instead of calling me Yosef you would call me Joseph and then I would ask you who is Joseph. Then you sunk into one of those long silences that could last even all day until I learned there were things one must not ask. Because I knew if I asked you about anything related to your past, in the time before I was born, you would right away immerse yourself in your bubble and disappear. And I knew it caused you immense pain.
But today, here at your recent tomb and our marvelous old age, I think about Josephine, my beloved sister. Did she have big, green eyes like yours, or brown, like mine and my father’s? Was she tall? Did she have brown, or black hair?
Perhaps she was funny and you laughed for the last time in your life? A laugh that, compared with any other, only reminded you of her. A laugh that, when compared with any other, seemed to be a sob. That full laugh, the authentic laugh before you lost your innocence and your dreams for the world. Because I could see that you dreamed a lot, that you lived a dream, a dream that was transformed in a few moments of the universe, a few foolish moments in history, was transformed into a nightmare in a nightmare so enormous that you never knew how to dream again.
With increasing age, Josephine appeared more and more frequently in our dreams. You would see her dressed in white with a long white dress running through the passageways of the great mansion and laughing. Sometimes I see you two in my dreams, you and her. She greets me and she always gives me something, an umbrella, a handkerchief or a ball and you tell me, without saying a word, “She’s my daughter.” and I am so happy to have a lovely little sister, and I love her very much, Josephine, and I like her laugh so much.
But perhaps Josephine was your sister, and not mine. Maybe you both were hidden in a basement, in the mountains. And one day they found her but not you. Or perhaps you both traveled toward death, hand in hand, on that gloomy train and you cannot forgive yourself that you are alive and she is not. If so many died, why continue living? How many people can be remembered and how many forgotten? Surely, some time ago you forgot some relative, and now there is no one left who remembers them.
––––––––
L UNCH WITH GRANDMA
––––––––
“T wenty six coins,” he said. “Gold. Five-franc French coins.”
“Twenty six? Are you sure?”
“That is what he said.”
Yes, gold. French francs as well, but twenty six?”
“That is what he said. And I remember it well. Also I wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget it. Look: I have it written here: 26.”
“Well,”
“Why, Were there less?”
“Eighteen. It would be interesting to know where the other eight ended up. Someone stole them. I always suspected that someone had stolen some coins. Masoud’s sons were always richer than the others and nobody knew where the money had come from. Although perhaps the grandmother gave it to them. But one can’t suspect the dead.”
“These things happen. So you believe that it is him, that he is a thousand years old. Should I believe him?
He also talked about the vessel. He said it came from Lucena, that the family takes it with them no matter where they go. He also knew that I had grabbed the key to the house in Tetuán. We always take the keys to the houses but I made a copy of one.”
“I also took the key from the house in Tetuán. We always take the keys before anything else and he surely knows it. We and the Moors always take the keys before anything else as if that proves something, but what?”
“I suppose it shows that we take the keys. I never thought it necessary to prove anything.”
“Maybe it is him.”
“Can I trust him?”
“What for? I hope you haven’t. But if what he wants is to tell you stories about keys from Grenada and vessels from Lucena, let him do it. I knew a few crazies like him in Tetuán who always talked about the great possessions they had in
But today, here at your recent tomb and our marvelous old age, I think about Josephine, my beloved sister. Did she have big, green eyes like yours, or brown, like mine and my father’s? Was she tall? Did she have brown, or black hair?
Perhaps she was funny and you laughed for the last time in your life? A laugh that, compared with any other, only reminded you of her. A laugh that, when compared with any other, seemed to be a sob. That full laugh, the authentic laugh before you lost your innocence and your dreams for the world. Because I could see that you dreamed a lot, that you lived a dream, a dream that was transformed in a few moments of the universe, a few foolish moments in history, was transformed into a nightmare in a nightmare so enormous that you never knew how to dream again.
With increasing age, Josephine appeared more and more frequently in our dreams. You would see her dressed in white with a long white dress running through the passageways of the great mansion and laughing. Sometimes I see you two in my dreams, you and her. She greets me and she always gives me something, an umbrella, a handkerchief or a ball and you tell me, without saying a word, “She’s my daughter.” and I am so happy to have a lovely little sister, and I love her very much, Josephine, and I like her laugh so much.
But perhaps Josephine was your sister, and not mine. Maybe you both were hidden in a basement, in the mountains. And one day they found her but not you. Or perhaps you both traveled toward death, hand in hand, on that gloomy train and you cannot forgive yourself that you are alive and she is not. If so many died, why continue living? How many people can be remembered and how many forgotten? Surely, some time ago you forgot some relative, and now there is no one left who remembers them.
––––––––
L UNCH WITH GRANDMA
––––––––
“T wenty six coins,” he said. “Gold. Five-franc French coins.”
“Twenty six? Are you sure?”
“That is what he said.”
Yes, gold. French francs as well, but twenty six?”
“That is what he said. And I remember it well. Also I wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget it. Look: I have it written here: 26.”
“Well,”
“Why, Were there less?”
“Eighteen. It would be interesting to know where the other eight ended up. Someone stole them. I always suspected that someone had stolen some coins. Masoud’s sons were always richer than the others and nobody knew where the money had come from. Although perhaps the grandmother gave it to them. But one can’t suspect the dead.”
“These things happen. So you believe that it is him, that he is a thousand years old. Should I believe him?
He also talked about the vessel. He said it came from Lucena, that the family takes it with them no matter where they go. He also knew that I had grabbed the key to the house in Tetuán. We always take the keys to the houses but I made a copy of one.”
“I also took the key from the house in Tetuán. We always take the keys before anything else and he surely knows it. We and the Moors always take the keys before anything else as if that proves something, but what?”
“I suppose it shows that we take the keys. I never thought it necessary to prove anything.”
“Maybe it is him.”
“Can I trust him?”
“What for? I hope you haven’t. But if what he wants is to tell you stories about keys from Grenada and vessels from Lucena, let him do it. I knew a few crazies like him in Tetuán who always talked about the great possessions they had in
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