Jerusalem Beach

by Iddo Gefen

  * * *

  I-always-have-to-go-ruin-everything-such-an-idiot-I-can’t-believe-it-fucking-moron-how-much-does-that-cost-twenty-six?-God-I-hope-he-comes-back.

  * * *

  I listened to her and smiled. After thinking about it for another hour, I decided to go back to the drugstore. I stood in front of the cash register. I said I forgot the receipt, to which she replied, “Nice to have you back.”

  * * *

  We agreed to go out to a movie that evening. Six times she hoped we’d go to the new Angelina Jolie flick, and that I’d buy us a large popcorn with lots of butter.

  We met by the box office. She was wearing a beautiful black dress. Straight off, I told her we were going to see the Angelina Jolie movie, and then I went to buy us a large popcorn like she wanted. Nurit said there was no need, and got truly annoyed when I told her I was going to buy it anyway. I was starting to freak out that maybe she had changed her mind and I was ruining everything, but I think I got it right because she ended up holding my hand the entire movie. As we walked out of the theater she told me she had a really great time, and I told her I did as well. I considered kissing her, but preferred not to before I knew for certain she was into it.

  3.

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING she thought it a shame I hadn’t put my arm around her during the movie. Then she thought it was strange that a guy like me had never been in a serious relationship, which actually made me happy, because I admit I was starting to worry about it too. Nine times she thought yesterday was truly perfect, twice that my shirt was kind of ugly, and four times that she couldn’t understand how she had gotten so lucky as to land someone like me. I found it slightly troubling that she had three negative thoughts, but mostly I was happy the date had been a success. Around noon she texted me to suggest meeting at a restaurant by her house, but I suggested we take a long lunch break and sit at the small café in the strip mall. I wanted to keep listening to the radio until the very last second. That way I was able to tell her “I get the feeling you just had a very annoying customer,” and she said it was incredible how well I read her. We order cappuccinos, and sixteen minutes later I told her I had just remembered Benny needed something from me at the shop, and darted back to the storage room to listen to her. She thought it was a little odd, me disappearing on her in the middle of our lunch date, but also that she was having so much fun talking to me that she didn’t really mind.

  * * *

  For our sixth date, I was the one who suggested we meet at the restaurant by her house, because I knew she wanted me to come up to her apartment afterward. It all happened just as she had hoped, including wine and dessert. And when we got into bed, I already knew what she liked. I gently nibbled her ear and pressed up against her once it was over. The following day she thought sex with me was probably the best she had ever had. Which was really nice to hear because I had always suspected I wasn’t very good at it, but I admit the probably bummed me out. Not that I had time to obsess about it, because not a moment later she thought she loved me, like, for real. And I smiled, because it was the first time since the eighth grade that someone had said that to me. I was excited, but at the same time I had this niggling thought that maybe she was about to take it back. That she was overreacting and it wasn’t actually love. But I told myself that as long as I had the radio, that would never happen. I’d make sure to do everything exactly as she wanted, and she’d never leave. Then I listened closely to every thought she had about me. Ninety-three percent were positive, and only seven percent were negative. It made me happy. Even Benny was happy for me, said he always thought we’d hit it off. That we’d probably have good-looking children. Which was another thing that made me happy, because it was something I enjoyed thinking about. But a few hours later, I picked up his station.

  * * *

  Fucking-slouch-doesn’t-even-do-the-bare-minimum-anymore-takes-a-two-hour-lunch-break-every-day-and-for-someone-like-that-not-that-he-had-other-options-such-an-ugly-ass-couple-God-help-them.

  * * *

  Around noon that day, I told Nurit I could only take a thirty-minute lunch break. She said she had the feeling something was bothering me, and I told her about Benny. That I heard him talking about us with a customer. Nurit smiled, said she couldn’t care less what people thought about us, and hugged me tightly. I felt like she was my anchor in this world, and really wanted to tell her about the radio. So I told her I read an article about some scientist in South Korea who was working on a device that could read minds. She was quiet for a while, then said it sounded a bit sad, everyone knowing what’s going on in your head, not having a moment to yourself.

  * * *

  When I returned to the storage room, I didn’t feel comfortable listening to Nurit’s thoughts. I even tried going without for two and a half hours, but I couldn’t take it. I had to know what she thought about the whole Benny thing. So I told myself I’d turn the radio on just for a moment. I heard her yelling to herself that it was a fucking catastrophe. That everyone was probably thinking the same thing. That we truly were an ugly couple. That she wished I wasn’t so indifferent. That she really loved me, but the sex wasn’t as great as she had first thought. And that she didn’t understand why I always had to pop into the shop whenever we sat together. That maybe if she knew what I was doing in there, she’d understand me a bit better. I tried comforting myself that it was okay, that everyone had bad thoughts sometimes. But when I went over the data, I saw there was a 23 percent spike in her negative thoughts about me. It wasn’t that there weren’t any good ones. They were even the majority, 70 percent, but I couldn’t focus on them considering all the bad stuff I heard. Among all her thoughts, one really stuck out—that if by the age of thirty-four I still hadn’t been in a serious relationship, maybe there really was something wrong with me. And out of sheer frustration, I started thinking not-too-great things about her too. That she really was kind of ugly, and not that smart, and that sometimes I got the feeling that all the amazing facts she recounted in her mind about countries were less than accurate. And that very day, I found myself directing all these nasty remarks at her, like the ones she used to hurl at me. For instance, that her jokes weren’t that funny, or that she looked older than her age. And these weren’t just petty, frivolous comments, but verbal jabs aimed directly at her sore spots. I didn’t even need the radio to know I was hurting her feelings. Eleven times she wondered why I was doing it to her, and the problem was I wasn’t too sure myself.

  * * *

  A few days later we met during our lunch break, but didn’t say a word to each other. We remained silent for seventeen minutes and forty-six seconds, until she asked, “What’s going on?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Why are you being like this?”

  I saw her body stiffen in pain in front of me. I’m not sure why, but it only pissed me off more.

  “Because you’re lying to me,” I said. “You think there’s something wrong with me.”

  “I never said anything of the sort.”

  “But you thought it, didn’t you?”

  She remained silent, frozen in her chair. I considered her for a few moments, then stood up, telling her I forgot something back in the shop and starting to walk away.

  “Where are you going?” she yelled.

  I didn’t answer.

  She started running after me, saying she didn’t understand what was going on with me, and that I couldn’t just drop a bomb on her and run away. I entered the shop without looking at her. I was sure she wouldn’t dare make a scene in front of Benny, but before I noticed she ran right past me and into the storage room, locking the door behind her. The radio was turned on to her station. I started pounding on the door, but she wouldn’t open. I peeked through the window. She was standing next to the radio, which broke into blaring static. She covered her ears.

  “Turn off the radio,” I yelled at her.

  She reached out to the device, but instead of turning it off, she
started fiddling with the stations. I felt as if she had stuck her hand inside my head. I shouted at her to stop. To quit it, now. But she carried on. Benny said we both had to get our acts together, but I just kept staring at her while she played with the stations.

  She whipped her head up in my direction, but didn’t look at me as much as through me. I felt entirely exposed. I tried listening to my own thoughts, to understand what she was picking up, but it was no use. I put my hands on my head like a shield, but knew it wouldn’t help. I turned around and walked out of the shop. Soon enough, I broke into a run. Benny was yelling at me to come back, but I didn’t care; all I wanted was to get out of her signal range. To get her out of me.

  * * *

  I made it home, took a quick shower, and got into bed. Benny called four times, texted too, but I didn’t answer. I pulled the blanket over my head and tried my hardest to fall asleep.

  * * *

  I woke up late, arriving at the strip mall at 9:41. At the exact moment that I opened the door to the shop, the old man walked out with the radio.

  “Wait, it’s not ready,” I said. “I’m not done fixing it.”

  “Liar,” he replied, turning his back to me. I tried snatching the thing, explaining that the part from Germany hadn’t arrived yet, but he wouldn’t listen.

  “Enough!” Benny yelled. I held onto the radio for another moment, before finally letting go. The old man let out a peeved sigh and shuffled off, eventually disappearing into the parking lot. Benny barked at me that I was crazy, that I couldn’t treat a customer like that. I apologized, said I didn’t know what had gotten into me.

  I managed to avoid her the entire day, but the following morning at nine on the dot, there she was, standing at the shop entrance. I kept my eyes on the floor, trying to sidestep her, but she was blocking the door. Wouldn’t let me avoid her. We stood there for a few minutes, until I lifted my gaze and looked at her. I had tons of feelings toward her, but I didn’t know how to deal with not knowing what was going on in her head. There were so many things I wanted to tell her but I didn’t know where to begin. I thought of giving her a peck on her left cheek, which I knew she liked, but I didn’t know if it was still appropriate.

  “You kind of suck at this, huh?” she said and smiled.

  I smiled back.

  4.

  NOW I FIX an average of 15.6 devices per day. I’m still waiting for Benny to replace me with his nephew, but frankly his thoughts are a mystery to me. Nurit and I still meet every day, usually in the evening. Sometimes she comes over and I make us pasta with cream and sweet potatoes. She says it’s delicious. I can’t tell if that’s what she honestly thinks, but I tend to believe her. She tells me Istanbul is the only capital in the world that stretches across two different continents, and I quietly think how lucky I am that she didn’t dump me. And sometimes we don’t talk at all, just sit silently side by side until we fall asleep. She won’t tell me what she heard on the radio that day, and I decided it was best not to insist. Since that whole incident in the shop, she hasn’t told me she loves me. I admit it worries me sometimes, but I try not to think about it. I’m not totally sure what we have between us, but maybe some things don’t have to be spelled out.

  The Meaning of Life Ltd.

  1.

  I WANT TO make it perfectly clear—at no point did I contemplate killing myself. Not at all. It wasn’t as if I felt I didn’t want to live anymore, it was nothing like that. It’s just that suddenly, when I really thought about it, I couldn’t find one good reason for getting out of bed in the morning. Why take for granted that I’d choose to get up, brush my teeth, and spend another day in this world?

  Dad said he had felt the same way after high school. That living with structure was tough, but I had the feeling it went deeper than that. Because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t ignore the strange insight that dawned on me—there are billions of people in the world, and most, if not all, of them have no idea what they’re doing here. I didn’t know where to start looking for answers. I wasn’t into the whole recluse-on-an-African-mountaintop bit, so I gave it the greatest effort I was willing to make—I googled “the meaning of life.” The results ranged from a meditation center in Rishon LeZion to the official website of Beitar Jerusalem F.C. A small ad at the bottom of the second page caught my eye:

  “The Meaning of Life Ltd.”

  A personalized program for finding meaning in just thirty days!

  I filled out my details.

  * * *

  The following day, a company representative showed up at my doorstep; a young woman dressed in a white blouse, asking me what I wanted to do with my life.

  “I don’t really know.”

  * * *

  “Excellent, excellent,” she exclaimed, and said she had the perfect program for me. “You have to join our search days,” she asserted and sighed. “Seriously, it’s the perfect fit for you.”

  “Search days? What’s that?”

  “You didn’t see the piece they did on us for Channel 2?” she asked, genuinely surprised. “I don’t want to give any spoilers. Come and see for yourself.” She explained that if I signed up for the deluxe program, I’d also receive a weekly support group session, a personal mentor, and a voucher for a steakhouse uptown. She stressed that unlike all those amateurish programs springing up like mushrooms, theirs boasted a Ministry of Health approval and 82 percent success rates. We agreed on a trial period, and that very day I found myself at my first support group meeting.

  2.

  THE GROUP COUNSELOR was a guy called Yaron. Until six years ago, he had been a VP at a private investment firm; made shitloads of money, but was never truly happy.

  “I remember that feeling of heaviness in your chest,” he said, holding his left hand up to his heart and taking a deep breath. He said that thanks to the Meaning of Life Ltd., he discovered gardening was what gave his life meaning. That once he came to this realization, his life had transformed completely. “Who knew a single anemone could solve so many problems?”

  Yaron set off a round of introductions, and very soon I felt that everyone else in the room had a better reason for being there than me. Yakov was searching for meaning because his kids had flown the coop; Miri had recently divorced her husband of twenty years, and since coming back from India in a stupor, Lian hadn’t been able to find herself.

  “Me? Well, I’m not sure, I don’t really have a reason,” I said.

  “Sometimes not knowing is the hardest,” Yaron replied softly, and the group nodded in agreement. At the end of the session Yaron handed me a questionnaire with all kinds of random questions, like what my hobbies were and whether I was more of a rural type or city boy. He said it would help them tailor the program to my specific needs. I asked him about the search days, but he just gave me a note with an address on it—26 HaBrosh Street, Petah Tikva. He told me that’s where I needed to go and adamantly argued that any further information would just detract from the experience. He stressed that it wasn’t a simple process, and because they didn’t want me to give up midway, they had assigned Talia as my sponsor—a program alumna just a year older than me.

  3.

  “WHAT ARE YOU looking for?” she asked me during our first meeting, at a park opposite the Meaning of Life Ltd. offices, considering me with her big brown eyes.

  “I don’t really know,” I said. “But it’s not that I’m depressed or anything, my life is pretty much okay.”

  “I hate it when people think that.”

  “Think what?”

  “That you have to be either a nutjob or a philosopher to want to find true meaning,” she said, and brushed her hand over her neck. “Walking around this world without knowing why is basically living with a giant hole in your soul. The fact that everyone else ignores it doesn’t mean you have to as well.”

  Talia told me how stuck she had felt until she arrived at the Meaning of Life Ltd., describing things I was certain existed only in my head until that moment.


  “If it weren’t for the company, I’d be spending the next seventy years without knowing my true calling in life is to find a cure for cancer.” She told me that since coming to that realization, life had become much simpler. She had completed her GED and a biology research paper, and even received the Minister of Education’s excellence award. Based on her research, she was invited to attend a young scientists conference in London, where she met her boyfriend, Christopher, a guy from Denmark, who had recently moved to Congo for a year of volunteer work. “We can’t say anything for certain yet, but it looks like Chris and I have discovered the gene that causes skin cancer. If our assumptions are correct, it might pave the way for a new drug that could save tens of thousands of people a year.”

  “I can only imagine how that feels, walking around knowing you’ve saved so many lives,” I said, without trying to hide my overwhelming jealousy. “That’s exactly what I’m looking for.”

  “And you’ll find it,” she replied, sliding her soft hand down my shoulder. “It’s all inside you, Eyal. Believe me. If you want it enough, you’ll find it.”

  4.

  THE FOLLOWING DAY I drove to HaBrosh Street. I couldn’t find number 26. I walked up and down the street until a black jeep pulled up beside me. A bald man in a black suit stuck his head out the rear window.

  “Those goddamn Frenchies are going to kill the deal,” he yelled.