If he had to choose just one single memory he could take with him when he leaves – he would have chosen that morning when he was sitting by the piano on his tall chair when a sly green eye peered through the door, then a gap-toothed smile floated in, and right there he was, a red-headed boy with his hands behind his back, solemnly introducing himself: “Andrey Petrovich!”
“Huh?” – A six-year-old Shlomic was confused. – “And…Pet…It’s a joke, right?” – He suddenly realized, after totally messing up the third syllable.
“Not at all”, – Andrey Petrovich sounded deeply hurt.
“Aaah… I’m Solomon” – Shlomic said, trying to sound as tough as possible.
Andrey Petrovich shook his little palm in a very grown-up manner and sat on the same chair, pushing aside Shlomic’s thin behinds.
And just like that, together, they went through life from that moment on – in piano class, at school, in the army, everywhere…
Ever since he was a preschooler, Andrey Petrovich loved puzzling new acquaintances by introducing himself just like that and enjoyed their suffering while they were trying to pronounce all that.
Rivka was the only one who pronounced his name easily and almost without accent, a little slower – his patronymic, and stared at him with serious, attentive eyes.
Rivka had a perfect pitch and her grandfather’s flute.
They all had the same music teacher, a 70-year- old Dina from Leningrad, an altruistic enthusiast. She used to stay with them after hours, admired their talent and promised them all a bright future if they just work hard enough.
She was also the one who introduced Danny to them.
“Children”, – She said, – “This is Daniel. Cello. Let’s try playing all together”.
Danny sniffled and gawked at them beneath his black curls. The cello was slightly taller than him.
And that’s how their quartet was formed.
They used to perform at every school event and were really popular, even little Danny. Even in their senior year he still looked like a child, only a mane of wild black hair could be seen above his instrument.
After school they always went to this little park with this funny little table and tree stumps for chairs. They tossed aside their backpacks and sat there for hours, eating cookies and crisps, chatting and laughing.
They used to call themselves Dorefasol, after the notes.* Do – for Danny, Re – Rivka, obviously, Solomon – Sol, and Andrey Petrovich got the Fa, because Rivka said he was talking to much – fa-fa-fa. Andrey didn’t protest. He would put up with anything if it came from Rivka.
They all were best of friends – Danny, Rivka, Solomon and Andrey Petrovich.
They were drafted simultaneously, each stationed in a different place, but every weekend, when they came home, they rushed first towards their little table and stumpy chairs, tossed aside their backpacks, took out the snacks and laughed, and laughed…
When they finished their military service, they swore on Eternal Music that no matter what happens in their lives, they would all come here at least once a month, on 7th. And if one of them wouldn’t – he or she is an empty drum and a traitor.
And that’s how it went.
First they used to gather every week, then less and less, but on 7th of every month, 7 pm Shlomy knew as he approached their little table that he would see Fa’s red head, Re’s serene gray eyes and Do’s black curls. It was as certain as summer heat. And when Danny had a son, he called him Michael – Mi, which they were missing.
Daniel died first, in intifada** of 2014.
“He went to Jerusalem with his wife and Mi, there was a terrorist with a knife. Our Little Danny jumped in front of him, got the knife between his ribs, died in the hospital. His wife is alive, Mi too.” – Rivka was saying dryly, and there was frost in her gray eyes.
And then she got into an accident on route 4, her car caught fire and she didn’t have time to get out.
Andrey came to a meeting totally wasted; he was pounding on the table and wailing. He didn’t get a chance to propose to Rivka, he was afraid of rejection.
After that it didn’t take long for him to burn out. He was drinking, getting ill, drinking again. He died smiling. I’m going to see Rivka, he said, kick her ass for not waiting for me…
On the next morning after Andrey passed, Solomon, Sol, the only one left now, saw a black sun in a gray sky.
He stayed away from their little park for several years. He hated music, sold his piano. He was sending money to Daniel’s wife, but didn’t want to talk to her.
And then one day he was walking somewhere, deep in thoughts, when he suddenly saw the familiar little table, funny chairs – and a red head right next to tangled black curls.
His heart skipped a beat, he grasped for air.
Suddenly he heard a whisper: how could you forget us, bro?
He looked closer, blinking through his tears.
There was no reproach in serene gray eyes, but a slight disappointment, as always, whenever Re was unhappy with something.
Right next to her, Little Do shook his curly head, and Fa was squinting with his naughty green eyes and saying: not cool, bro, you dumped the music, forgot the oath, buried your life in the ground… but we love you, we are there for you, everything is going to be fine, yeah?
The second graders sitting around the table were glancing awkwardly at a grown-up man standing next to them, staring blankly and mumbling something without wiping his tears.
A girl with gray eyes couldn’t help herself; she approached him and pulled the hem of his jacket: Something happened you? are you okay, adony?
Yes, he said, smiling faintly, yes, sweetie, now everything is fine.
Translated by Diana Shnaiderman-Pereira
------------ * Israel, like most countries in the world, uses the solfege naming convention Do-Re-Mi-Fa-Sol-La-Si for the musical notes. ** Intifada (Arab for rebellion or uprising) – here refers to several waves of violent attacks on Israeli citizens by Palestinians.