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CHAPTER 1

WEARING A BLACK HAT AND A BLACK COAT, HIS mournful face surrounded by a shaggy beard, he resembled a bird from some fantastic story; one of those fairy tales you tell children so they'll fall asleep, tales that belong to the horrors of childhood. He was sitting behind a table set up on the sidewalk in front of the courthouse; a typewriter stood before him. The man's clients were too poor to afford a real lawyer, yet he was no worse than any lawyer in this city. He knew how to write all sorts of complaints, petitions, and appeals, no matter whether the case had to do with alimony or a car accident, and he knew beforehand what the verdict would be. He could also supply witnesses of all kinds, ranging from innocent-eyed youths who just happened to be walking down the street when the accident occurred and saw everything that took place—or rather what, two months or even a year later, he told them they'd seen—to distinguished old men nobody would dare accuse of lying.

He adjusted his hat; rivulets of sweat were trickling down his neck, and the client fidgeted nervously. A clean sheet of paper had been inserted into the typewriter fifteen minutes ago, but so far the bird hadn't written a word.

"Does my case look bad?" the client asked.

"No," the blackbird said. "Everything is going to be fine."

"I thought so," the client said. "I want that man punished. I want him to go to jail."

"There'll be two trials," the bird said. "And he'll go to jail twice."

"Good, good," the client said.

"Not as good as you think."

"Why?'

"If you press charges against him, they'll lock him up. Then, as soon as he's released, they'll have to lock him up again. For assault and battery. You'll be the victim."

"I'm not afraid of him," the client said.

The bird didn't answer; he was watching a police van that had stopped in front of the courthouse. A young cop got out of the cab and opened the back door. Two men jumped out. They were handcuffed together.

"Take these off," one of them said to the cop.

"You have to enter the courtroom handcuffed," the cop said. "Rules are rules."

"We still have ten minutes," the man said. "You can handcuff us again later." Suddenly he turned around and saw the bird and his client; he started walking toward them, pulling the other man with him. The bird remained motionless when they loomed over his table. He watched the bigger man's bronzed, muscular hand shoot out in his direction and tear the empty sheet of paper out of his typewriter. The big man crumpled the sheet into a ball and tossed it away. Then he and the other prisoner entered the building; the cop followed, fanning his sweaty face with his cap.

"You were right," the client said to the blackbird. "I won't press charges. I'll save myself the trouble. There should be no quarrel between Jews."

"My feelings exactly," the bird said.

The client wanted to turn away, but the blackbird grabbed his coattail. "Hey, my money!"

"Money? What for?"

"Legal advice."

The cop led the two men into the courtroom, almost empty at this time of day. A man sitting by the window was inspecting his dirty fingernails; they seemed to interest him more than the handcuffs he was wearing.

"The judge is a good man," the cop said to the two men when they sat down. "You don't have to be afraid of him." He looked at them; the two men sat motionless, both suntanned, dark-haired, and slender, and when they didn't answer, he said again, "The judge is a good man. You don't have to be afraid of him. You'll know that as soon as you see him."

"They pay you for talking?" the man said. His face was swarthy, his eyebrows grown together, and he held his heavy head low like a tired railway porter or as if he were about to slug somebody. "Or just for being a pig?"

The man inspecting his nails jerked up his head, but the cop didn't say anything. A moment later the judge and the bailiff walked in and the man with the grubby nails stood up reluctantly.

"Are you going to testify?" the judge asked the cop.

"Yes."

"Are you ready to be sworn in?"

"Yes."

"Then take the Bible," the bailiff said, "and repeat after me… "

The cop placed his hand on the Bible. The bailiff stopped.

"What's this? Don't you know that you must either wear your cap or cover your head with your hand when you're taking the oath?"

"I'm sorry," the cop said, reddening. "I've come to Israel very recently."

After saying the oath he returned the Bible to the bailiff and signaled to the two men that they could sit down again. Then he sat down next to them and unlocked the handcuffs.

"Dov Ben Dov," the judge said, and the man with the joined eyebrows stood up.

"Date of birth?"

"January fourteenth, nineteen twenty-two."

"Place of birth?"

"Here," the man said.

"Marital status?"

The man didn't answer, only let his head fall even lower.

"I asked for your marital status," the judge said.

Again the man didn't answer. It was only when the man he had been handcuffed with—now sitting very straight in his chair like an eager student—touched his arm gently that he said, "Married."

"Criminal record?"

"You have all the information about me in that file," Dov Ben Dov said. "If you are to judge this case, you must have read it."

"Answer the question," the bailiff said.

"Yes," Dov said.

"Where is your lawyer?" the judge asked. "Don't you have a lawyer?"

"I don't need one," Dov said. "I have my own conscience; I don't need to hire anybody else's."

"You are charged with disrupting public order in the city of Tel Aviv on June fifth. Do you plead guilty?"

"No," Dov said. "As far as I remember, there's never been any order in this city."

"Defendant Dov Ben Dov will be fined ten pounds for contempt of court," the judge said, and then added, turning to the bailiff, "Make a note that if he doesn't have the money, he must spend three days in jail. And if he says something like that again, I'll have him thrown out of the courtroom." He turned back to Dov. "You can sit down now."

The cop nudged the other man forward. He was somewhat thinner than his friend and had a handsome, alert face. His shirt was creased but clean; he must have washed it in jail.

"Israel Berg," he said, not waiting for the judge's questions. "Born October seventh, nineteen twenty-five. In Poland. Single."

"Criminal record?" the judge asked.

"None," Israel Berg said.

"Do you plead guilty?" the judge asked.

"Yes, Your Honor, it was all my fault," Israel said. "Dov Ben Dov had no part in it. He was sitting quietly at a table when it happened. Actually, I am not even sure he was there. I was standing by myself at the bar when those men began to insult me."

"Have the injured parties come to the hearing?" the judge asked the cop.

"That wasn't possible, Your Honor," the cop said. "Those men were foreigners. Their sworn statements, however, should be in the case file. If I were you, Your Honor—"

"The court knows where the sworn statements should be, officer," the judge said. "Even if you find that surprising. Please answer questions and refrain from offering the court your advice. And remember to put your cap back on when you speak. Or, better, don't take it off at all." He gazed for a moment at the man standing in front of him. "Do you mean to tell me it was you who beat up those three men, that defendant Dov Ben Dov had nothing to do with it?"

"It all happened like I said, Your Honor," Israel said. "He's innocent."

"He sat at a table, drank beer, and watched you, a man lighter by forty pounds, take on three strong sailors, and he did nothing to help?"

"Everybody who sees us thinks that he is the strong one," Israel said. "But that's not true."

"I don't think you're telling me the truth," the judge said. "You're covering up for him because you know that defendant Dov Ben Dov has a whole string of such cases behind him. Such and worse. Manslaughter, brawling, and, before that, degradation, and dishonorable discharge from the army. And you know something else, too: defendant Dov Ben Dov is on parole. This means he has been released on condition that he keep his nose clean. This also means that if this court, today, finds him guilty as charged, Dov Ben Dov's parole will be revoked and he will be sent back to jail." The judge paused. "Nobody has been able to help him. What makes you think you can do more for this man than the army, his family, the courts?"

"I've told you the truth," Israel said. "I am aware I'm testifying in court."

"You're much weaker than he is," the judge said, "and yet you want to shield him. Even though you know very well that he started this brawl, just like all the brawls in the past."

"I am not weaker," the man said, and his face began to twitch nervously. "It just seems that way, Your Honor. I'm the guilty one."

"Defendant Dov Ben Dov," the judge said. "Stand up." He pushed his glasses to his forehead and peered from under them at Dov's dark, stubborn face. "Is it true that the man standing next to you is guilty? This man who is much weaker than you are? Answer me according to your conscience. You mentioned having a conscience, didn't you?"

"That's what he says," Dov said.

"And you sat at a table and drank beer, yes?"

"I don't remember what I was drinking," Dov said. "But when that fight broke out, my back was turned. I had dropped my cigarette on the floor, and I was looking for it when the fight by the bar broke out. I don't like leaving burning cigarette butts on the floor. That's what I told the police."

"You always have good witnesses, Ben Dov," the judge said. "Nobody ever admits he saw you brawling. This time it's the same. All backs were turned. But watch out; it may happen one day that everyone will turn his back when it is you who is getting hurt. Have you ever thought of that? And what about your conscience, which you spoke of having just a few minutes ago? Does it allow you to put the blame on your weaker friend just because you know this is his first offense so he will incur only token punishment? Does it allow you to take advantage of a weaker man only because he happened to be there?"

"I told you, I'm not weaker than he is," Israel said. His lips had suddenly turned white.

"Are you sure?" the judge asked.

"Sure I'm sure," Israel said.

"Speak politely when addressing the court," the bailiff said in a wooden voice.

"I'm not weaker!" Israel yelled. "No, I'm not!" Suddenly he pushed the cop away, fell to his knees and grabbed the chair he had been sitting on by the leg; he tried to lift it up with one hand, but couldn't do it. The chair fell over and he, kneeling by it on the floor, began to cry in helpless rage.

THEY WERE SITTING IN A SMALL RESTAURANT BY THE sea; they had just finished eating. Israel turned to Dov.

"Do you think I can manage?" he asked.

"Sure you can," Dov said. "Many guys work there and they manage okay."

"You said before that maybe I wouldn't."

"No," Dov said wearily, "I didn't say that. You should know how it is with a new job. In the beginning it tires you out, then you get used to it, and then you stop enjoying it. It's almost always like that." He stopped a passing waiter. "Bring me a glass of brandy," he said.

"Don't drink brandy, Dov," Israel said. "Better have some coffee. It'll make you feel better."

"I don't want to feel better," Dov said. "I want a shot of brandy, that's what."

"Will he come?" Israel asked. "I'm beginning to worry."

"No need to," Dov said. "He'll come. Look at those girls and stop worrying." He pointed at two girls drinking coffee at the next table and held his hand in the air until one of them turned her head in his direction. "Just look at them."

"What do you want?" the girl asked.

"You can turn around again," Dov told her, letting his hand drop. "One more disappointment," he said, looking her straight in the eye.

A stout man in a khaki shirt walked into the restaurant. He stopped in the middle of the room and stood there, holding a pair of sunglasses in his hand. Sweat trickled down his face. Finally he saw the two men and began making his way toward them, never once apologizing to the guests he squeezed past, jostling their tables with his strong, heavy body. The chair he lowered himself into creaked loudly under his weight.

"Sorry you had to wait for me," he said. "It took me half an hour to find a parking space."

"It's okay," Israel said. "The important thing is that you came. We haven't been waiting long."

The stout man didn't look at him.

"When do you want to start work, Dov?" he asked.

"Tomorrow." Dov finished off his warm brandy and placed the glass gently on the table.

"Do you know what the pay is?" the stout man asked.

"No," Dov said. "But I know you. It can't be good."

"Whatever it is, it's fine with us," Israel said, but the stout man didn't look at him this time either. His gaze was fixed on Dov's face and the joined eyebrows.

"Dov," he said, "you had ten years to find yourself a good job and settle down. Why didn't you? Lots of people were ready to help you."

"When can we start?" Dov asked.

The man didn't say anything for a moment. Then he said, "You, Dov, can start tomorrow."

"That's not what I asked. When can the two of us start?"

"Dov, this is not a job for him. I never told you I'd have work for both of you. I said I'd have work for you. And only because it's you."

"You're wasting your time," Dov said. "We'll find something else. You have a garden by your house, don't you? So go home and water your flowers." When the stout man didn't answer, after a while Dov said again, "You're wasting your time sitting here."

"Why do you insist on towing him along, Dov? He's not your girlfriend. And he can't work at the jobs you can. You should know that."

"Yeah," Dov said. "Like I said, you're wasting your time. Just get up and leave, okay? You haven't ordered anything, so there's no reason for you to stick around. They won't charge you just for sitting down."

"You're like a pretty girl, Dov," the other man said slowly. "Whenever two girls are inseparable friends, one is pretty and the other so ugly it makes your eyes hurt. You insist on taking this guy along wherever you go, even though you couldn't find a less likely man to team up with in the whole world."

"Gimme a chance," Israel said. "Believe me, I'm strong." He leaned toward the stout man. "Ask Dov. Yesterday we had a fight with some men in a bar. Ask him how I managed." He touched the stout man's shoulder, but the man shook off his hand and turned to Dov.

"Strong men always think they can do something for the weak. And wise men think they can improve the minds of fools. It never works. In the end strong men go down because of weaklings and wise men go mad because of fools. It's always been like that. How come you decided to ask me for help?"

"I'll tell you," Dov said. "I came to you because I was sure all honest and respectable men would turn me down. The way you did. And I know you well and know you're a scoundrel."

They looked at each other and suddenly the stout man burst out laughing.

"Hey, lover boy!" he shouted at the waiter. "Get us a bottle of brandy." He gave the waiter a shove with his heavy hand sending him halfway across the room. Then he turned to Dov. "Mark my words. There were once two wise guys in this world; one was named David and the other Goliath."

"Right," Dov said. "I'll remember that." He was looking straight ahead, at the sea, where the first lights were beginning to blink, then he turned his head to the left and looked toward the lights of Jaffa. "But it's better to be Goliath and die from a stone than to be David who became king, but was the cause of many tears."

"You said that, Dov, I didn't," the stout man said. He picked up a glass and held it in his hand. "You have a brother in Eilat, don't you?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"When you were in court today, the judge must have told you that if you got into any more trouble, they'd lock you in the slammer for quite a while. Look, I know you; you just can't keep your nose clean. Tel Aviv is bigger than Eilat; if anything happens here again, the judge will forget about your heroic past—"

"Skip that stuff," Dov said.

"Well, go to Eilat. That place is full of guys like you. You can do whatever you like and nobody will bother you. If you slug someone, the guy won't start yelling for the cops, only slug you back. I'll give you my jeep; you can pay me later. In Eilat you'll look up this guy I know working at the airport and he'll help you find tourists you can drive out to the desert, show them around. Tourists like taking pictures and bouncing their guts in jeeps; it makes them feel like adventurers. And you'll be making enough for a man to live on." He poured himself a shot of brandy. "Sorry. Enough for two men to live on. When winter comes, you'll come back here and pay me my share."

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Excerpted from "All Backs Were Turned"
by .
Copyright © 2014 Andrzej Czyzewski.
Excerpted by permission of New Vessel Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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