Just then, Theo stepped into Mor’s room, half his face covered in shaving cream. Sual felt herself blush, but Theo didn’t seem to notice. It seemed that he never noticed anything.
“Sual, I’m late for a meeting. Have you seen my blue tie?”
Mor opened his eyes and excitedly leaped out of bed. “Daddy!” He skipped toward Theo on his little legs, but Theo had already left the room.
As she looked at the pain on Mor’s face, Sual felt like giving Theo a good shake.
At first, after Claudia died, she understood him. She, too, could see the resemblance between the boy and his mother, and knew that every time Theo looked at Mor he saw Claudia and his heart broke anew. Sual thought it would pass. But the years were flying by; Mor was almost seven, and Theo was still incapable of looking at him. He’s going to have to pull himself together and fast, because soon it’ll be too late, Sual thought. Her heart went out to Mor who kept staring at the open door, hurt, afraid to approach his father. She, too, a bit like Mor, had loved Theo for years, from a distance, afraid to approach, she thought.
The Italian Consulate in Jerusalem is located in a building abutting the Old City. For seven years, she’s looked at the place where she grew up, afraid to enter. Sual longs for the scents of the spices in the alleys where she once lived. She’s just a few hundred feet from the Old City, but it’s as if an entire galaxy separates her old life from her new.
It’s been a long time since Sual was the timid woman with the downcast eyes. It was doubtful that anyone would recognize the old Sual in her, yet she still looked around anxiously every time she went out to the street.
The first thing Sual did upon arriving at the consulate was to remove her burka, the cloth that had covered her face for so many years. With her first salary, she went and got a short haircut and bought two pairs of slacks and several tops. Almost nothing was left of the intimidated young woman whose face was always veiled and whose back was always bent. Still, she couldn’t free herself of her fear.
Today, Sual looks just like those women her friend Lucy used to tell her about with such yearning. Her face is bare, her hair cut short, and her dress is Western. Nonetheless, her childhood scars are still carved into her heart.
A few days ago, Anise asked her about her father. The plate Sual was holding fell from her hands and shattered into slivers. She hugged Anise. “Your father died before you were born,” she told her, “but I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”
Sual hated to lie, but she had no choice. She had to protect her daughter. Sual knew the day would come when Anise would ask her tough questions and she’d have to tell her everything. She hoped, with all her heart, that Anise would be able to forgive her for the lies and understand that Sual had only done what was best for her child. But right now Anise and Mor were only seven years old and she and her daughter were safe. She would deal with the truth when the time came. She breathed deeply. “Who wants some hot chocolate?” she asked, smiling.
Yam
Mom is a lawyer now. She works in a big office with huge glass walls and buys him all the coolest toys. But he’d be happy to give up all the toys – OK, maybe not all of them, but definitely some of them – if his mom had more time to play with him.
Grandma says that Mom has to work so they’ll have a nice house to live in, but Yam doesn’t get what that matters if his mom never has time to hang out with him anymore.
Mom has a friend. His name is Gili and he tries to be nice to Yam, but it only makes Yam madder.
More than anything, Yam wants his mom and dad to make up. He’s sure that Mom loves Dad, and he has proof because she always combs her hair before Dad comes to pick him up and sometimes she even puts on lipstick.
And even when Dad knocks at the door and she opens it and makes faces and gets annoyed, Yam knows that it’s only because she’s trying to hide how much she cares about Dad. He knows because Dad is the only one who can make the corners of her mouth twitch the way they twitch when she gets mad at Yam.
Yesterday, when Dad brought him back home, he again heard him ask his Mom out for coffee like he always does. Only, this time, instead of refusing as usual, she said yes.
Yam jumped up and down on his bed for a whole hour from excitement.
Dad has a humungous studio full of paint and he lets Yam color and make as much of a mess as he wants. He even lets Yam help him mix the paints. Yam can already prepare lots and lots of shades, and Dad says he’s a genius and has great talent.
But the real reason Yam mixes paints is that he’s trying to find the exact shade of blue as the eyes of the girl from that dream he’s always having.
Yam has never told anybody about that dream.
In the dream, the girl with the blue eyes is really, really scared. She runs and screams. He tries to help her, but he can’t hear what she’s yelling. The girl is crying and he runs to her. She holds her hand out to him and he’s really near her, almost touching, but then he hears a scary roar and wakes up. The dream is the same every time and he never manages to reach her.
Amalia was having trouble deciding between the lavender dress and a tank top with jeans.
A whole life separated the girl she’d been back then and the single-parent lawyer she was today. Yoav had gone to New York. During the first few months, he’d tried calling, but Amalia had never picked up the phone. In fact, she’d been asleep most of the time. Later on, she discovered that she’d been suffering from what doctors call post-partum depression. Eventually, Yoav stopped calling.
It took time, but Amalia got better and started to enjoy motherhood. And, with her mother’s encouragement, she even went back to school. When Yam was a year old, Yoav visited Israel. Amalia was in the middle of her finals and decided it was best if she didn’t see him. Besides, she didn’t want to risk her depression coming back. Rebecca took Yam to meet Yoav and they had a picture taken together that he’s kept to this day.
To this day, Amalia still couldn’t forgive him for getting her pregnant and leaving so he could gallivant around the world, letting her deal with the diapers and the baby on her own. Six years had passed since then. Amalia had finished her studies; she no longer lived with her parents. She was a successful attorney now and, for the first time since Yoav, she even had a boyfriend.
But, for the past few months, since returning from New York, it’s seemed as if Yoav has changed. This time it seems he’s serious and here to stay. He found an apartment in Tel Aviv not far from them and set up a fabulous room for Yam. He’s always on time when picking Yam up on his regularly scheduled visitation days and he’s never missed even one. Most important of all, her son is happy with his father.
Amalia decided that, for Yam’s sake, it was best to make up with Yoav.
She finally settled on the tank top and jeans so that Yoav wouldn’t think she was making a special effort for him or that she even cared at all.
She looked at her beautiful boy, merrily jumping and rolling around on the big queen-sized bed. She couldn’t imagine life without him. She’d do anything to ensure his wellbeing, and she again reminded herself that it was only because of him that she’d agreed to see Yoav that day. It was important to Yam that she and Yoav be on good terms.
“Mommy, you’re really beautiful,” said Yam just as the doorbell rang.
Amalia took a deep breath and went to open the door.
Chapter 6
Mor
The three of them were sitting around the large kitchen table doing homework, Anise, Mor, and Sual, who last year had started studying education at university. Theo had registered her at the beginning of the year and insisted on paying her tuition fees. At first, Sual tried to argue with him, but the truth was that she was overjoyed to be studying once again. Doing homework together with the kids had become a regular weekly ritual. And even though Mor hated doing homework, he enjoyed the time the three of them were together.
Sual always made sure to have sandwiches and hot chocolate on hand, and Mor loved eating and watching her study. She had this funny habit of wrapping her hair around her finger when she was trying to concentrate. Sometimes, he was a little sorry that she hadn’t given birth to him instead of that strange woman in the framed picture in his dad’s study. Sual was the only mother Mor knew, the only adult who loved him. His father didn’t give a damn about him and, honestly, he didn’t give a damn about his father anymore.
Still, he continued to observe his father from afar, taking care that Theo didn’t notice. Mor swore to himself that, when he became a father, he’d hug his kids all the time. Anise was the only one who knew how he felt. It was only with her that he could talk about his father, because she was his best friend and she would never, ever tell anyone.
Theo, who was home early, stopped in the kitchen doorway and looked at them sitting around the table. None of them had noticed the man with the graying temples and sad smile standing there like a stranger. Sual, who was deep into her textbook on the table, absentmindedly pushed her hair to the side, the way she always did when she was deep in thought. Theo smiled. What would he have done without this amazing woman who’d raised Mor as if he were her own son and done such a marvelous job of it to boot.
Theo then looked at Mor, seated next to her. His beautiful son who was so like his late wife. He’d tilt his head a little to side when he laughed exactly as she had done, and the storm clouds would gather around his pupils when he got was angry. Every time he looked at his son, he saw her.
It was funny. They always say that the first child takes after the father, but this boy was all Claudia through and through, as if God had known she wouldn’t survive and had left Theo with a particularly painful reminder.
At first, Theo had been glad to put Mor in Sual’s devoted and skillful hands. He remembered the two-year-old Mor waddling behind him, yelling, “Daddy, Daddy.” Theo hadn’t known what to do. He was incapable of picking up the happy, miniature version of the woman who’d been the love of his life. He took on more and more work, coming home later and later. Theo knew he was being cruel, but he couldn’t bring himself to spend time with his son.
Maybe it’s already too late, he thought. He looked at the crease between Mor’s eyebrows. So like Claudia’s when she was focused on something.
Mor was almost thirteen. He’d stopped chasing his father’s attention long ago. He’d even stopped calling him “Dad.” Theo wasn’t angry with Mor. He knew he had no right to be. Still, Mor calling him “Theo” made him want to scream. Sometimes, when he was sure Mor was asleep, he’d go into his room and sit down next to him, looking at him in silence. He so much wanted to hold his son and tell him that he loved him, but he didn’t know how.
When Mor was little, he thought that if his father saw that he was a good boy and behaved well, he’d love him back. That’s why he tried so hard not to break anything in the house, not to yank on the drawers in the closet, not to make any noise, not to fight over taking a bath, and to eat everything on his plate. But nothing helped.
Every night, when his dad came home from work, Mor would run to his study full of excitement, but every time his dad saw him, he’d immediately say, “Not now, Mor. I’m busy. Go find Sual,” and bury his head in the papers on his desk. Every single night.
Sual was the one who tucked him in, walked him to kindergarten, and kissed him when he got hurt. His dad was always too busy.
Dad never attended parent-teacher meetings or his competitions. Mor remembered the day when he earned his place at the national sharpshooting finals. Only ten kids from all over the country made it and Mor was one of them. He danced the whole way home. Now his father would finally see he was special. That night, he went to his dad’s study to ask his dad to come to the finals and Dad promised he’d try.
Mor ended up winning the national title, but his father wasn’t there to see it. He held the championship cup up at the podium; his trainer proudly clapped his back, hugged him, and told him what a great future awaited him. Mor didn’t hear a word. His eyes were busy scanning the stands for his dad. Sual tried to tell him that his father had had a very important meeting he couldn’t cancel, and she and Anise kissed him over and over again. Nothing helped.
That evening, Mor entered his father’s study holding his trophy, but his father hadn’t even noticed the championship cup and, without lifting his head, only said, “Not now, Mor, I’m in the middle of an important call,” immediately going back to his telephone conversation.
That was the day Mor stopped calling him “Dad” and started acting out in class. There was no longer any point in being a good kid, plus it felt good to break the rules. Everyone except for his teachers thought he was pretty cool. Especially the girls, which was most important.
A few days ago, the school principal had called his father in for a talk and told him that unless Mor’s behavior improved, he’d be expelled. Mor doesn’t care. Who needs the American International School anyway? He was born in Israel and barely knows Italy. He prefers Hebrew to English and would rather attend the local school, especially because it would piss Theo off.
Sure, he knows his mom died because of his birth and if it were up to him, he wouldn’t have been born at all, but it’s not as if anyone had asked him. Unfortunately, he was born and is alive and is sick of feeling guilty over it. He doesn’t care about Theo anymore, he doesn’t need him. He manages just fine by himself.
Besides, the only reason he’s still sticking around the house is Anise. But he’s planning on leaving really soon. I wonder if Theo will even notice I’m gone, he thinks.
Yam
Yam had just finished his bible class with the neighborhood synagogue rabbi. He’d be celebrating his bar mitzvah in another two months and he was supposed to be called up to read from the Torah. The rabbi had just explained that the bar mitzvah ceremony represented the transition from childhood to adulthood. Based on what he saw, Yam wasn’t sure he wanted to become an adult at all.
At first, what Yam had dreamed of happening came true: his mom and dad made up and got back together. After that first meeting between them, his dad had started dropping by just because, even on days that weren’t “his.” The three of them started going to the slides in the playground and Dad sometimes stayed for dinner. Mom became much happier and stopped getting angry over every stupid little thing. And that annoying boyfriend of hers, Gili, disappeared for good. One morning, Yam went into his mom’s room and found Dad sleeping there. Mom woke up and blushed. A few days later, Dad moved in with them.
But over the last year, something changed. Out of nowhere, his dad started growing side-locks, praying all the time, and eating only kosher food.
At first, Mom laughed. She didn’t believe in any religion, but she figured it was another one of Dad’s experiments because he’s an artist and therefore a little crazy to begin with. Mom was sure the phase would pass, like the time Dad decided he was a Buddhist and wasn’t allowed to talk.
However, as it turned out, it wasn’t a passing phase. When Dad asked Mom to separate between milk and meat dishes and wanted Yam to leave his school and instead attend a yeshiva high school, Mom got mad and said, “Enough already!” Nobody was going to tell her what to do or what to think, and her son wasn’t going to be sent someplace where they’d brainwash him with superstitions.
Dad got mad too and screamed that life had to have some meaning and it was, therefore, necessary to believe in something, but Mom answered that if he wanted to believe in something, he could just be a good person. There was no need to use his mid-life crisis to become ultra-religious and turn the entire household upside-down. And then they fought, which had become the new normal.
But what really did it for Mom was that Dad took Yam to a religious Zionist political party rally. They started to talk about the Greater Land of Israel and all sorts of secret actions that had to be taken.
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br /> When Mom heard about that, she completely lost it. After a few days of non-stop screaming, Dad moved into an apartment in a religious neighborhood.
Yam remembered that one time, a few years ago, his father had told him about the Mayans who lived in South America. Thousands of years ago, they’d known how to track the stars and had built enormous pyramids. Nobody could figure out how they’d done it. Then, one day, they simply disappeared. According to the legend, his dad said, they hadn’t really disappeared, but because their civilization was so spiritually advanced, they’d found the gate to heaven and climbed up the stairs to another world.
Dad said that, long ago, there had been such a gate in Jerusalem too, and it was holy to all three religions – Judaism, Islam, and Christianity – but then the Jews, Muslims, and Christians started to fight among themselves, each saying his religion was the right one, making God so mad he closed the gate. It was ironic because now Dad had become a super-religious Jew. All this made zero sense to Yam.
Yesterday, when Dad came to pick him up, he and Mom started fighting again.
Mom screamed that Dad’s wonderful religion had broken up their family and that only over her dead body would Yam go to a yeshiva where they taught the kids to hate Arabs or attend a synagogue where men and women had to sit separately. And then she screamed that Yoav always found another excuse to leave every time things got a little tough. Back then it was because of his career, and now it was because of his religion. If he really understood anything about love and responsibility, he’d behave differently.
They kept screaming at one another until Yam couldn’t take it anymore and ran out of the house. He was sick of their fighting. No part of it made sense and anything was better than hearing them shouting. This was precisely the reason he liked computers better than people: computers made sense.
Yam wasn’t a huge fan of words. He preferred to spend time with his computer to hanging out with people. He could hole up in his room with his laptop for days on end, and his hacking skills were pretty sweet. One time, he’d even been able to break into the Defense Ministry’s super-secure site. It had been so easy! It was only software. In any case, he had no intention of getting called to the Torah or celebrating his bar mitzvah or believing in anything. His parents could just forget about it.
The Celestial Gate Page 8