of lips and war

by Alexei Raymond

“I’m parked on the other side of the road.”

“Alright, coming.”

Nick’s text made Jonathan hurry as he laced up his boots. Ok, ok. He stood up and took one last glance in the mirror. The outfit he’d chosen seemed decent enough. He loved the heft of his new boots. His brown hair didn’t look as bad if he simply suppressed his concerns. The perfume he’d sprayed onto his wrists and neck tingled in his nostrils. They were to meet up with David at a local, cheap restaurant they’d been disappointed by countless times before and yet still defaulted to as their regular spot. The trio had grown up together and been bonded by their shared immigrant identity. Nick and Jonathan, Russian friends since first grade, were joined in second grade by David, who arrived from Ethiopia. That night, that year of war, they were on the cusp of their 30s. To sporadically reconvene and maintain the trio was a habit they were proud of. They’d decided to meet up due to Nick’s anxious insistence that they see him off. Jonathan immediately made himself available, while David hesitated and seemed to struggle with finding the time. Until eventually he did. Both understood the significance and what it meant for Nick.

Jonathan’s heavy boots thudded down the apartment building’s dark stairwell. Outside, the March air carried the fragrant notes of early spring flowers. Every breath threatened a memory, each tied to a different flower. Jonathan had no knowledge of their names, but each one placed him somewhere in the past. He spotted Nick’s slick, new car parked on the other side of the road: a void-black Mazda. It was a newer version of the model he used to excitedly point out on the road in their early school days. The short walk to the car of whoever came by to pick him up always lightly annoyed him. The eyes from the awaiting car would make Jonathan feel somewhat vulnerable and at the mercy of judgements made from behind windows. He covered the short distance, sat down in the passenger seat, and avoided Nick’s eyes. Autopilot compliments followed.

“Man, what a car! Looks serious. And goddamn, the interior is really nice too,” Jonathan ran his hand across the paneling, not feeling too enthused but making sure to perform appreciation. He then turned to look at his childhood friend in the driver’s seat, though still avoided eye contact. Nick had his hair cropped short. He seemed comfortable, embowered as he was in the new car.

“Yeah, dude. I fucking love it. And the condition’s great. I mean, it looks brand new, right?”

“Absolutely. Would never have guessed that it’s second hand.” Jonathan clicked the seatbelt into place and looked ahead and sometimes out the right-hand window.

“And d’you already sell the old one?”

“Yup. Some guy bought it off me without even asking to check it. Kinda dumb, honestly.”

“Hah, and he won’t come back to bother you?”

“Nah, I told him the brakes are a bit iffy. It’s his problem now.”

Jonathan worried they’d exhaust small talk before reaching the restaurant where David waited. His mind sped up as he looked to stave the silence away, and whatever it would threaten to bring. Nick, apparently unaware of the tension, focused on the road with ease. Jonathan always wondered whether he alone nursed some distaste for silence between them.

“Wait, so when are you supposed to go?” Jonathan allowed himself to briefly look in Nick’s direction once more as he asked the more pertinent question.

“Tomorrow evening,” Nick paused to consult the rearview mirror. “Gotta get ready in the morning. Then I have to drive to some base down south to get geared up, go to the firing range. Just a refresh before they send me in.”

“Huh. And how long will you be there?”

“Right now, they’re telling me it’ll be for three months, so I should be out by the end of June.”

The concrete topic—one Jonathan sincerely cared about—made the conversation go smoother and obstructed the ever-present peculiarity of their bond. He considered what Nick had been saying, and his apparently calm demeanor about the prospect of going into what could be active combat. It was a far cry from Nick’s earlier, more sensible state in the war. Jonathan couldn’t understand why Nick was choosing to go when he could’ve just as easily stayed at home, the way Jonathan had. Besides, hadn’t Nick been paralyzed by PTSD that first day when he’d been called by his commanding officer? Hadn’t Jonathan heard that Nick’s parents had to hide his handgun for fear he… And yet, Jonathan couldn’t bring himself to ask him why. Plainly. He figured that that had Nick explained his insistence on going with an argument Jonathan found offensive or reprehensible, then—no, just let it be. He circled subdued resentment and a sense of having been betrayed.

“What about you? Still talking to that girl or…?” Nick’s head periodically swiveled as he looked through and beyond Jonathan.

“It’s… It’s difficult. I don’t know. We’re trying to stay in touch,” Jonathan’s surveyed the roads as if trying to find the route by which to escape the topic. They were going down Carmel Street.

“I know how it is. Same deal with my ex.”

The car drifted into a parking spot beside the curb, and the two began the short walk to the nearby restaurant. The street glistened with prior rain—the last drops before the impending summer heat. As they walked, Jonathan briefly wondered whether they should’ve shaken hands or embraced with a tap on the shoulder upon exiting the car.

“Where’s David? He already there?”

“I think so. Difficult to schedule anything with that fucker. Let’s make him pay for the whole night.”

They slipped through the narrow bar and into the restaurant’s garden. Tables abounded and took up space without any regard for arrangement or order. Both scanned the tables for David’s ever-smiling face. He’d been seated at the far end of the garden and hailed them to join him. After a grounding handshake, Jonathan sat at the head of the low table; David and Nick took the sides.

“Been here long?”

“Nah, just sat down like three minutes ago.” David then turned to look at Nick.

“So, you’re going into Gaza, huh? Fuckin’ A, man. Respect.” His smile was a mixture of awe and some incredulity. He slapped Nick’s shoulder. The bravado and endorsement in David’s voice irked Jonathan, who was immediately reminded of how David tried to encourage Nick into bravery that first day of the war.

“Yeah, kinda worried though. But I’ll just be guarding some outpost. Don’t think I’ll be seeing any action. I don’t really want to.”

Once again, David was quick to offer reassurances as his voice invoked normalcy and dismissive calm, “No big deal. You’ll be safe there and probably bored out of your mind. You got this, man.”

Nick seemed to take in David’s confidence with ambivalence, neither alleviated by it, nor too bothered. Jonathan distractedly read through the laminated menu in search of a drink. He struggled to hide his immense disappointment in Nick’s recovery, and his distaste for David’s easy words of encouragement. His hope was to hear arguments that would dissuade Nick from going, though it felt like all the indirect ones ran out, and no more left Jonathan’s lips. An antithesis swirled within him, which was sometimes the cause for long periods of disconnect in the trio, or more active, argumentative flare-ups. Sometimes Nick and David’s casual, cavalier cruelty about the war seemed too much to bear and fuck it and go to hell a breaking of all ties felt enticing and liberating. Jonathan was not sure how to balance their age-old camaraderie with their divergent beliefs. It had been his constant worry that they’d somehow find out, and…  I need a drink.

Jonathan caught a server’s eye and held it until she reached their table. A pleasant girl with a twinkle in her eye, and much to Jonathan’s taste. The trio diverted their attention to her until her notepad was full of everything they wished to drink and eat. As she walked away, David leered in Jonathan’s direction.

“She was totally eyeing you.”

“What? She was? I didn’t notice anything.” Jonathan did, in fact, notice and allow his eyes to linger as they held eye contact. He couldn’t help it, despite his reluctance to engage in anything new. He deflected the attention from himself.

“Are you still studying? Where are you these days?”

“Just got done with my exams, finally. I’ll probably move away from Be’er Sheva soon. Might actually move in with my girlfriend.”

“You have a girlfriend? Since when?” Nick piped up at the information.

“Yeah, man. Anat. We’ve been together for like half a year now. You should meet her. But Jonathan, man, I don’t want you scaring her!” David exclaimed with mock severity.

“Why would I scare her?” Genuine puzzlement crossed Jonathan’s face, despite picking up on David’s joking tone.

“You and your politics, man! She’ll fuckin’ think you’re—” What?

The server came back with two chilled beers and a tumbler of neat whiskey. The three halted their conversation as she placed a drink before each one. When she left, Nick raised his beer to initiate a toast.

“C’mon, I need this.”

“Right, let’s hope you have a boring time over there. You’ll kick ass and be back before you know it.”

“Nick, man. Just don’t try anything stupid. If shit goes down, lay low. Stay safe. You don’t need that. Alright? And you can always just bail on them. Go home.”

The three glasses clinked, and Jonathan tried to gauge Nick’s emotion from the rim of his glass. Where David was transparent to him, there was something opaque about Nick. He couldn’t be sure whether the confusion originated in Nick or in himself.

Soon light snacks arrived to accompany the drinks, and with them a more comfortable kind of conversation. The three men inevitably and loudly began to utter names and nicknames of past classmates, to offer whatever news they’d heard, to joke and gossip. In their collective mind’s eye, the trio turned back into what it had been throughout their school years: a mischievous trio of mild delinquents, testing boundaries though rarely stepping across them. Inseparable. Where one was seen, the other two were naturally expected to materialize from around a corner. The two Russians and the Ethiopian. Together, their coalition allowed them to—however imperfectly—shield one another from local abuse. From those who’d been displeased with the dormant debris that had been coaxed to the holy land from the expansive, atheist Soviet Union. From others who recoiled due to the Black skin of the ones who’d been shuttled there with promises of love and religious unity. The trio’s memories of their shared past, largely spent together in the same few neighborhoods, mollified the tensions born from the recent years of adulthood. 

“Oh my god, Peanut. I haven’t seen the guy in years.”

Nick struggled to compose his words through debilitating laughter, “He—Do you remember that video?” he was seized by more laughter before continuing, “When that guy accidentally kicked him? That noise he made. Holy shit.”

“Oh fuck, I remember now!” David’s laughter was naturally overlaid onto Nick’s, same as it ever was. The sound disarmed Jonathan.

“Dude, what about Ethan? Where’s he at? Fucking gangster. Wouldn’t be surprised if he's a serial killer by now.” Jonathan’s eyes gleamed with comfort in the well-known, boyish territory of their youth. Though somewhere in that wealth of memories lay a shadow none approached. The degree with which each remembered what lay in it was inconclusive and would likely remain so. However boisterous they’d grown over their drinks and recollections; the delicate perimeter had never been crossed, nor approached. Even David, the less involved of the three, either consciously steered clear, or had forgotten whatever he’d known. No one ever questioned why the carefree embraces and laidback attitudes so common to other groups of men seemed to elide their trio. A handshake was all they could muster, and any accidental brush, or touch, was ejected from consciousness. Strange questions lingered alongside and predated the more recent political divides. A lull settled; the peak of laughter having passed.

“Jonathan, what’s with that girl though? You still together?” David’s question made Jonathan realize that he hadn’t updated them on the uneasy dissolution he still felt mired in. His desire to confide was at odds with the shame he’d felt. Out of the conflict not much of substance could leave his lips, save for a surface-level summary. The topic could be visited at some other time, if at all. It was on that failure’s account that he was still bound to Israel.

“Not really. We’re still trying to be friends. I care about her and her situation’s not easy. So... But—She feels hurt and I guess maybe mad at me for not—for not going back there and trying more. But I couldn’t,” Jonathan felt at a loss for words, “she was just—"

“Hey, it’s ok. We can talk about it later, ok?” David interrupted and seemed to sit with the incomplete information for a moment, not asking for elaboration. Nick remained quiet, sipping his beer. Jonathan was surprised by how comforted he felt by the minimal response, even if they didn’t quite know what they were comforting him about, beyond the general breakup. It was enough, and all Jonathan could bear at the moment.

But instead of the conversation moving back to the comfortable past, it moved on to pressing matters of war and politics. It made him tense up as he again felt the need to straddle the thin line between honesty and noncommittal, nonconfrontational assent. Though the topics at hand were of life and death, of the justice or injustice inflicted upon millions, he couldn’t find it in himself to value moral principle over the only friends he had left, despite his private ire. He tried to tune out the bile that left their mouths, focusing instead on overheard words from other tables or the incoherent music that played too loudly. He knotted his brow and chewed his lip, imagining scorn directed at him from like-minded individuals from across the world. He dismissed the distant, imagined figures with another sip of acrid whiskey. I’ve done enough. I’ve done what I can. The thick glass of the tumbler slammed down on the table with too much force. He squeezed the glass until he worried he’d shatter it. He let it go.

Suddenly, perhaps due to Jonathan’s lesser participation, Nick turned to lighter topics and released some of the tension Jonathan held. It was possible to focus and listen once more.

“Once I’m back from reserve duty, I just know I’ll be itching to take a long vacation somewhere. South Korea, Japan, maybe. I’ll get another tattoo. Fuck it, let’s all go together. How about December?”

“Man, I’d actually love to. I’ll look into it. But… Damn. I’m still kind of on the fence about whether I want to go back to school, or I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t be spending money right now.” Indeterminate limbo had been Jonathan’s state as of late, although escapism always seemed enticing.

“What? Why the fuck would you go back to school? Don’t do that to yourself, man. And I’m down for the trip—just gotta find a job first, then go.” David spoke with the assurance Jonathan craved. Nick drained the last of his beer and wiped foam from his lip, “Sounds good to me. So, I guess let me know, alright? Let’s get out of here for now—I’m kinda anxious to get home.”

“Yeah, I’ll get the waitress.” Jonathan instinctively looked for the girl with the twinkle in her eye, though—somewhat disappointingly—a different one came up to deal with the payment. After having dealt with the check, the trio languidly navigated through the chairs and tables until they were out in the wide freedom of the street. They walked toward Nick’s new car.

“Hey Nick, I think I’ll walk. I know it’d be a detour for you anyways.”

“But I don’t mind. You sure?” Nick’s car unlocked with a soft note.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“David, coming along?”

“Damn, dude. Of course. Fuckin’ nice ride!” David opened the passenger door with glee and took a seat. Jonathan lingered and felt the approach of the goodbye; the need for mild conclusions. Won’t you just stay home? Why do you need this?

“Alright, Nick. Don’t try too hard over there. Tell us how it goes,” he briefly shook Nick’s hand, taking it away before the sensation of skin registered.

“Yeah, man. Thanks. I’ll see you.”

Jonathan waved David goodbye, then turned and walked up the street without looking back. He was accompanied by tall palm trees.

And on the lonely, lovely walk home, Jonathan’s mind cycled between the tides of war he could remove only himself from, love’s inexplicable failure to surmount, and how he’d known, known the taste of his lips. Known too with unassailable certainty that the fact would never see the light of day, for what occurred in some past, afternoon shadow, in front of a turned-off CRT screen—eyes closed—could venture no further than that room, in that time. Before long, the overwhelming swirl within him gave rise to nausea. His sick stained the corner of the town hall, across from the old winery. He spat and broke into delirious laughter as tears washed away his eyesight. Jonathan wiped his lips and his eyes, then continued the walk home.

Break. Gasp. Now again.

Photo of Alexi Raymond

BIO: Alexei Raymond is a writer whose work explores post-Soviet diasporic lives, moments of threshold, and fractured identities. Originally from the Middle East, he is currently based in Belgrade. His stories appear in The Bloomin’ Onion, Lowlife Lit Press, and The Crawfish. Connect with him at x.com/enemyofcruelty.