by Etgar Keret
She liked the strange apartments, the quiet, the conversations with Yoel, which contained a secret promise to keep this greedy aspect of their lives to themselves. Within a few hours she’d leave the apartment with a cart filled with valuables whose importance to the deceased she couldn’t possibly guess: books, pictures, jewelry, clothes. The clothes were immediately wrapped in large trash bags and sent to the dry cleaner’s, and only later sifted through. Her crawl space was filled with skillfully packed boxes of Nathan’s things that she couldn’t bring herself to even sort through, let alone throw out.
She felt that Yoel wanted her, wanted her body, and it gave her confidence. She was more aware of herself when she was around him, but each time he looked at her lustily, she closed her eyes. Her husband, still plaguing her mind, was only half the trouble. Mainly, she couldn’t bear herself. Her relationship with Nathan was the one pure thing in her life. Her and Nathan, a couple, with one child. Not a perfect life, but clean. They had never crossed any red lines. They had neither debts nor indiscretions. And in Yoel, on the other hand, there was something lowly. Those apartments, that look in his eyes. And damn it, she was attracted to that.
* * *
Days went by. Margalit didn’t like to leave herself a lot of free time. She was an energetic and busy woman who fell asleep easily each night, naturally tired, no sleeping pills required, and got up early, raring to begin her day.
It was almost good. She was doing well, but she still missed the smell of paint in her apartment, Nathan’s serenity, the purity of a man who was sure of the path he’d chosen. There was something lost about her actions now. And if that wasn’t enough, Ari couldn’t find his place. He had returned to Israel after a long time abroad. Working on fishing boats in Australia, selling posters in Japan, jewelry in America, clothing in Europe—all the popular jobs for young Israelis abroad. Since returning to Israel, he hadn’t been able to achieve anything meaningful. Margalit pushed him in different directions. She got him a job as a cook in a restaurant by their house because she believed he’d internalized her home cooking more than he’d thought, and had all the ingredients at home to practice, so why not? After he was fired from the restaurant, she said he always had a cinematic eye and proposed video editing. That didn’t take, either. He even tried learning tai chi, because Margalit recalled that he’d stayed longest with martial arts as a child. But that, like the other attempts, began with a shot of energy and then withered away, without even a sense of desperation. There were always reasons for the failure, and they were always external. When Ari listed them to his mother, she was easily convinced. It wasn’t him. She paid for all the classes he took, because they were educational. She even bought him a moped so he could get quickly from one place to the next. Her doubts about him were suspended, and as she signed checks, she argued out loud with the ghost of Nathan. “You see, he’s doing well, he’s making do, not everyone has to go to university.” And Nathan never answered, which just made her more confident.
But then there were those quiet hours in her shop, when she arranged the items she’d gotten that week, wiping dust off the shelves or just staring out onto Dizengoff Street, which had recently regained much of its former traffic. People missed being out on the street, walking simply forward rather than twisting in the labyrinths of shopping malls. In those quiet hours she thought of her son, who lived without passion, without real introspection, without purpose. People always said the next generation was going to be more advanced, that only children were more talented. In the one conversation she ever had about Ari with a neighbor whose son was a genius violinist who performed all over the world, the woman said, “It’s better to have a son like yours. Mine is strange.” And Margalit was consoled by that, especially after that neighbor’s son killed himself. She sustained herself with this notion for years, but now, when Ari was twenty-six, living in his childhood bedroom, never finding his place in the world—a leaf, not a tree trunk—she worried about him, and realized that somewhere along the way, she’d gone wrong.
And to think how she insisted on calling him Ari, stressing the second syllable. A lion. Nathan had wanted to call him Mordi after his own father, Mordechai, but he couldn’t convince her. She wouldn’t give in. She had such a difficult pregnancy with him and decided that the name would be her call. She was so insistent. Now she admitted to herself that her only child was nothing but a Mordi, Mordi Bloch.
But there was a kindness in Ari that touched her heart. With what little money he had, he always bought her flowers or took her out to a movie or a nice restaurant. It was as if the moment he had a little cash he wanted to show her that he was all right, that he wasn’t such a terrible disappointment. And those gestures melted her heart every time.
One night, as she was about to close shop and head out, Ari appeared. Though they lived together, she didn’t see very much of him. They lived by different schedules. She kissed him, happy and surprised.
“How are you?” she asked. He smelled nice, and she felt proud.
“I’m going into real estate entrepreneurship, this time it’s final.” There was an enthusiasm in his voice she wasn’t familiar with. Entrepreneurship, a term that had spread through the city ever since interest rates were lowered and asset sales blew up. The concept buzzed across Tel Aviv.
“It’s booming. I thought that boyfriend of yours might be able to help me out a little with estates.” Ari Bloch, Margalit Bloch’s only son, felt that he finally had a chance at success.
“He isn’t my boyfriend,” Margalit corrected immediately. “And his name is Yoel.”
“Yoel, fine. I thought he might be able to toss me a bone.”
Margalit didn’t answer.
“A friend of mine has an agency that’s doing well. I need some money to buy in. He guarantees I can make a profit from a deal he’s closing this month. Something big. An apartment with building permits on the roof.”
“That all sounds great, but why do you have to become a partner? What does he need a partner for? Work for him for a while, get to know the business.”
“Enough, Mom, I can’t play games anymore. I have to get a life. This is my chance.”
Margalit was ready to lock up and go home. She rolled out the small shopping cart she always took home with her.
“You keep asking me what I want to do. So there, I want to buy and sell.”
She crouched down to lock the door. “Real estate is a serious business. Maybe you should study it first, go back to school?”
“Why school? I want to buy and sell. I’ll learn on the job.”
She turned the bottom lock and stood back up. “How much money are we talking about?”
“A hundred thousand shekels.”
“That’s a lot of money.”
“Yeah, it’s an investment. But it’s worth it. This isn’t like all those stupid classes I took. I’m going to get a fifth of it back by the end of the month.”
“If that sale he’s talking about goes through.”
“It will. It’s practically a done deal.”
“Why don’t you wait for it to close?”
They were now walking south toward Borochov Street. Ari stopped. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you. I knew you didn’t trust me. You’re just like Dad, you only pretend to be different.”
“Ari, it’s not that I don’t trust you, I just don’t see what the rush is. Let’s have Yoel over for dinner. Talk to him, get his opinion. I’m sure he’ll have something to say about this.”
“Mom, I need the money this week.” He glared at her. “I finally want to do something, something of my own, not something you made happen. I want to do this.”
“Ari, sweetie, we’re in the middle of the street. I’ve had a long day. Let’s talk about this quietly, at home. Can you calm down for a minute?”
“Forget it, Mom, I’ll figure it out.” He walked away from her and returned to the moped he’d parked outside the shop.
“Ari, wait,” she called.
He waved her off and drove away.
* * *
She was restless that night. What if this really was his breakthrough? What if this was a calculated risk? She should support him, back him up—that would be the only way for him to continue with confidence. And maybe that was the problem all those years, that they always doubted him and never demanded that he truly deal with anything. Maybe that’s why he could never catch a break. Maybe that’s what Nathan meant when he once told her that their solutions couldn’t solve the kid’s problems.
Then she remembered what she had almost been able to forget.
When he was in Europe, right before he returned to Israel, Ari spent a week in a German prison and was banished from Germany forever for holding and using hashish. In another time, being banished from that very Germany would have been considered an achievement.
She remembered a poor phone connection, tears, and fear, but she had been so preoccupied with Nathan’s illness and never went to visit Ari. She told him that his behavior was his way of dealing with his father’s impending death. She asked him to hold on. She didn’t breathe a word to Nathan about it. Her silence had been her parting gift to him.
But the event, though never discussed again, remained in her consciousness. Now it bloomed in her—the fear that he might try to get the money in other, crooked ways that might hurt him. She had to help her son, had to make sure it worked out. She didn’t wait till morning. She called his cell phone at midnight. He was with friends. She told him she’d loan him the money and fell asleep happy.
* * *
It was worth it. The deal came through, and so did another smaller one, and it seemed that Ari was doing well. And as always, like any other time he had money, he rewarded his mother, and himself. He bought new clothes. He took a shower every morning and left for the office. Soon after the deals were closed, he rented a small studio apartment with a sea view.
When he moved out, Margalit’s loneliness was solidified. Now she was completely alone, but she knew it was for the best. Ari working and living his own life gave her a sense of normalcy and that was good enough for her. Her relationship with Yoel didn’t rise above functionality. Maybe now, when she had the apartment all to herself, something would happen. She’d finally be able to say nice things about her son. So far she’d always avoided the topic, but now her son had an office, he was in real estate, everything about him cleared up overnight. It was time to have Yoel over for dinner. They could talk over food and wine, maybe they would get closer, maybe Yoel would be able to help Ari with his business.
* * *
But Ari’s success quickly began looking like a single stroke of luck. The next time he came to visit her at the shop he told her he was in debt, that he hadn’t told her the truth because he thought things would work out and he didn’t want to upset her, but that it was all done now and he was going to move back home.
Two days later, Yoel told Margalit about a vacant apartment, which she looked forward to checking out. Maybe she’d tell him about Ari. She showered, put on a tracksuit, pulled her hair up, and looked in the mirror. She took special care of her appearance that morning, half-aware of what she was doing.
“The deceased was a foreign citizen,” Yoel said when he opened the door. “He came to Israel a few times a year. It’s mostly clothes.”
Margalit took a quick tour of the apartment. It was mostly empty and she thought for a moment that she’d have nothing to take to the shop. The kitchen seemed as if it belonged in a hotel room—nothing but a coffee machine, espresso beans, and small packets of sugar—but there was a nice bar in the living room and she thought about having a drink. She was nervous. She offered Yoel a glass of Campari with soda that she found in the fridge. She looked at him innocently and handed him a glass. They toasted and laughed. Then they put the glasses in the living room and went into the bedroom, which contained a closet and a file cabinet, the things they had come for.
Yoel began sifting through documents and Margalit opened the closet. They worked quietly for a while. The dead man’s clothes were clean and fresh. A plastic bag in the closet contained some dry-cleaned shirts. The clothes were new. She transferred most of them into her shopping cart, but didn’t touch the towels or linens. She found two summer suits hanging in garment bags and put them in the cart, then noticed that they were heavier than she’d expected. She glanced at Yoel, checking to see if he’d seen, but he was busy reading. She peeked into one of the bags and saw a stack of dollars at the bottom. She zipped up the bag and folded it carefully into the cart. Then she looked into the other bag and saw more foreign bills. She glanced at Yoel again, but he didn’t seem to be aware of any of it. Her heart was pounding, she was pumped up with adrenaline. She couldn’t believe this was happening, the closest she could ever get to winning the lottery.
She closed the cart. Suddenly, she felt an urgent need to live. Watching Yoel, her body burned. She walked over and touched his face. He was concentrating on some paper and jumped when she did it, confused by the gesture. He put the paper down and she kissed him. The touch of his lips was strange and foreign to her, but that seemed natural—she hadn’t been with anyone but Nathan in so long. Yoel pulled away and met her eyes. Then he gave in. He peeled the tracksuit off her, pulled off her thin T-shirt. He didn’t say a word and never stopped kissing her, except for when he hurried to the closet, pulled out a large towel, and spread it on the bed. He laid Margalit down. He pulled off his pants quickly; he seemed to be following a protocol. He caressed her and slipped a finger into her. Margalit was completely aroused, as if her mind was ordering her body to stop her from thinking. She heard herself whisper, “I want you inside me.” He groaned, abandoned his plan, and penetrated her.
She felt good. That friction, his excitement—which she created. That joy, the togetherness of man and woman, a joy that used to be part of her everyday life. He came so hard that all his limbs went limp at once. He rolled over on the bed and caught his breath. He didn’t notice her tears.
Pretty soon he sat up on the bed and put on his pants. His face was glistening with the euphoria of a satisfied man. He smiled at her. Within a few minutes Margalit sat up too and began getting dressed. Yoel went back to his documents, now whistling pleasantly. That relaxed her. She removed the towel from the bed and shoved it into her cart. She smoothed out the bedspread and went to the bathroom. She wiped his sperm away and washed her hands and face. Then she fixed her hair. It was as if nothing had happened.
She returned to the living room for another round of Campari. Normally she wasn’t much of a drinker, but the bitter sweetness of the drink gave her strength. She brought the bottle into the bedroom and filled Yoel’s glass. Everything seemed simple all of a sudden.
She walked over to the large window and gazed out at Tel Aviv. She tried not to think about her theft, as if it were an intimate, feminine act, like changing a tampon. Since the apartment was on a high floor, facing west, she could catch a glimpse of the sea. The small streets and rooftops lay beneath her, a blossoming urban field. She loved the city. She shut the window and smiled to herself. Last night she couldn’t sleep, thinking of her son, and today she had a way to help him, and a chance with a good man. Limits exist only in our minds. We can always cross them.
Yoel downed his drink and went over to the cart. “How are the suits?” he asked. “Should I try one on?”
Margalit held her breath. Yoel had never shown any interest in the clothing before.
He opened the cart and pulled out the towel. “Why don’t you always bring it, from now on? What do you think? It could be our towel.”
Margalit’s eyes filled with terror.
“We don’t have to, we don’t, I was just kidding.” He took out one of the garment bags, pulled the zipper, and examined the suit. “Like new,” he said, impressed, and pulled it out. He said nothing about the weight and didn’t search the bottom. He put the jacket on.
Margalit knew she had to act natural. She walked over to sm
ooth a wrinkle on his shoulder but bumped into the cart. The garment bag fell off and its contents spread over the floor. Bundles of what she now identified as British pounds were revealed in the mess. Yoel stared at the money for a moment. Then he kicked over the cart and the second garment bag fell out. He grabbed it, unzipped it, and turned it over. Bundles of dollars fell on the floor next to the pounds. He stared at her with more sadness than she could imagine. He began collecting the money into his briefcase, one bundle after another. The dead man’s jacket still hung off his body.
Margalit turned to him. “I need the money,” she said.
Yoel laughed. “You don’t say.” He continued to gather the money, not looking her way.
“My son’s in trouble.”
Yoel stood up and met her gaze. “How long have you been stealing from me?”
“I never stole from you, Yoel, this was the first time. I swear.”
He poured himself another drink and made a face. It was clear he didn’t actually like to drink. “I like you so much. I’ve never felt this way before. All these years.”
Margalit hurried to answer: “I never—”
But Yoel hushed her. “I’ve been trying to get close to you for months. I keep telling myself to give you time, to be patient. And now you’ve ruined it all, because of your loser son.”
“He’s not a—”
“Quiet!” he shouted. “Don’t interrupt me.”
Margalit collapsed onto the bed.
“I met Nathan once, years ago. Your son had just been born and Nathan showed me a picture of him with you. I was so jealous.” He finished packing the money and zipped his briefcase. “I thought you’d never have me. I was ready to settle for spending time with you in these apartments. And today it finally happened, you kissed me.” A bitter smile stretched on his face. “I thought I was delirious. I was suspicious for a second, because women haven’t been good to me. They always wanted me for my money. And I have money, Margalit. But I felt your body melt, I felt you giving yourself to me. As if you really wanted it.” He closed his eyes. “You slept with me for that.” He pointed to his briefcase. “You wanted to distract me.”