Truth, or Its Evidence

— Ready?

— No—wait, the rabbit! Shaggy-haired Eyal ran over to his rabbit-shaped night-light and switched it on. Red glowed softly from its core, diffusing until it reached the rabbit’s ears, whose tips held only the faintest trace and ended in shadow. He then dashed across the room and hopped into bed, taking shelter under the blanket. His mother sat on the edge of the bed, her lush hair undone and flowing over her shoulders, over her familiar robe. In another moment, the bed stopped creaking with the boy’s energetic movement. He found Mother’s hand and held it.

— Okay, you ready to go to sleep now?

— Yeah. She brushed the hair from his forehead. Her hand felt warm, and his mind was at ease.

— Lyosha, I want you to try to sleep without the rabbit tonight. You’re getting older.

— No! I like the rabbit!

— But it’s time to try. Kids your age are learning how to sleep without a night-light. It’s not so bad.

— I don’t…

— What?

— It’s scary. I don’t want to. It’s too dark. Maybe—

— Enough. We’ll just try. It’ll be scary for a moment, but you’ll get used to it and I promise it won’t be as bad. Remember how you couldn’t fall asleep without me staying and holding your hand? You’re mature now, and I’ll be right outside the room.

She leaned in to plant a kiss on his pale forehead, and then her weight stopped depressing the mattress. He watched as she approached the source of the red glow and extinguished it. The only remaining light came from the door to the rest of the apartment.

— Spokoynoy nochi, Eyal.

— Spokoynoy nochi, Mama. When she left, closing the door behind her, darkness reigned unabated in Eyal’s room. He desperately looked at the spot where the red rabbit was supposed to be, now invisible and hollow of light. His vanguard, the one who dutifully deflected the onslaught of darkness all nights prior, now stood defeated by its impenetrability. Eyal lay frozen, his eyes wide in disbelief, trying to catch any glimmer of light—any at all. The black sight was a great weight that crushed his senses. His terror was potent enough to prevent any cries for help or for Mother’s hand. Or maybe his voice simply could not make it out of the room. Somewhere in his besieged mind rattled an unassailable, choking truth. His eyes perceived not mere darkness, but Death itself. The night was Death’s body and sleep turned out to be its approximation. They would all be taken when they closed their eyes, one by one, each night. The unutterable nature of it has been illuminated. Eyal did not notice when he was finally subdued into sleep.

Hours later, when the morning’s rays charged through his windows, it was an unacknowledged eucatastrophe unto itself. He awoke without any thoughts about the night’s ordeal or the truth it relayed and was simply energized to play through the day. The flooding warm sunlight—evangelium—banished all fears, doubts, and pains. He was freshly eight years old, and the summer vacation stretched beyond his ability to comprehend it. Those were rich mornings of video games, colourful cartoons, and the mysteries of the fields.

He nursed a glass of chocolate milk, the glass still cold against his fingers. Needing help, he approached his mother as she prepared to go to work. Her manner was the opposite of the softness she had exuded in the evening. Her eyes seemed sharp, emphasized as they were with heavy eyeshadow, and her long hair sat in a stern, compact bun on her head.

— Mama, can you please call Alexander’s mom? I wanna go play with him.

— Okay, and if she says you can go, then behave yourself and don’t get in trouble! Do you maybe want Alexander to come over here instead?

— No! I wanna go.

— Then don’t lose your keys. I’ll be home around 16:00. When she leaned in to give him a quick kiss before making the call, Eyal was suddenly enveloped by the overpowering, tingly fragrance that hung about her. Her work-ready appearance made her seem comfortingly indomitable. With the boys’ time together settled, she hurried to leave. Eyal was on his way a few minutes after she left for work.

He wandered through the suburbs, the roads winding up and down gentle hills. Each street was marked by its own childish mythology. One street was where friends of the family once lived, along with their two magnificent dogs: gargantuan Alica and the ever-dozing Fred. The next street after that, was the place where his great-grandmother—ancient and grey—still lived. Then came the great road which separated his suburban isola from the one where his elementary school lay. The blue fence of its perimeter sprawled along the road. For the time being there was no need to enter it, and he was glad for it. He walked past it until he approached Alexander’s apartment building. He went up to its entrance and briefly surveyed the garden to the left of the glass doorway. There, he was told, Alexander’s dead parrots lay buried in the sand. He found himself imagining their yellow-green feathers smothered beneath the dirt. Is it dark there? Did they know? It was a strange image, and he took a deep breath, as if suffocation threatened him.

Once he edged closer to the garden, he tried to spot the small graves—at least the disturbances they must’ve left in the sand. When he decided that it all looked the same, he gave up and buzzed Alexander’s apartment. A buzz in response unlocked the door, and the next moment was spent hurtling up the dark stairwell, trying to make it all the way up while the timed light was still on. He reached the fourth floor, almost out of breath, just as the stairwell’s illumination blinked out.

Alexander’s door was already open with the shorter boy at the threshold. Alexander had the light-blond hair Eyal used to think he himself had, until his grandmother corrected the misunderstanding. Eyal’s hair was dark, though not powerfully black—the word so absolute—but simply and uninterestingly brown. The fact disappointed him and diverged from the Russian cartoon boys he cheered for and associated himself with. Alexander, his very name unmistakeably Russian, was the closest embodiment of the quintessential malchik, and therefore the most natural of allies. Though despite their Russian camaraderie, they greeted one another in Hebrew, and spoke little, if any, Russian among themselves.

Alexander led him to sit on the couch in the living room. Alexander’s parents, it seemed, were already away for work. The apartment belonged to the boys, should they want to spend the day indoors. The only other soul in it besides the two classmates was the usually ornery cat.

— Sonya! Idi suda! Where are you?

— Is she afraid?

— Wait, I’ll find her. Alexander ran into the depths of the apartment to look for the small, grey cat. Eyal rose from the couch and lingered on the carpet, looking into the corridor that split into the Yafarovs’ bedrooms, bathroom, and storage rooms. After a moment, Alexander appeared from the farthest room—apparently the parents’ bedroom—holding Sonya.

— Found her! She was hiding in the closet. He plopped her onto one of the couches in the living room. She made a few steps to make her escape before Alexander pinned her with heavy strokes. He smoothed her soft fur and motioned for Eyal to join.

— Quick, before she gets away! Tentatively, Eyal stroked her a few times. As his hand ran across her back one final time, Sonya suddenly yelped with a flash of her claws. Eyal jolted back, though she still managed to nick Alexander.

— Blyat! Zona! He cursed as she made her escape. Eyal saw a few rich, red droplets forming on Alexander’s pale forearm. Both winced, though Alexander freely used the bad words Eyal rarely ventured to try.

— Whoa, does that hurt? Do you have a plaster?

— A bit. It’s ok. Nevermind that bitch. Alexander put his mouth to the beading blood, and when he removed it, the blood vanished.

— I don’t want to stay here anymore. Davai, let’s go outside.

— Okay, let’s go. Eyal followed Alexander’s lead, and—sandals on—they pelted down the stairwell racing each other with the threat of darkness right behind. The slap of their sandals against the stairs reverberated all along the building, following them until they were out in the warm sunlight of the street. Before Eyal could ask him about the buried parrots, Alexander already wandered off, expecting him to follow.

— Hey, hold up! I wanted to ask you something.

— I’m thinking we go to the mountain.

— Mountain..? Wait, the thing I wanted to ask!

— Okay, what?

— Remember you told me about your paren—I mean, parrots?

Alexander kept walking and answered without turning to look. He seemed focused on the mountain.

— Yeah, and?

— Well, I looked, and I can’t see where you buried them. The ground looks the same.

— Oh, yeah, I remember where. Uh, I can show you when we come back.

They stopped before a wide road. It was there as a kind of border between their neighbourhoods and the still-unsettled dunes and fields they sometimes roamed.

— Is that where the mountain is?

— You’ll see. Alexander, without warning, ran onto the road, making Eyal feel his breath hitch as he rushed to follow while trying to see any incoming cars. The other side lacked a sidewalk, or any other signs that the space beyond was structured in any way. They stood for a moment in the sand with cars rushing behind them. To their right stretched an overgrown field full of dry bushes. To merely look at it caused their legs and exposed feet to prickle with phantom thorns. To the left lay a barren stretch of sand, and between the two options ran a dirt road bordered on both sides by tall trees, which led further into the formless territory. They took the somewhat shaded dirt road, kicking rocks and sticks out of habit, then regretting it—their sandals offering little protection.

— Hey, why did they die? The parrots.

— Uh, I think one was sick. And the other… Alexander crouched to pick up a twig.

— Mom told me the other was old. I wasn’t sad.

— Oh. Was the hole deep? Like, where you put them.

— Nah, it was like… I don’t know. Kind of small. Papa used my mom’s gardening shovel.

Alexander threw the twig at a nearby tree. They walked in the shade as the sun strobed through the foliage above. When the path ran out, the ground before them looked torn asunder—excavated and rearranged. There, the earth crumbled into a large crater, and, as Alexander said, a mountain bordered the far side of it.

— Wow, what is this?

— Cool, right? Alexander approached the crater, then, with shuffling steps, went into it. Loose earth broke off and followed him to the bottom. Eyal fell back when he tried to mimic Alexander’s shuffle, then rushed the rest of the way. They paused in the cool pit.

— We could, like, build a camp here.

— That’s what I was thinking! We can come back with Eitan and Isaac next time.

— Let’s go to the top—I’ll show you what I prepared. They scrambled out of the pit and up their claimed mountain with the earth pleasingly clattering behind them. Both found a comfortable rhythm and ended up nearly running on all fours until they reached the dirt peak. There, Eyal noticed a small school chair—grey plastic—pushed into the loose earth. Alexander sat down in it, imperiously, and sighed. The peak granted them a view of the surrounding fields and all that lay nearby. Far off they could see a large highway. A blue breeze blew through the day. Eyal dropped to sit beside Alexander’s throne.

— This is going to be such a cool spot. We’ll come here every day after school. We can really build it up!

— We have to bring the stuff over from the old camp. Alexander picked up a clod of packed earth, then hurled it into the distance and the direction of the highway. Eyal looked to his feet, found a plenitude of similar broken earth fragments, and shot his own rock. The two then got up and put more effort into their throws. After each one threw, they followed the arch of the rock to its terminus. They took turns, not throwing them simultaneously. Eyal tried to exert more force to out-distance Alexander. Alexander, in turn, huffed harder with each of his attempts. When one of Alexander’s rocks came promisingly close to the highway, the two decided to try to hit the moving targets on it. They put their entire bodies into the next attempts—causing some of the rocks to disintegrate midair. When some throws looked particularly promising, the two ducked into the crater, laying flat against the curve as in a monumental trench—their child-soldier hearts beating into the sand. When nothing happened, they scrambled to the peak once again and threw more until the excitement of each throw diminished in tandem with their remaining energy to keep trying. Both sat down, and Eyal tried to swat away a large, persistent fly.

— Ugh, I’m so thirsty.

— Me too. Do you have any money? Eyal checked his shorts.

— No, I don’t think I brought any. Just my keys.

— Blyat, me neither. Now I really want a popsicle. Alexander kicked some dirt off the peak, then went down into the crater, in the direction they came from. Eyal felt himself pulled homeward and slid down the crater as well. With a final look at their newly designated camp, they got on the dirt road and made their way back to the neighbourhood. Alexander walked the centre of the road while Eyal took the path right under the treeline, inspecting each trunk for movement across the bark, or in the leaves below. His habitual search for small creatures slowed him until Alexander turned to hurry him.

— Hey, are you coming? I wanna drink!

— Wait a sec, I think I found something. Look! Alexander stood in the distance without taking a step.

— Quick! What the hell is this? Reluctantly, Alexander walked up to where Eyal crouched by one of the trees.

A lidless tub of ice cream lay surrounded by dry leaves and needles. It was filled with a bed of similar leaves—likely taken from the surrounding pile—among which serenely, fascinatingly, rested a small white skull. It was stripped of all that hid it in life and still held all its teeth. The boys stared in silence, then looked at each other quizzically, as if each waited for the other to explain.

— What is this? Eyal carefully pushed the tub toward the flat sand away from the treeline. Alexander offered the first impression.

— Uh, looks like some animal.

— It’s small. Do you think it’s real? Eyal turned to look at Alexander, who stared at the skull, his brows furrowed.

— I think it is. Maybe it’s a cat?

— Do you think…? Is it like your parrots? Are they also…?

— Skeletons? I don’t know. We can look later. I don’t care about the parrots.

Both crouched next to it. Recollections of colourful anatomical illustrations flooded Eyal’s mind. Alexander picked up a thin twig and poked at it. Wood scraped against bone.

— It looks really cool. Eyal, feeling more comfortable with the sight, allowed himself to carefully pick up the tub to inspect the skull. The boys’ noses twitched in an attempt to identify any bad smells, but nothing emanated from the hollow-eyed, bare cat in its bed of leaf. In a spark of ownership, Eyal suggested to keep it.

— Let’s take it.

— Where?

— I don’t know. He stood with the tub, then continued walking along the road, taking the lead for the first time that day. Alexander followed close behind.

— Maybe let’s hide it here and take it to the camp next time?

Tomorrow?

— Um… No, someone might find it. Maybe someone already hid it, and we found it.

— So what, you’ll just take it home? Will your mom let you keep it?

Eyal considered it as they reached the border road. The noise of traffic made them hold off on deliberations until they ran across.

— I’ll take it home. I wanna show her. We’ll see.

— Well. Bring it back tomorrow. I wanna show my mom too. And though Eyal felt the furthest from sharing the evidence he’d found, he still agreed. The boys separated at the entrance to Alexander’s apartment building, and Eyal went home while guarding the tub—reliquary of his—with his hands, lest any passersby see what lay within. He scarcely remembered Alexander’s promise to show him where the parrots were buried. What he held took up his focus entirely—walking with it slowly, cradling it so, the evidence felt his to show or withhold. It surpassed whatever lay buried in Alexander’s garden.

When he made it home, the door was unlocked, and his mother was already orchestrating the kitchen. She was tall and kind, already halfway between her business-like manner and her softer, evening’s appearance. She paused to greet him. Her sight made him almost forget what he carried in.

— Privet Mama!

— Oh, you’re finally back? I was beginning to worry. What were you two up to? He put the tub beside him on the table before she noticed or asked, and took a few steps forward to keep Mother’s eyes on him.

— Yeah, we played at his house for a bit, then we walked around the neighbourhood.

— That’s it? I see sand all over you. He looked down and saw grains of sand at his feet. Each step made more rain from his shorts.

— Um. We were in the fields for a bit. We wanted to buy ice cream, but we didn’t have any money! And… we found something! Alexander thinks it’s real.

He reached for the tub, covering it with one hand to control the unveiling. When he’d remove his hand, the grinning remnant would gaze at his mother. His fingers hovered longer than he’d intended, and in fact, it seemed better to keep them there and obstruct the sight. His mother frowned.

— What is it? With no way to back out of the moment, Eyal lowered his eyes to the shielding hand and slowly removed it. Then, nothing stopped the hollow sockets from making eye contact with his mother’s green eyes. The skull lay there, embowered in leaf and needle, stark-white, a piece of unadorned truth, or the evidence of it. After a moment, he quickly broke the skull’s line of sight with his hand, wishing to muddy its presence in the room.

— Eyal… Bozhe, why did you bring this home? Her voice came measured and worried, with no trace of anger, but a bit of disgust.

— I—it’s just… interesting. We found it. We think it’s a cat.

And Alexander’s parrots—

— Oy, Eyal. I understand, but don’t bring things like this home! Please, go throw it away. But not in our trash can! Did you touch it?

— No, only the box. And with a stick. She sighed and looked tired.

— I’ll go heat up some water for your shower. Go on, throw it away and come back quickly.

Eyal was back out on the street with the skull looking at him. He sat on the curb and placed the tub between his feet, in no hurry to be rid of it. There were no cars, and the sky was marked by the slow withdrawal of the sun. The dimming of the day reminded him that the evening would come, and Night would follow. A lump formed in his throat and a tear—two tears, staggered, dropped onto the sere surface of the skull.

— Eyal? What’s wrong? You didn’t throw it away? His mother’s voice jolted him in her direction. He then quickly turned away and hid his face between his knees.

— Why are you sitting there like that? He mumbled an answer in the direction of the ground.

— Can you look at me? I can’t hear you. She walked over and sat down beside him—surprising him.

— I said I know.

— What do you know? He forced the next words out.

— You will die. The magnitude of utterance broke his voice. He continued with debris.

— You will die. And the skull—do you have a skull? Like this. He nudged the tub with his foot, rattling it. She wrapped her arm around his shoulder and made him lean into her. He could feel her kiss but pulled away and failed to stifle a quiet cry.

— Eyal. We have so much time. You don’t even know how much.

— I don’t care! I don’t want it at all! Why even… He stood up and kicked the tub away from them, scattering its contents across the road. The unguarded sight of the skull rolling strangely and white against the asphalt sent more fear into his heart and he rushed after it. Panic. It felt light—lighter than he expected. He ran with it to the large, green trash can beside the house. The small skull fell in, out of sight, and by the sound of it, seemed to land onto some bed of plastic bags. Banished, then.

— Eyal, come here. He felt planted where he stood—tears still streaming down his face—until she walked into him with her tall embrace.

— I’m sorry, Lyosha, Eyal. If you don’t want me to die, then I won’t. I’ll live for as long as you want me to, okay?

She whispered and found his face and wiped his tears, his runny nose.

— Mhm. Horosho. He allowed her to guide him home, to the light of the house, as the sky dimmed into evening.

With the lid of the trash can shut, the startling white of the skull could no longer be discerned, and a trapped idiot fly buzzed furiously in the stagnant dark. Off in the distance, beyond looming Night, the sky began to rumble; and as they did before—as they ever will again—the sun’s rays were on their way. Charging, charging.