Two Sides of Me Read online

  To Dubi, who introduced me to this wonderful country,

  to Lucia, who walked with me on its hidden paths

  and to Adiva, who guided me through the words.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Two Sides of Me

  Nora Sarel

  Copyright © 2019 Nora Sarel

  All rights reserved; No parts of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information retrieval system, without the permission, in writing, of the author.

  Translation from the Hebrew: Grace Michaeli

  Proofreading: Michael Frenkel

  Contact: [email protected]

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Chapter 25

  I would like to thank

  About The Author

  Message From The Author

  Also By Nora Sarel

  Three Voice

  1

  2

  CHAPTER 1

  She knew what he had to say, but still let him speak. Although she dreaded and knew this moment was coming, she didn’t try to postpone or prevent it. When it came, she couldn’t muster the courage to stand in front of him or look into his eyes as he spoke.

  She stared at the newspaper in her hands, yet listened closely to every word he pronounced, heard her pounding heart and was certain she could hear his. Her legs shivered, she sensed, in her imagination, his shivered too. She didn’t stand up to hug him, although it seemed natural and imminent. She stayed rooted to the sofa whose color she never could define. She was convinced, that he, too, was glued to his place, not even briefly looking at her. What was he leaning up against? The book shelf? The piano? Perhaps he found something to do while he spoke.

  “Alright,” she said, as if he asked for her opinion.

  And he kept talking. Suddenly she thought he leaned towards her, so she threw a quick glance at him but immediately looked away not to be caught in the act. However, he was still in his place, and to her surprise, looked at her. For a split second their eyes met.

  “Look, I have to, it’s such a basic human need, even though you won’t admit it I know I’m hurting you, but I have to know who I am, where I come from, I can’t help it, why are you looking away? Are you even listening? How can other people, who are going through similar events talk and understand? You know I love you and this has nothing to do with that, now is the right time for me and I want it, I need it. I gave a lot of thought about taking this step, and about how I would tell you, you first and then the others, you are the most important person to me… see… I just miss… something I can’t explain… let’s call it the unknown. Clearly, you knew this moment was coming, it’s true we only hinted at it, but you knew and still couldn’t handle the subject, as you do with all subjects, why? Why?”

  His speech was fluent yet calculated, as if he performed in the premier of a play he wrote himself. It seemed to her he had rehearsed many times and remembered his part by heart.

  He knows exactly what to emphasize, where to pause, he knows this text well, she thought.

  She didn’t move and kept looking at her newspaper. The letters flickered in front of her eyes, her thoughts tangled with the letters’ dance.

  How did she not notice he was planning this moment?

  She was too busy with herself, preparing for this moment, that she didn’t consider him at all. Suddenly, she had a strong urge to hug him, caress his almost-completely-shaved head, remembering where his hair used to curl. To kiss his warm palms, as she did when he was baby, to smell his scent when she first held him, in that faraway country, but something stronger than her compelled her to keep sitting and listen to him. Just listen.

  It was a rainy winter day and she decided to come back home earlier, not only because she was worried there would be heavy traffic on the Ayalon Highway, but also since she knew Gadi was already back on his much-anticipated vacation from the army. True, they talked on the phone an hour ago, and she saw him just a couple of days before. Still, this was a special day, she thought to herself, not every day my only child is being discharged from the army, especially after serving in the Territories for so long.

  However, when she opened the door she realized the house was empty. The apartment was dark and cold. The small kitchen table suddenly seemed sad. She placed on it the cake she bought at the expensive bakery that had recently opened under her office. Then quickly turned on the lights and heat and put his favorite tomato soup, to which she went into trouble of making yesterday, on the stove.

  How she wanted to come to a warm and bright home, dreamed of how both of them, just the two of them, would sit in the kitchen, sip the steaming hot soup and have cake for dessert. She realized all she dreamed of would not happen today.

  So she crashed on the sofa in front of the TV, took off her shoes, and covered her legs with the plaid blanket. When she grabbed the newspaper, the door opened and Gadi walked in. Happiness overwhelmed her, excitement rushed through her veins, but the moment she wanted to hug him he stood not too far away from her, but not too close either, looked down and said, “Mom, I want to have a word with you.”

  She knew what he was about to tell her, and yet she let him speak, she couldn’t muster the courage to stand in front of him and look into his eyes.

  She sunk deeper into the sofa and kept staring at her newspaper, yet she listened to every word coming out of his mouth.

  “Look, it’s a bit hard for me to talk to you about this, so don’t stop me, let me explain.”

  Maybe we can wait for Dad and you’ll explain to both of us, she wanted to suggest, but couldn’t make a sound.

  “Mom, can you hear me? Are you listening?”

  Maybe we can have some hot soup first? She tried mumbling to postpone the inevitable, but her voice was not heard.

  “Mom, please listen, look at me, I bought tickets, yes, I’m going to Brazil. Mom, I want you to understand, after three years in the army I feel I have to see the world. Being discharged means being liberated, also from what weighs you down, it’s the right time, I’m old enough to face the truth. Look, I have to, it’s such a basic human need to look for the woman who gave birth to me.”

  “I understand,” she answered him in a different voice, coming from distant depths instead of her throat.

  Although she managed to say something, Gadi kept demanding and begging, “Talk to me, your silence scares me, mom. I’m asking you to speak, I need you more than ever, look at me.” He then left his spot, walked over to her, and when he stood close enough caresse
d her shoulders, which quickly reacted to his touch, making his hesitation disappear. “Mommy, don’t cry,” he whispered to her shivering body.

  CHAPTER 2

  At around the age eight Gadi started asking questions.

  One day, after coming back from Grandma and Grandpa and hearing their stories about Brazil, he understood he was different.’ He wanted to know more, so he asked and asked:

  Why is my skin dark?

  Why am I darker than Dad?

  Why don’t I have a brother or a sister?

  Why are all children born from the tummy and only I was born from the heart?

  Why am I called the adopted child? What is an adopted child?

  How did you choose me?

  Where is Brazil? What do kids play there?

  What do they eat there? What do they wear in the summer?

  What language do they speak?

  When he was thirteen, he asked to go to Brazil and meet his biological parent, and all the while kept asking his questions:

  Why did they give me away?

  Didn’t they love me?

  What did they look like?

  Do they look like me?

  Do I have siblings in Brazil?

  Do I have another grandma and grandpa in Brazil?

  Are they Jewish?

  Do they know where I am? Did they look for me? Did they send me any letters?

  When he was fifteen, he no longer asked or demanded answers. He knew that someday he would go looking for answers and his family members in Brazil, who he referred to from that day on as ‘the biologicals.’

  He, then, told Omri and Ido of his plan.

  This was the first time he brought up the subject with someone other than his family. They have been his best friends for years.

  The day Gadi turned sixteen his father, Dani, gave him a special present: scuba-diving classes. Gadi was excited, not only because of the present, but also because he thought this was a great opportunity to do manly stuff with his father. Gadi was also very pleased with his body changing; a soft stubble sprouted on his chin, his voice thickened and he grew taller. He also realized he matured when girls would look at him and giggle. Even their neighbor, Ilan, didn’t recognize him, which is why he didn’t mock him, as he always did, in a childish tone: “What grade are you in?.” Instead he asked “How are you, bro?” while patting him on the shoulder.

  He and Dad went together to the diving classes; his father explained he wanted to experience what he couldn’t do when he was younger. “People didn’t use to do it, back then” he justified himself.

  The classes were in Eilat. Every day, until 4 P.M. they practiced diving, wore diving suites and masks, attached pressure gauges and scuba tanks. Gadi was the youngest of the group and Dani, his father, the eldest. Every day, after dinner, they sat with the other group members on the diving club balcony. Gadi listened to all their jokes and stories, not once did he feel inferior or immature. On the last day of the course they threw a party. When it ended, everybody went to their rooms, as they usually did, but it was then when Dad offered Gadi to take a walk around Eilat’s boardwalk.

  “We’re not diving tomorrow,” he said, “it’s alright if we’re tired, we’ll sleep on the ride back.”

  These were the first days of summer, and still all the cafes on the boardwalk were unusually empty of crowding tourists. They sat one in front of the other, Dani had a coffee and Gadi a milkshake. A warm desert wind blew. Summer vacation atmosphere was in the air.

  An unfamiliar silence stood between them. For some reason Dani seemed excited and embarrassed. He put on the table a book bound in brown leather, the same book Gadi saw earlier when they were sitting on the club balcony, and even then, he asked himself what was the object his father held on so tightly? He had forgotten about it until that moment when the book reappeared.

  “What is that?” he asked curiously, “A diving book? Analbum?”

  Dani stalled and finally simply said, “Much more valuable,” yet, he struggled to keep talking and elaborate, but couldn’t.” After a long moment of silence, he said, “Gadi, this is your adoption travel diary, I kept it locked away in hidden drawers, so I didn’t have to share it with anyone else. I allowed mom to read it once, and she, so sensitive, cried.”

  Gadi’s legs started to tremble. He could feel little pinches in his stomach, the same ones he gets whenever he’s excited. That strange and irritating sensation, which was uncontrollable, overtook him. He reached out to take the diary, pressed it to his chest, but didn’t look through it. He just looked lovingly at the brown cover and caressed it.

  Dani went on. “Today, I would like to give it to you. You’re at the right age and this diary was written and dedicated to you. When I wrote it, I thought I would give it to you when you turned eighteen, but I couldn’t wait. I know it will answer many of your questions. Some of which you asked and are still unanswered, and some you never asked but were out there. I’m sure it’s important for you to know.” He became silent while Gadi kept caressing the diary’s leather cover.

  They sat there for a long while, unable to move from their emotional storm within. Finally, Dani got out of his chair and stood up. He then added briefly, somewhat distant and formal, “If you have any questions, I’m at your service.”

  The way back to the hotel was long and exhausting.

  “Good night,” Dani announced when they entered their room. He turned off his reading light and fell asleep. However, Gadi kept holding the diary, caressing it, examining all its sides. Only when he was certain his father was asleep did he slowly begin flipping through the pages, as if the words might swallow him whole.

  Wednesday, February 10th, 1982

  The moment we decided to travel to Brazil and adopt a child, I knew I would keep a diary. The thought that we were about to begin a long and unknown journey, awakened the need to document the experience, possibly, for future generations. Dafne is more closed a person than I am, she rarely shows her feelings, perhaps, is even ashamed of them. That is why I naturally took on this role.

  We finally arrived two hours ago to Curitiba. Dafne looks exhausted from the flight, but the end justifies the means. We were traveling for over thirty hours. We flew from Israel to Madrid, waited at the airport for seven hours, and from there off to Rio de Janeiro. We also waited five hours at the Rio de Janeiro airport, after which we boarded a one and half hour flight to Curitiba.

  But why should that matter? What matters is that we come back with our baby. We can’t wait for what comes next.

  Thursday, February 11th, 1982

  We met Sebastian today, the contact sent by the adoption agency to guide us through the process. His English is broken but good enough for us to understand. He seems nice and kind. We drove with Sebastian to meet Dona Arlete, the owner of the adoption agency who we tried to contacting by phone from Israel. We couldn’t get much information on our transatlantic conversation, but we understood there is legal difficulty when it comes to adopting children from Brazil. So, we thought it necessary to come here as soon as possible and talk to her in person. Today, I know that the adoption process in Brazil is challenging because the government piles on red tape, and most adoptions are made through illegal agencies. That is probably why DonaArlete refrained from giving us any information, but strongly claimed that unlike other agencies, hers was legal and assured us everything would be fine. She didn’t want to talk over the phone about money and barely answered our questions. We could sense she was being very cautious. We actually gathered the information from friends who also adopted children from Brazil, and who asked us not to give up despite the difficulties. They told us this was the best country to adopt from, mostly because Brazilian children don’t look so different than Israeli ones. They went on to say that some of the kids have a light complexion, and those who don’t, aren’t that dark. So, if one of us was blessed
with darker skin, as I am, we should certainly adopt a Brazilian child. We learned that adopting children of a different race is no small thing, so we wanted a child that looks like us. Adoption possibilities in Israel are limited, the number of children put up for adoption is low, the list is long and there the obstacles are endless. Our second option was adopting a child from the far east, which seemed to me unfair towards the adopted child who would have to deal with his uncommon appearance. I know the French adopt children from Morocco and the Swedes adopt in Eastern Europe, however, we Israelis can’t go there.

  We were first deterred by the fact that adoption was mostly illegal in Brazil, we were at first. However, after further research we understood it was one of the few countries in which the government looked the other way, and eventually allowed the documents to go through court, making the adoption legal.

  We were told thousands of homeless Brazilian children wandered the streets, adoption being the ideal solution for them. However, Brazilian pride prevented them from providing these children a better home in a foreign country and by doing so, admitting they cannot raise them. This is why on the one hand they make it harder and on the other they allow adoption.

  At around 11 A.M. we arrived at an old bleak office building, located at a bustling area not far away from the central bus station on Andre de Barros street. “Here’s the adoption agency,” Sebastian told us and pointed at the blue sign with the number thirty-five on it. We climbed up the black stairs to the second floor. A thick wooden door creaked open, but no one stood behind it. We followed Sebastian into the apartment. Then, we saw Dona Arlete, who stood up to greet us with a soft look and friendly handshake. The door slammed behind us by an invisible hand and we were invited to sit on the three chairs, which have seen better days, placed around her desk. The room, which perhaps used to be an office, did not seem in use today. The furniture was scant and poor; an old, stationery-free desk, without as much as a phone on it. The walls were bare of books or pictures – nothing. Dona Arlete, a full-figured woman who wore an extremely tight blue suit, spoke to us and her pleasant voice echoed in the almost empty room. She immediately told us she was actually German. I examined her thoroughly and thought to myself, of all people, this German woman would put us out of our misery and give us a child. This is not how I imagined her; I thought I would meet a typical Brazilian woman, younger and darker. Not a woman in her late fifties, with bright blonde dyed curls perfectly in place. Our conversation was short and practical. Dona Arlete explained that in the following week we’ll meet newborns in orphanages and pregnant women. When we decide which of the children we want, the infant will go through medical examinations and the adoption will be authorized by the court. She suggested we explore the city between meetings. Other than the required down payment to handle the tricky process, she almost didn’t mention the payment issue. She hinted she would probably have to grease some hands along the way.