From Ashkelon

KAITLYN POHLY

From Ashkelon

“Tamar! Tamar! Wake up!” Raphy jolts me awake, throwing a dress in my direction. I rub my eyes, still hazy with a dream; I remembered a girl- I think she was me, I’m not so sure. It seems to seep further and further away, back between my ears, the longer I am awake. “We will miss the train if you don’t dress sooner!” I speed up; it’s the first day of Summer, and we are heading South to Bubbe’s house to spend it with her. Mom and Dad are going away for work, and this is the longest I will ever be away from home. As I dress, my feet begin to dance with excitement; Raphy barges through the door again: “Breakfast is ready in the kitchen when you are,” he taunts. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” I grab my rucksack from the wooden table beside my bed, look back at my bedroom, and whisk out the door. “Goodbye, Samantha,” I shout over my shoulder, the doll on my dresser waving goodbye. Now, my stomach is rumbling. “Well good morning, Tamar,” Mama says, putting a plate of shakshuka down on the table, “A bit of a sleepy start?” “Sorry- I don’t think my alarm went off,” I choke out, scarfing eggs into my mouth. They’re hot. I burn my tongue, ow. “Raphael, I expect you will take good care of your sister, Bubbe is getting old and cannot be troubled with being entirely responsible for both-” “Yes, Mama,” he cut her off, taking the envelope of shekels from her hand, now beginning to etch with funny lines. “I will drive you both to the train station. Tamar, come on, we need to go.” I shove some more food in my mouth before putting my place in the sink. I’m still chewing as I run out 160

the door behind them. Outside, I have to squint to be able see our car, parked along the edge of the sidewalk; the sun is strong and hot. Families are walking on their way to the beach, it really is a beautiful day. On the way to the station, Mama puts on the radio station. Listening to the sweet melodies, I begin to drift off; my eyelids become heavy again. Raphy looks back in the rearview mirror from the front seat, “Tamar! Don’t fall asleep please, we are almost there.” He was right. Our car was rolling into the parking lot just as the words left his mouth. Looking down at his watch, his most prized possession which he got for his bar mitzvah a few months ago, Raphy jumps and unbuckles his seatbelt, “Okay, we’re late, ba-bye Mama,” he says, kissing her on the cheek. “Bye Mama!” I say too, jumping out of the car. She rolls down the window, waving us goodbye, as she disappears back onto the highway. “Southbound train to Ashkelon leaving the station in… 7 minutes,” a voice announces over the loudspeaker. Raphy grabs my hand and whisks us through the crowd. The figures tower over me, I can barely see Raphy’s face above me. “Stay close, T,” he says, looking down at me. I clutch his arm until we make our way to the platform; he picks me up and places me onto the train. “Tel Aviv to Ashkelon, final boarding,” the announcer man says again, his voice booming through the air. I fall asleep on Raphy’s lap as the train rolls away from the station. *** Only one other family is still on board the train by the time it reaches its last stop: Ashkelon. Raphy and I are greeted by salty Summer air from the sea, and Grandma and her caregiver waving at us from the platform. “Bubbe!” I squeal, jumping off the train onto the concrete, embracing her into a hug. She smells like roses. “Hello, my little ladybug!” She wraps me tighter in her embrace, my head resting between her head and shoulders. 161

“Tamar, Raphael, this is Abia, she lives with me now.” Miss Abia’s head is wrapped in a funny cloth with red stripes on it, it looks like the one lady at the grocery store wears. I stare at it wondering if she’s hot with that on in the Summer. She doesn’t seem to mind. She outstretches her arms to greet me, “Nice to finally meet you little Tamar! Your Grandmother was not lying about how beautiful you are.” I blush, and return her hug. She goes to shake Raphy’s hand, “and you are too are so handsome, just as your Grandmother said!” He looks down at her hand, wipes his own on his t-shirt, and scrunches his nose- not returning the gesture. I furrow my brow and look at him-puzzled- but I’ve learned to not ask questions. Retreating her hand back to the inside of her pocket, Miss Abia takes out the car keys, “We better get going, then.” *** Bubbe’s house is different from what I remembered. Smaller. It smells like a mixture of her and tabbouleh, her favorite. It makes me nauseous, but I got used to it in a few days. The days with Bubbe were short; we spent time at the Dlila Beach, cooking food together, and playing games with Abia, although Raphy is barely around. Bubbe is getting old too, and Raphy doesn’t seem to like to listen to Abia much. “Tamar, Raphy, it’s getting late and time for bed,” I hear Abia shout from next door. Raphy and I are playing cards in our bedroom. Abia’s face appears in the door frame as I begin to pack up the playing cards, although for once I was winning. Raphy grabs my hand, stopping me: “And why’s that?” He shuffled the cards defiantly, laying them out for another round. “Because, Raphael, it’s late, and I told you to get ready for bed.” Abia is getting angry, I don’t want to upset her, “Raphy, it’s fine. We can just play again tomor-” I start to pack up the cards again. “No, Tamar. We don’t have to listen… to her.” Raphy and I seemed to be doing a dance with the cards; we were in a tug162

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of-war almost. Abia snatched the cards from both of us: “Go to bed, now.” Her voice was stern; I jumped and scurried off to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Raphy mumbled something under his breath and did the same. I guess Abia won our game of tug-of-war. *** I was washing the cucumbers for dinner one evening, the sun outside beginning to turn a soft orange, when from the other side of the kitchen, there’s a clatter of pots and pans, a large crash. My head whips around, Bubbe’s hands were covered in blood. She’d dropped a glass bowl onto herself. “Bubbe!” I run over to her with a wet rag, beginning to pick up sharp glass shards, remnants of what’s left of the bowl. “Tamar, don’t move, sweetie. I’ll get some bandages from the closet. Don’t touch that, you could hurt yourself,” Abia says, running in with the commotion. “I’m fine, I’m fine. No need to work ourselves up,” Bubbe said, brushing herself off. She couldn’t stand up, though. I held onto her shoulder to comfort her as Abia went to find the medical supplies. She came back with a wet towel, putting it on Bubbe’s hand to stop the bleeding. “Tamar, in the closet there is some cream next to the broom on the shelf. Can you go get it... please!? I will take your Grandmother into the bathroom.” She looked a little panicked, the bleeding was bad. Abia brought Bubbe into the bathroom, washing her hands, and then went to clear up the pool of glass and blood that remained on the kitchen floor. I run to do as she says, scrambling through the jumbled closet. Nothing seems to fit her description. With my head buried in a pile of junk, the front door clicks open. “What the hell is going on in here?!” It was Raphy, back from his mysterious activities for the day. The kitchen went silent for a moment, before Abia cleared her throat: “Your Grandmother, she, had an-” She was cut off by Raphy’s yell. I shuttered. 164

“Did you hurt her?” I peeked my head around the corner to see what was going on. Raphy was towering over Abia who was on the floor cleaning up. I could hear Bubbe’s soft cries from the bathroom. Raphy yelled louder, “I said, did you touch my Grandmother?” Abia shook her head in response. “No, no, Mr. Raphael, she dropped a-” Raphy didn’t seem to be listening. He raised his hand and tore Abia’s scarf off her head. I’d never seen her hair before, it was pretty. Abia’s began frantically reaching out for it. I came out of my hiding around the corner, the two of them turned to look at me. Raphy was angry. Forceful. He yelled out at me, “Go back to your room, Tamar.” He was stern––I was actually scared of him. I didn’t listen, though. Defiantly, I reached down for Abia’s scarf, helping put it back around her head. She looked up at me, eyes filling with tears, choking out the words, “Sweet girl, thank you.” “Don’t touch her, Tamar,” Raphy scowled, still looking down on the two of us, together on the kitchen floor. “She’s a Muslim pig.” The words rang through the air in silence. We sat there on the floor as Raphy walked away, back down the hallway, slamming his door shut. Abia, still on the ground, didn’t say a word. We sat there for a moment. I was still on the ground, until she said, calmly, “If you’re all set for the evening, Tamar, I think I will go home now. I’ll come see your Grandmother in the morning.” She didn’t wait for a response and was out the door in seconds. I wasn’t in the mood for dinner anymore.

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