The Celestial Gate

by Avital Dicker

  Sual put the frying pan back in place and filled the kettle. “I don’t understand why my son doesn’t divorce you,” the old woman sighed. “You’re defective! Broken! Not a single grandchild have I gotten out of you, and you can’t even cook.” Sual, familiar with Hasham’s moods, ignored her and poured the hot tea into a glass on the table. The old hag looked at Sual, snorted, and demonstratively hurled the glass full of hot tea onto the floor. “You even mess up the tea! The only thing you’re good for is costing me money.”

  Some of the hot liquid had splashed onto Sual’s ankle. It stung. Sual blushed.

  “So? What are you waiting for?” the old crone screamed. “Clean up this mess and make me another cup.”

  At that moment, something in Sual cracked. She dropped the red-hot frying pan onto the floor, causing the cauliflower bits to scatter in every direction. Her entire body shook. She grabbed her wallet, wrapped her head in a scarf, and ran out the door.

  She spent the rest of the day aimlessly wandering the narrow alleyways of the city. In the Armenian Quarter, she stopped to buy a cold soft drink, savoring the cooling sweetness sliding down her throat. She knew what awaited her back home, but at that moment she didn’t care.

  “Hello,” she heard someone say in American-accented English. The voice was coming from behind her shoulder. Probably another tourist who’s lost his way in the Old City, Sual thought, reluctantly turning around to help give directions.

  Her first instinct was to run. The face she saw stunned her. The blue eyes from Yusuf’s hummus made her legs shake.

  I can’t be seen next to him, she thought in panic and started walking quickly away, casting anxious glances around her.

  Nonetheless, when she’d reached a safe distance, Sual held back no longer and turned back to look at the stranger, who was stepping lightly and confidently up the alley, receding from view. Only a truly free person walks like that, she thought. The American turned left and entered the courtyard of a white-painted building at the end of the alley. The peeling sign above the gate read “Hostel” in English. Of course, Sual knew the place from her frequent walks through the Old City. This is where young backpackers and sometimes members of the foreign press stayed.

  Her heart beat fast. She looked around once again to make sure no one who recognized her was around. The murky alley was completely abandoned. Without thinking twice, moving fast, afraid she might have second thoughts, she approached the hostel, yanked at the door handle, and slipped down the interior courtyard to a narrow corridor ending in a staircase.

  He was leaning against the doorframe of his room, looking at her. She walked in without looking at him, and he closed the door behind her.

  The stranger moved slowly toward her until he touched her. The heat of his body made her dizzy. In a sensual motion, he peeled back her headscarf so that her hair was loosened and lay around her shoulders. Sual didn’t resist. She didn’t want to resist.

  When Sual woke up, it was already dark outside. Suddenly, reality flooded back. Scared, she quickly moved the hand lying on her stomach, taking care not to wake him. Sual looked at his sleeping form, engraving his facial features onto her memory, then quickly dressed and slipped out the heavy door, praying that nobody would see her.

  With her eyes cast down and the burka carefully covering her hair and face, she quickly made her way back up the alley toward home.

  She knew almost nothing about him, except that his name was Michael. Their conversation had been in English, and he spoke too quickly for her high school grasp of the language. But from what she gathered, he was a journalist covering Israel. He said something about there always being a war in this region, so there was always something to write about, and he also said he lived in New York. He smelled of soap. Sual, before even leaving the room, already longed for the tenderness and warmth of his caressing touch.

  Back home, she opened the entrance door quietly, praying that the old hag was asleep. Fortunately for her, Mahmud and his father were still at work. Her thoughts meandered back to the events of the last few hours. I’ll never see Michael again, she thought, still not understanding how she’d dared take such a risk. But – oh, how marvelous it had been. She smiled to herself.

  No matter what happened, she would have no regrets. She would never regret those hours. For the first time in her life, Sual felt that she, too, had the right to happiness.

  Hearing the old woman’s snores coming from the master bedroom, she breathed deeply with relief and climbed the stairs to her room. She took a quick shower, changed her clothes, and when Mahmud and his father were back from work, supper waited for them on the table as usual. Sual served them in silence, exactly as she did every other night.

  Sual looked at the floor. Water was trickling down between her legs, creating a puddle on the cool stone floor. “Mahmud,” she whispered, but he turned over on his other side and continued to snore.

  A scream of pain escaped her when she felt the first contraction cutting her body in two. She shook her husband hard. “Mahmud, wake up, I’m having the baby.” He finally woke up. Mahmud drove her to the hospital and dropped her off at the entrance, refusing to enter with her. Sual made an effort to remain standing. She felt humiliated, but she couldn’t blame him. Both of them were trapped in an impossible situation. At least he hadn’t beaten her and she had no right to demand more. She hoped that the old crone would calm down after the birth and things might improve between them.

  Sual turned around to wave to Mahmud but he’d already driven off.

  A nurse eased her into a wheelchair. “Nobody with you?’ she asked.

  Sual didn’t answer. The nurse assumed her silence was due to the frequent contractions.

  A few hours later, a young doctor in white smiled at her. “You have a beautiful baby girl,” she said, placing the newborn in Sual’s arms.

  Sual looked at the infant with the blonde curls and large blue eyes and despaired. Nobody would believe Mahmud had fathered this child.

  “What will you call her?” the nurse asked.

  “Anise,” Sual whispered, “I’m going to call her Anise.”

  Chapter 4

  Yam

  Amalia walked slowly down Gordon Street. Although she was nine months pregnant, her silhouette remained slim, and from the rear, it was impossible to tell she was carrying an infant in her belly. Her tight T-shirt provided little coverage above the skirt that was slung low on her hips.

  She hadn’t seen Yoav since that meeting at the café, when he’d gotten up and walked away, leaving her alone with the pregnancy, not to mention the bill.

  Since the evening of their first meeting on the beach, nothing could keep them apart, and Amalia – who’d promised herself not to fall in love before turning thirty – found herself giggling like a girl in his presence. Both of them tended bar to cover their university fees; the little free time they had, they spent together. Yoav helped Amalia study for her finals, while she sat still for hours and allowed him to paint her.

  When her period was a month late, she bought a pregnancy test. When its result proved positive, she went back to the pharmacy to get four more kits, praying the first was wrong. But it wasn’t.

  Amalia wasn’t sure what to do. Neither of them had planned or wanted this pregnancy. Yoav was close to finishing his studies at Bezalel Academy and had been awarded a scholarship to a very prestigious art school in New York. He dreamed of an international career. And she was two years short of finishing her law degree. She’d intended on visiting him in New York during semester breaks, but neither of them had any long-term plans. Certainly no thoughts of marriage or a baby. They were too young. Besides, she’d intended to celebrate law degree with a long trip with her girlfriends to East Asia – to see the world, to run wild – before starting to think about a career, mortgage, or family. Sure, she was in love with Yoav, but they’d only just met. And these years were mea
nt for experiencing – no, devouring – life.

  All four subsequent pregnancy tests showed the same result as the first, as did the blood test at the doctor’s.

  Obviously, she’d never travel to the Far East with a baby. She wasn’t even sure she’d be able to finish her law degree.

  At first, Amalia considered an abortion. Even though she’d decided it was the most rational thing to do in order to be able to go on with her life, with every passing day she found herself less and less inclined to schedule an appointment. It was too hard to say goodbye to the miracle of life growing within her. She postponed it from one week to the next until it was too late.

  Café Aroma was empty except for an old man with a dog in the back. Amalia selected a table in the shade and ordered a soy milk decaf latte. How does a bartender who needs nothing but booze and parties turn into a swollen-bellied woman drinking decaf with soy milk? she wondered bitterly.

  Back then, for that disastrous last meeting, they’d also arranged to meet at Café Aroma. Beforehand, Amalia had run through every possible scenario. She knew that Yoav would be less than pleased to find out she was pregnant, but the reaction she got hadn’t occurred to her. Yoav had sat there, silent, for about an eternity, then got up to say he was going to the men’s room. Amalia waited an hour, but Yoav never returned.

  Amalia kept her pregnancy secret for almost four months. But once she started showing and it was no longer possible to hide it, there was no choice but to tell the truth. She went to see her mother.

  Rebecca, Amalia’s mother, had a thick rulebook, in which everything permissible and prohibited was clearly spelled out. Getting pregnant while still at school, out of wedlock, was so far out there, so unthinkable in a family such as hers, that it wasn’t even in the book.

  When Amalia told Rebecca, her mother lifted a fleshy, trembling hand to her forehead and dramatically declared, “Yossi! Catch me! I’m fainting!”

  Ever since Amalia was little, her mother would threaten to faint at least once a week. But Rebecca was an exceptionally healthy woman. Despite her threats, she never succeeded in passing out.

  Amalia waited patiently for her mother to complete her scolding. “In the middle of the academic year? How could you have done this to me? What am I supposed to tell people?”

  Amalia wanted to scream, I haven’t done anything to you, but she refrained. She hated the idea of having to go back to her parents’ place after giving birth – she and her mother had never gotten along – but she couldn’t think of any other way to manage with a baby. She would need help if she wanted to continue to study and complete her degree.

  Amalia heaped three teaspoons of sugar into her cup and slowly stirred her coffee, trying not to break the white froth topping her drink.

  She could feel the baby moving. She loved the tiny little kicks inside her.

  She’d name him Yam – “ocean” – because it’s her favorite place in the whole world.

  Suddenly, a week ago, just as she was entering her ninth month, she got a call from Yoav. Amalia refused to pick up. It had been almost nine months since he’d abandoned her with the pregnancy – and the tab – at Aroma. The insult still stung. But Yoav kept calling, again and again, throughout the week, while she continued not to answer him.

  Amalia knew that no matter how much she hated him, Yoav was still the father of her child and her child would need a father. In the end, she’d have to answer. So, after a week of misgivings, Amalia texted Yoav and agreed to meet.

  “Hey,” said Yoav. He was right across from her, tan and gorgeous, exactly as she remembered. Amalia wasn’t prepared for the sensations that flooded through her body, which responded to him despite her will. It annoyed her. She refused to give him the pleasure of seeing her break down. What she wouldn’t have given now for a glass of wine if only she weren’t pregnant. Instead, she tried not to look at him and concentrated on the foam in her cup.

  Finally, after feeling she was once again in control, she said, “It’s a boy. I’m thinking of calling him Yam,” she added in a low voice.

  Yoav smiled, and Amalia knew he was thinking about that night on the beach. She wanted to kill him. She loved him so much and he’d just gotten up and walked away from her, leaving her with broken dreams and a growing tummy. She was wrong to think she could do this – confront her feelings and meet with him – but everything was still too fresh, too raw.

  “I can’t do this,” she said, feeling the anger rise in her. “You got up and left.”

  “I’m sorry, Amalia.” Yoav put his hand on her arm. “You’re absolutely right. It was wrong of me. I got scared, but, please, let me explain. Let me try to put things right.”

  Amalia pulled her arm away with force but stayed in her seat.

  “The same day you told me you were pregnant, I got a call from abroad. One of the most respected galleries in New York wanted to show my work. It was huge! It was the first time any Israeli student had gotten such an offer. I know it’s no excuse and that it doesn’t justify how I behaved toward you. But, you have to understand that all my dreams were coming true, then shattering at the very same moment! So I got scared and ran.” He took a breath and looked at her.

  “Amalia. I’m so, so sorry. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about what happened between us. I signed a major contract with the gallery. I have to get back to New York, but I flew back here specifically to ask you: after you have the baby, please join me there,” he said. Then, in an apparent afterthought, he awkwardly added, “And the baby, of course.”

  Amalia looked at him. He’d spoken a lot but not mentioned love even once. His conscience is bothering him, she thought. It’s the last thing he really wants right now – a wife and a baby just as he’s becoming internationally famous. In any case, how could she trust him not to pull another disappearing act, leaving her alone again, but this time in a strange city, with a baby and without a job? No, she didn’t need his handouts, thank you very much.

  She wouldn’t let him into her heart again. She had no intention of being dependent on him or anyone else. She’d finish her studies and build a life for herself and her son.

  Amalia could feel her tears starting but refused to let Yoav see her cry. She slung her bag over her shoulder with a finite gesture, tossing money on the table.

  “Unlike you, I pay my debts. This will cover the latte,” she said, walking out quickly, hoping he wouldn’t see the tears that were now streaming freely down her cheeks. The first powerful contraction caught her in the cab on the way home.

  Yam was born at six thirty-one in the morning, in delivery room number seven, at Ichilov Hospital in Tel Aviv. A healthy baby boy, weighing eight and a half pounds.

  Amalia refused to hold him. “Don’t worry, babykins,” Grandma Rebecca whispered surprisingly gently to the beautiful newborn, “she’ll get over it. It’s just that you look exactly like your daddy.”

  Despite her flair for drama, there was no one like Rebecca in a crisis, and Amalia needed her mother now more than ever. Rebecca placed the baby in the crib and stroked her daughter’s hair. “Your grandfather ran all over town today to get your old room ready for the two of you,” she said. Amalia just buried her face in the hospital pillow.

  Chapter 5

  Mor

  Claudia gazed at the white clouds through the airplane window. She didn’t know much about Israel, only what little she’d seen on the news and the few stories she’d heard from Theo’s parents who’d been born there. She touched her large belly. She’d wanted to have the baby at home with her family nearby, but Theo’s appointment as Italy’s consul to Israel was important. Once he’d filled that position for a few years, the sky was the limit.

  She gave her husband a loving look. He was snoring lightly in the wide, business-class seat.

  Theo hadn’t been sure about accepting the appointment with his wife in her ninth month of pregnan
cy, but Claudia wouldn’t hear of him refusing it. Pregnancy wasn’t a disease. She was young and healthy, and Theo’s worrying was pointless; she’d manage in any situation. But the airlines refused to fly her because she was so close to her due date, so the Foreign Ministry had had to intervene and she’d had to sign a waiver saying she wouldn’t sue should something go wrong.

  Theo’s parents were Israeli. He’d been born in Italy but had spoken Hebrew from birth. He was perfect for the position and Claudia wasn’t going to be the one to get in the way of his promising career. Claudia thought back to their wedding. Theo was Jewish and she was Christian. Neither had wanted a religious marriage, but for the sake of their families, they’d finally agreed to a ceremony conducted jointly by a rabbi and a priest.

  Theo always said that the biggest problem in the world was religion, which led to hatred and wars. Claudia couldn’t agree more. She never understood why people were prepared to die for a cross or any other religious symbol. She was incapable of seeing the logic.

  The fetus in her was kicking furiously, so hard it hurt. Mom would know what to do now, she thought with longing. Claudia closed her eyes and decided to sleep for what was left of the flight, but a sharp stab of pain made her double up in her seat. She screamed and Theo woke up.

  Anise

  Sual lay in the Hadassah Hospital maternity ward in Jerusalem. It was two in the morning and the three women with whom she shared the room were sound asleep, breathing deeply.

  Her entire body ached from the birth. She couldn’t find a single comfortable position that would let her sleep. Besides, the mattress was too soft and she was uneasy in the presence of the other women. The constant traffic in the corridor at all hours of the day and night didn’t help.

  All day long, the ward was the destination for an endless stream of noisy, cheerful visitors completely oblivious to the official visiting hours posted on the sign at the entrance. Sual looked wearily at the large clock on the wall. There was no point in trying to sleep, she thought. In five minutes, she’d have to drag her exhausted, aching body down the hall to the nursery to breastfeed her baby. Her mattress creaked beneath her when she stretched her legs out, feeling for her slippers in the dark.