Here I Am by Jonathan Safran Foer(83)

“I did.”

Jacob embraced Tamir. He hadn’t meant to. His arms simply reached for him. It wasn’t that Tamir had gathered the piece of information. It was that he had all the qualities that Jacob lacked and didn’t want but desperately missed: the brashness, the fearlessness where fear was not required, the fearlessness where fear was required, the giving of no shits. “Tamir, you are a beautiful human being.”

“So…?” Irv begged.

Tamir turned to Jacob.

“He knows you, by the way. He didn’t recognize you, but when I mentioned your name, he said he read your first book. He said he considered optioning it, whatever that means.”

“He did?”

“That’s what he said.”

“If Spielberg had made a film out of that book, I’d—”

“Exhume the lede,” Irv said. “Is he short-sleeved?”

Tamir jiggled his soda cup, freeing the ice cubes from their group hug.

“Tamir?”

“We agreed it would be funnier if I didn’t tell you.”

“We?”

“Steve and I.”

Jacob gave him a shove, as spontaneous as the hug.

“You’re bullshitting.”

“Israelis never bullshit.”

“Israelis only bullshit.”

“We’re mishpuchah,” Irv pleaded.

“Yes. And if you can’t keep secrets from your family, who can you keep secrets from?”

“So I emancipate myself from the family. Now tell me.”

Tamir scraped the remaining lo mein from his bowl and said, “Before I fly back.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you before I go.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Could he be serious?

“I can.”

Irv banged the table.

“I’ll tell Max,” Tamir said. “An early bar mitzvah present. What he chooses to do with the information is his own business.”

“You know it’s Sam’s bar mitzvah,” Max said. “Not mine.”

“Of course,” he said with a wink. “This is a very early bar mitzvah present.”

He put his hands on Max’s shoulders and brought him close. His lips almost touching Max’s ear, he whispered. And Max smiled. He laughed.

—

As they walked to the car, Irv kept signaling for Jacob to take one of Tamir’s bags, and Jacob kept signaling that Tamir wouldn’t let him. And Jacob signaled to Max that he should talk to Barak, and Max signaled back that his father should—smoke through a stoma? There they were, four men and one almost-man, and yet they were making silly hand gestures that communicated almost nothing and fooled almost no one.

“How’s your grandfather?” Tamir asked.

“Compared to what?”

“To how he was last time I saw him.”

“That was a decade ago.”

“So he’s older, probably.”

“He’s moving in a couple of days.”

“Making aliyah?”

“Yup. To the Jewish Home.”

“What’s he got left?”

“Are you asking me how much longer he is expected to live?”

“You find such complicated ways to say such simple things.”

“I can only tell you what his doctor told me.”

“So?”

“He’s been dead for five years.”

“A medical miracle.”

“Among other kinds. I’m sure it would mean the world to him to see you.”

“Let’s go to your house. We’ll drop off the bags, see Julia—”

“She won’t be back until the late afternoon.”

“So we’ll nosh, shoot some baskets. I’d like to see your audiovisual setup.”

“I don’t think we have one. And he usually goes to sleep very early, like—”

“You’re our guest,” Irv said to Tamir, patting his back. “We’ll do whatever you’d like.”

“Of course,” Jacob said, siding with the world in its struggle against his grandfather. “We can always visit later. Or tomorrow.”

“I brought some halvah for him.”

“He’s diabetic.”

“It’s from the souk.”

“Yeah, his diabetes doesn’t really care about sourcing.”

Tamir took the halvah from his carry-on bag, opened the wrapping, removed a piece, and tossed it in his mouth.

“I’ll drive,” Jacob said to Irv as they approached the car.

“Why?”

“Because I’ll drive.”

“I thought the highway made you anxious?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jacob said, flashing Tamir a smile of dismissiveness. And then, to Irv, with force: “Give me the keys.”

In the car, Tamir pressed the sole of his right foot against the windshield, parachuting his scrotum for any infra-red traffic cameras they might pass. He braided his fingers behind his head—more knuckle cracking—nodded, and began: “To tell you the truth, I’m making a lot of money.” Here we go, Jacob thought. Tamir impersonating the bad impersonator of Tamir. “High tech has gone crazy, and I was smart enough—I was brave enough—to get into a lot of things at the right moment. That’s the secret to success: the combination of intelligence and bravery. Because there are a lot of intelligent people in the world, and a lot of brave people in the world, but when you go searching for people who are intelligent and brave, you don’t find yourself surrounded. And I was lucky. Look, Jake—” Why did he think it was OK to capriciously shear Jacob’s name? It was an act of aggression, even if Jacob couldn’t parse it, even if he loved it. “I don’t believe in luck, but only a fool wouldn’t acknowledge the importance of being in the right place at the right time. You make your own luck. That’s what I say.”