafi said it.
“Do they share a stylist?”
“Or a wig??”
It was over. Both witnesses to history convulsed in
hacking, snorting, and eventually belly-produced laughter. Neither could snatch
more than a thimbleful of breath for the next week. It must have been at least
five minutes, because Rafi had all-but fainted. Death by hairpiece?
Margie’s sister had woken up, angry. She only
jumped out of bed when she recognized that this was no regular mirthful
outburst. Neither Rafi nor Margie could notice that she had entered the den
with two glasses of water. Neither noticed until the thermal shock hit that she
had unloaded matching glasses of ice water on them.
“(gasp)”
“(gasp)”
The coughing slowed. Both squinted up, gratefully.
Neither made excuses, but neither could explain it if they tried. Later in the
day, when Koppel was repeating the claim that if the putsch collapses, it would
be a result of the greatest blunder in the history of the post-Vietnam world,
and the Yeltsin insert would materialize again, Margie’s sister was at the
verge of losing control of her guffaws. Rafi, still barefoot, still without breakfast,
offered to get a glass of ice water.
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