Here I Am by Jonathan Safran Foer(49)
Max came down the stairs. “Why are you talking about me?”
“We weren’t talking about you,” Jacob said.
“I was just saying to Dad that you guys should try to find things to do together while everyone’s away.”
The doorbell rang.
“My folks,” Jacob said.
“Together together?” Max whispered to Julia.
Jacob opened the door. Benjy wrestled himself free of Julia’s arms and ran to Deborah.
“Omi!”
“Hey, Omi,” Max said.
“I’ve got Ebola?” Irv asked.
“Ebola?”
“Hey, Opi.”
“Cool Moshe Dayan outfit.”
“I’m a pirate.”
Irv lowered himself to Benjy’s level and performed what might very well have been a perfect Dayan impression, if anyone had known what Dayan sounded like: “The Syrians will soon learn that the road from Damascus to Jerusalem also goes from Jerusalem to Damascus!”
“Arrrgggg!”
“I wrote up his schedule,” Julia said to Deborah. “And put together a bag with a few prepared meals.”
“I’ve prepared a meal or two million in my day.”
“I know,” Julia said, trying to reciprocate Deborah’s obvious affection. “I just want to make it as easy as possible.”
“I have a freezer full of very frozen foods,” Deborah told Benjy.
“Morningstar Farms veggie bacon strips?”
“Hm.”
“Fuuuuuuck.”
“Benjy!”
Sam came running down the stairs with his shoes, paused, said, “Goddamn it!” and turned back around.
“Language,” Julia said.
“Dad says there’s no bad language.”
“I said there’s bad usage. And that was bad usage.”
“Are we gonna burn the midnight oil?” Irv asked Benjy.
“I don’t know.”
“Not too late,” Julia told Deborah.
“And tomorrow we’ll fetch the Israelis?”
“I’m taking him to the zoo,” Deborah said. “Remember?”
Irv held up his phone: “Siri, do I remember what this woman is talking about?”
Sam came running back down the stairs with a belt.
“Hey, kid,” Irv said.
“Hey, Opi. Hey, Omi.”
“All’s copacetic with your hate speech?”
“I didn’t do it.”
“You know, I once chaperoned your dad’s class on a Model UN trip.”
“No you didn’t,” Jacob said.
“Sure I did.”
“Believe me, you didn’t.”
“You’re right,” Irv said, winking at Sam. “I’m thinking of the time I took you to the actual UN.” And then, slapping his own hand: “Bad father.”
“You forgot me there.”
“Obviously not permanently.” And then, to Sam: “Ready to give ’em hell?”
“I guess so.”
“Remember, if they seat a delegate from so-called Palestine, you tell them what’s what, then get up and walk out. You hear me? Punch with your mouth, and talk with your feet.”
“We’re representing Micronesia—”
“Siri, what is Micronesia?”
“And we, you know, debate resolutions, and respond to whatever crisis they manufacture.”
“They the Arabs?”
“The facilitators.”
“He knows what he’s doing, Dad.”
Three full honks, followed by nine rapid blasts—Shevarim, Teruah.
“Mohammed is losing patience,” Julia said.
“And it was never his forte,” Irv said.
“We’ll go, too,” Deborah said. “We have a big day planned: story time, arts and crafts, a nature walk—”
“—eat jelly fruit slices, make fun of Charlie Rose…”
“Come on, Argus!” Jacob called.
“I want to marry jelly fruit slices.”
“We’re going to the vet,” Max explained to Deborah.
“Everything’s fine,” Jacob said, alleviating concern that belonged to no one.
“Except he poops in the house twice every day,” Max said.
“He’s old. It’s convention.”
“Does Great-Grandpa poop in the house twice every day?” Benjy asked.
Silence as everyone privately acknowledged that, as their visits had become so rare, it was impossible to rule out the possibility that Isaac pooped in the house twice a day.
“Actually, doesn’t everyone poop in the house twice a day?” Benjy asked.
“Your brother means in the house, but not in the bathroom.”
“He has a colostomy bag,” Irv said. “Wherever he goes, there his poop is.”
“What’s a whatever bag?” Benjy asked.
Jacob cleared his throat and began: “Great-Grandpa’s intestines—”
“Like a doggie bag for his crap,” Irv said.
“But why would he want to eat it later?” Benjy asked.
“Maybe someone could check in on him while we’re away,” Julia said. “You could even bring the Israelis by on the way home.”