Chapter 75, (PG 16) Musical Instruments

     My favorite pants, the blue jeans, ripped. To my dismay the knees were torn but I was pleased to find out the rest of the pants were fine. I turned them into shorts. For the left over I had a plan. Boots, I never had fun boots, the military boots weren’t my style, although I started seeing people starting to wear these kinds of boots and dressed in black. I wanted to make something new, something fun, something no one had.

 

   Dad had some black rubber sheets he needed for his work. I asked him for some and using my sneakers I marked the shape of the sole of the foot. I cut a few layers and created a sole for the boots. The Shape of the top of the boot was exactly a copy of my sneakers. I made templates from paper and cut the Jeans accordingly. With a thick needle and thread, I sowed it all together. They weren’t the most comfortable shoes, but they were unique. They were a little too flat, yet I still wore them for a long time. 

 

   “Fancy boots!” Said Efri when I walked to his house “Where did you get them?”

 “Thanks! I Made them from the legs of these shorts.”

 “No way! Before I forget, this evening when we go to the park, I invited a friend of mine for you to meet. He plays the guitar too. But the songs he picks are different than ours and so are his cords.”

 “Nice! I am always eager to learn to play new songs.”

 

    Tzvi, was a new immigrant from Belgium. He still had a slight French/Dutch and sounded very smart. I lent him my guitar and he played some French songs as well as Leonard Cohen’s songs. He used a lot of bar cords that were still a little difficult for me to play. I got most excited when he started playing some of Cat Steven’s songs.

 “I must learn to play those songs.” I said out loud.

 “Come over tomorrow afternoon, we can exchange some music.” He answered excitedly.

When I got to his house the next day, he had another friend over, Naftali, another new immigrant. Naftali was from Holland and he was a drum player. 

 “I would love to learn to play the guitar.” Said Naftali.

 “And I would love to learn to play the drums,” I said. “how about swopping? I will lend you my guitar for a month and you will land me your drums, we can exchange tips.”

 “Juice and cookies?” a soft voice asked behind me. 

 “Aaaaahh…” As usual, I couldn’t utter a word. A very pretty young woman stood behind me with a tray of cookies and orange juice. 

 “My sister Anna,” said Tzvi. “She just finished her military service and is about to go to the seminar for teachers. Thanks Anna!”

She left the tray on the table and just as quietly as she came in and left the room.

 “She will be teaching French at some evening class for students who want some extra credits toward their high school diploma.” 

 

    It didn’t take long, I registered to the French class. As you remember, I do speak French since childhood, but I didn’t know how to read or write French. It was just as good time as any to start. Twice a week after work, I would be at the French class learning nothing but just dreaming about the pretty teacher with the soft voice in front of us. The other evenings I was practicing the drums. If you were to walk next to our building you would see the whole building dark except for my window where a bad noise of offbeat drumming would blast the whole neighborhood. Everyone left and went shopping or just to walk far away from us for that hour. It took me about 3 weeks to finally learn and coordinate my hands and legs to be able to keep the beat but then, a week later I met with Yuval. Remember him? Many years ago, we went on a family trip to a kibbutz in the north and saw the leopard. Anyway, Yuval plays the trumpet. One more instrument I wanted to learn to play.

 “You should come to the king’s park; we play and sing almost every night.” I told Yuval. We haven’t seen each other for years. “How is Anat?”

 “She is fine come visit; you’ll see her. I will give you a few lessons in trumpet.”

 “I’ll swop back with my friend Naftali and will bring you, my guitar. I will give you some lessons too.”

 

Anat was just as cute as I remembered her to be many years ago and their father; Tuvia just came back from the sea. He was still wearing a wet suit and had big fish hanging on his belt.

 “Hey Tuvia!”

 “What’s new, Kid? How’s Dad?”

 “He is fine thanks, you snorkel?” 

 “SCUBA, I dive.”

 “I always wanted to dive, I wanted to join the seals, but I ended up going to the air force.”

 “Well, you can always do it on your own, it will cost you, but it is possible.”

Yuval and I swoped instruments and needlessly to say, my neighbors still left their apartment every afternoon for the next few weeks. I didn’t like it either. Playing trumpet was not for me. I did learn how to, but it would have taken me a few years to master. I would have done better with the drums. But the guitar was for me. 

 

    That Friday night, I was back at the park with Efri, Meir, Tzvi, Naftali, and a few other girls who gathered around us. I was playing “Let it Be” when I felt a hand caressing my back and a soft voice singing with me. Naftali taught me how to play this song. He played it on the piano and gave me the cords. After transposing the cords from piano to guitar, I managed to learn the song. 

For a moment I was sure the mystery girl was back. She had soft curly hair, lightly brown skin and very soft touch.

 “Ya’el” she whispered when I finished playing the song. 

 “Tibi”

 “How often do you play here?” she asked with a slight French accent.

 “Almost every night, but I will be tomorrow morning at the beach with my guitar.”

 “I will be there if you walk me home tonight,” she said with a smile exposing her white teeth.

    “I detect a slight French accent, where are you from?” I asked when we met at the main beach, the next morning.

 “So do you, my parents are from Tunisia.”

 “You’re kidding, my parents are from Tunisia too.” I looked at her and discovered the light hair on her upper lip. I am not sure what gave me the courage, I reached over and gave her a kiss on the lips. She backed up for a moment and then grabbed my head and kissed me back.

 “You didn’t mind my little mustache,” she whispered and pulled me back for another long kiss. By the time my friends showed up, it was the guitar on the sand who gave us in. I don’t think they would have found us, because we were covered with sand. We were rolling in the sand necking and kissing and what not, we practically dug a hole in the ground. Someone almost stumbled over us. I had to go to the water really quick before people see what’s growing inside my bathing suit. As soon as I got back all clean of sand, I picked up the guitar and everyone was again sitting in a circle singing along.

 

  Unfortunately, that relationship didn’t last long. Ya’el was a year older than me and was at the age of joining the military, but she decided to declare orthodox. Orthodox women don’t have to join the military. Some of them would volunteer to do some other service like teaching or helping other community services. Ya’el didn’t plan on doing any.

 “Let’s stop talking about this,” she said as she pushed her hand inside my pants.

We were at the dark side of a small park not far from my house. “Gan Hagiborim - the Park of the Heroes” was known for a place where young people would escape to and, you know what. There were a few other parks like that, like the King’s Park overlooking the beach. The cleaning crew would collect there used rubbers every morning. We were at our little corner when I was struggling to open Ya’el’s bra and she was working on my fly. We kissed for a while and before you know it my underwear got soiled. She was about to take her pants off when I stopped her.

 “You know,” I said, “I think you should wait. You are orthodox and I wouldn’t want to do it unless you are very sure about it.”

The next evening when I went to pick her up, she wasn’t even ready to go. At her door she looked at me and whispered; “I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” and closed the door.

I stood there dumfounded for a few moments, turned around and walked down to “Pundak HaYam” to have my favorite bag of fries.

 

***

 

Fresh Pickled Cucumbers

This is one of my favorite salads my mom made, and I still make it to these days. I believe it is a Tunisian recipe. Both my aunt and my grandmother were making it every time we visited. It is easy, light and refreshing

Cutup Cucumber to ¼” Strips
put in a zip lock with Sea Salt
Fresh Garlic
Freshly Squeezed Lemon
Fresh Dill
Refrigerate for 2 hours and serve cold as a side dish.

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