What do you mean released, says the nurse in alarm, leave him here without restraints? It’s dangerous, there are sick people here, and the policeman says, we can’t break the law, if a judge doesn’t come by two o’clock to extend his remand we have to release him, and I look at my watch, it’s already midday, Noga will be home soon, I have to get there before her, explain what happened, but how can I leave him here, torn between the two of them as usual, which one needs me more, as if I have two husbands. Why did we come here in the first place, where we’re even more defenseless than at home, vulnerable and exposed to harm, and again my head drops exhausted to the bed, I know I have to get up now and go to Noga or at least call her on the phone, but it seems to me that the emotion has drained out of my body and without it I’m nonexistent, a random collection of organs, and I remember the mothers that came to the children’s house to visit their children who had already been taken away from them, and smiled stiff, detached smiles, because they knew that the moment of parting was near and they were tired of struggling, and in fact they wanted to get it over with already, they were already longing for the freedom that lay in the total petrifaction of their overflowing emotions, for the terrifying happiness of renunciation.
I know that at this very moment she’s knocking at the door, and then looking in her satchel for the key, pulling out crumpled notebooks, her pencil case opens and falls down the stairs, spilling all its contents, crayons and pencils and gnawed erasers, where’s the key, she’s already in tears, she knocks again, Mommy, Daddy, where are you? Finally she finds it, right at the bottom, and pulls it out in relief, and enters the empty house, no note is waiting for her on the table, no meal in the fridge, but I observe her calmly, let’s see what she does next, my pampered daughter. What’s happening to me, in a moment I’ve turned to stone, his legs are paralyzed and my heart is, and now he wakes up, his mouth gapes in a yawn, what’s the time, he asks, trying to squint at his watch, what about Noga, we have to get in touch with her, precisely when I’m indifferent he shows responsibility, and I say, I just thought of it myself, and suddenly I’m horrified by a wild cry, Daddy!
I look at the prisoner but his mouth is closed and only his glittering eyes roam restlessly round the room, and I hear the thud of panic-stricken footsteps, racing from room to room, who are you looking for, little girl, somebody asks, and she cries, my father, and here’s her face in the doorway, her wide-open face, her grape-green eyes bulging in agitation, Daddy what happened to you, she shouts, falling on his still body, ignoring the tubes attached to it, ignoring me, and he tries to hug her but he can hardly move his hands, it’s all right, they’re only keeping me here for tests, everything will be all right. I pull her to me and put her on my lap, my baby, how did you get here, how did you manage to find us, I was just going to phone, and she sobs, the downstairs neighbor told me an ambulance came to take Daddy, she called a taxi for me and I came here by myself, there’s a note of pride in her childish voice, the driver was really nice, he came with me to the information desk, and I say, you must be hungry, let’s go downstairs and I’ll buy you something to eat, and she shakes her head, no, I won’t eat anything until Daddy gets better, overshadowing me in her absolute devotion, holding his hand, while he looks at her with interest, as if he’s seeing her for the first time, his fingers stroking her hand with difficulty, and suddenly we’re united, like we once were, a united family, waiting tensely for the tests, and all the time the prisoner is watching us with mocking eyes, and I pray, just let him lie there quietly, don’t let him frighten her, but he refuses to keep quiet.
Don’t worry, little girl, there’s nothing wrong with your father, he says in a surprisingly gentle voice, and she asks him in her innocence, really, are you sure? As if he’s the supreme medical authority, and he says, you bet, you can trust me, I’ve seen everything in life, there’s nothing wrong with him, he’s fine, but if I was you I’d be worried about your mother. Don’t pay any attention to him, Noga, I whisper, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but he goes on, who do you want to die, your mother or your father? And she says in alarm, neither of them, not my father or my mother, and he says, this is life, kid, not a fairy tale, in life one person in every family has to die, so that the others will live, haven’t you heard? She looks at him in horror, timidly objecting, but his confidence defeats her. Really? she whispers, and he says, sure, sometimes it’s actually the child, like in our family, I sacrificed myself for my mother, he announces proudly, I let my father kill me, and she gets off my lap and advances slowly toward him, but you’re alive, she says in bewilderment, and he burst out laughing as if he’s just heard a joke, you think I’m alive, ask your mother, she’ll tell you I’m dead, and I whisper to Udi, do something, make him shut up, he’s driving her crazy. Raise my bed, he requests, and I turn the handle until he’s almost sitting, looking in surprise at the gorgeous youth handcuffed to the bed, just ignore him, he whispers, don’t let him upset you, and Noga wails, is it true what he says, that one of us will die? And Udi says, nonsense, he’s just trying to attract attention, and the young man, who is listening with interest, says bitterly, I want to attract attention? Maybe it’s you who wants attention, have you thought of that?
I get up and draw the curtain around us, why didn’t I do it before, and we crowd between the folds, his rude laughter reaching us, it won’t help you, he says hoarsely, you know I’m right, I’m always right, that’s why my father wanted to kill me, I wish I was ever wrong. When are they going to take him away from here, Udi asks, and I whisper, I have no idea, I understand that soon they’ll have to take off the handcuffs, if a judge doesn’t come to extend his remand, and then an unfamiliar nurse invades our tent, you have to go for a CAT scan, she says sternly, as if she’s caught him idling instead of taking his tests, and he looks at her in confusion, he seems to have forgotten for a moment where he is, where his paralyzed legs have led him now.
There’s no need for you to come with the child, she says as I straighten up, he has a lot of tests to do, I’ll see that somebody takes him down, and in a moment an empty wheelchair arrives and a vigorous young male nurse picks Udi up as easily as if his bones were hollow, and we remain in the room alone with the prisoner, as if it’s him we’ve come to visit, and soon the policeman comes in with the news that the judge can’t come, they have to release him. Do what you like, the nurse says from the doorway, as long as you get him out of here, and the policeman says, I can’t do that, from the minute he’s released he’s no longer in our custody, and the nurse asks whose custody is he in then, who does he belong to, and the policeman says, who does she belong to, pointing at me with a thick finger, who do you belong to, he belongs to himself, exactly like you. Does he have a family, the nurse asks hopefully, we’ll have to get in touch with his family and tell them to come and get him, and to everyone’s surprise he begins to cry, don’t call my parents, just not my parents. But Jeremiah, says the nurse, we’ve already taken care of your wound, you’ll be discharged from the hospital soon, someone has to come and bring your clothes, you arrived here from the detention cell with nothing, don’t you remember, you don’t want to leave the hospital in pajamas, do you, and he says, why should I leave here at all, my wound isn’t healed yet, you’re throwing me out without giving me a chance to get better, if she had a wound like this, he points at me with his chin, you’d let her stay here for weeks.
Let’s go downstairs, Nogi, I say, we’ll get something to eat in the cafeteria, but she clings to the empty bed, I’m staying here till Daddy comes back, she announces, clutching the sheet the way she used to cling to her baby blanket, and I plead, Nogi, I’m suffocating here, let’s go and get a bit of air, but she insists, we have to stay here for Daddy to get better, and I say with some irritation, it doesn’t depend on us, I wish it did.
So why do I feel that it does, she says, frightening me with her certainty, and I give in, all right, if that’s the way you feel, but at least let me bring you something, you must b
e hungry, and she says, I’m not eating anything till Daddy gets better, and I look round in despair, there’s nothing more I can do, except hope the time passes quickly, and we wait for him again, like we always do, waiting for him to come home from his trips, tired and dusty, and rejoin our daily lives, for him to talk to us, eat with us, but he’s always hungry an hour before mealtimes, or an hour later, and the moment Noga comes home from school he falls asleep, and when she goes to bed he wakes up, eluding us with his resistant presence, increasing her hunger, and I still wonder if he’s chosen to evade us in order not to fail again, or if it’s a punishment, and who it’s intended for, is he punishing me, or himself, for what happened then, almost eight years ago. What was it like before then, I scarcely remember, the years have turned the past into a vague flux, suffused with a golden light and full of reconciliation, baby Noga in his arms, peeping over his shoulder as white as a snowy mountaintop, all his shirts have turned white with her vomit, sucking the warm milk from my breast and burping it onto him, mixing us together, his lips whispering in her ear, talking to her in baby talk, making her dance in his arms, as if her first years with us were one long dance of milk and honey.
In that first winter, the three of us in one room, in one bed, the heater on all the time, and if I went out for a moment the cold in the rest of the house was stunning, as if it were another country, and I would run back and jump into bed, to find Noga lying on his naked stomach, a blissful smile on her face, and I would rest my head on his arm and my hand on her tiny, diapered bottom, sheltered by the shadow of his love for her, falling asleep in a swoon of warmth and sweetness. Like polished mirrors we reflected our love for her to each other, doubling and tripling it, sparks of this love shining on us too, and I was so overcome, so grateful for the warmth of his fatherhood that I became utterly dependent on him, when he left the house I was helpless, I almost turned into a baby myself in her first months, and he was joyful, ardent, murmuring lullabies into my ear, patting my back. Wherever all this abundance had been hiding, it burst out suddenly in her honor, in honor of the little family we had become, close and dependent, isolated as a forgotten tribe, hiding our treasure as if it were stolen. Sometimes friends knocked at the door with belated gifts in their hands and we didn’t let them in, because the secret bond between us was so perfect that it could only be spoiled by the outside world, and for months I lacked for nothing, fawning on the two of them as if they were my mother and father who had come back to live together again, because I’d been a good girl.
For years I haven’t dared to think of those days, and now they choke me with their concentrated sweetness, nausea rises in my throat, how did his eager hands, which held her in the bath every evening, soaping her smiling little body, brimful of milk, how did they let her slip limply from the porch, and afterward, when almost by a miracle she recovered, I wouldn’t let him touch her anymore, I didn’t dare to leave them alone, a pitful of venom was dug between us, and she was on my side, I conquered her for myself, the country of her white flesh. To my surprise he gave up in disgrace, he didn’t try to fight for her, without consulting me he abandoned his studies in the middle of writing his doctoral thesis and started attending a course for tour guides, leaving home to go on long trips, returning indifferent and estranged, his arms empty of embraces, and when I steal a glance at her sensitive face, her huge eyes fixed tensely on the empty hospital bed, as if she sees terrifying visions there, I wonder how much of all this she knows. What does she remember of her first two years, we never told her about the fall, does she know how much she lost then, fighting all the time for his heart, like a woman whose man has left her, does she know that once all his love was given to her alone?
Stop blaming yourself, Anat would say, sick of hearing me lamenting all the time, if I hadn’t fallen in love with that man it would never have happened, I ruined all our lives with that stupid affair, what impertinence, what arrogance to fall in love, and she would scold me, what did you do that was so terrible, why do you think that you deserve such a harsh punishment, and I know that she’s wrong, I know that Udi was completely devastated, and everything was ruined, because of what I did Noga lost him, because of what I did we have no more children. You’re not responsible for his reaction, Anat would say impatiently, so what if you had a little fling, it’s not a crime, you only live once, you never even went to bed with him. But I wanted to go to bed with him, you have no idea how much I wanted to, on that morning that I had described to her over and over again, and she would sigh, wanting doesn’t count, for wanting you don’t pay such a price.
Light as if I had just been born again I would hurry to him, leaving Noga with my mother and racing down the long street, where just before the bend in the road the gloomy building awaited me, with the studio apartment on the roof full of paints and canvases and a strong smell of turpentine. He opens the door, a paintbrush in his hand and his eyes narrowed, like a nearsighted person trying to read an important road sign from a distance, and although he doesn’t say anything I know that he’s glad to see me, pointing with his paintbrush to the armchair waiting for me and hurrying to the kitchen, the Turkish coffee in the long-handled little beaker swelling and subsiding as if blown by the wind, and the place fills with the aroma, and the hot little cup is already in my hands, thawing my fingers. He sets the canvas on the easel and begins moving backward and forward, looking at me with his frank eyes, and then he comes up to me and touches my hair, do you have a rubber band, he asks, and I rummage in my bag and find a clip, but he isn’t satisfied, he pulls a broad red ribbon out of a drawer and ties it round my head, now we can see your neck, he says, why do you hide it, you’ve got a neck like a swan, and I sit up straight and stretch my neck, I’ve never felt so beautiful, and perhaps beauty isn’t the issue, what I feel is new, completely new. His brush wipes away layers of frustration, depression and anxiety, creates me anew as I have always wanted to be, a quiet, noble swan, tall and proud, I can sense my body coming back to me from a distant land, sailing on cold blue rivers, this body that was Udi’s and then Noga’s and is now returning to me to be mine.
You want to see, he asks, and I go up to the canvas, how lovely, I exclaim, his colors are clear and deep, the red ribbon merges with my hair, surrounds it like a royal crown, and he stands behind me, his breath on my neck, more coffee? And I answer regretfully, no, I have to get back to Noga, reluctantly removing the crown from my head, bidding farewell to tranquility. Will you come tomorrow, he asks, and I say, we’ll have to see, and he smiles, it’s okay, I’ll be here, you don’t have to let me know, and I know that he will always open the door with quiet happiness, with the brush in his hand, and his eyes narrowed, that he’ll always be alone among his paints, and I’m already waiting for tomorrow morning, but Noga wakes up burning with fever, and I clasp her to my breasts, stifling my disappointment, she’s burning with fever and I with longing, and Udi comes home in the evening worried, how’s my little darling, he asks and bends over her, kissing her forehead. The doctor said it’s flu, I report impatiently, and he takes a doll he bought on the way home out of his briefcase, and together they immerse themselves in their game, the dolly’s sick, he says, she can’t go out until she’s better. The next morning I say to him, stay with her for a bit, I have a few errands to do, and I run down his street, look at the building but don’t dare go up, I examine the big window, I can almost hear his rhythmic steps going backward and forward, and then I drop in to the greengrocer’s and return home with a few oranges. She needs vitamin C, I say, and furiously squeeze orange after orange, and she pleads with him, Daddy stay with us, and he kisses her on her orange lips, if only I could stay with you, sweetheart, I’ll come back this evening and by then I want the dolly to be well.
After a few days her fever goes down and I dress her warmly and take her out, even though Udi said she should stay home a day or two longer, my mother gives me a worried look but I don’t hang around, I’ll come back for her in an hour and a half, I say and hurry off,
the desire to see him is already raging inside my body, and I stand panting in front of the door that always opens quickly to let me in, but this time it stays shut. Disappointed, I lean against the cold stair rail, unable to bear his absence, and then a faint noise alerts me, awakening hope, and the door opens hesitantly, it isn’t him, I hardly recognize him, a dark stubble covers his cheeks, his hair is rumpled, his pants hang sloppily open, a black undershirt exposes a broad chest and full arms I never imagined. I woke you up, I say in alarm, are you ill? And he smiles, I’m fine now, I’m glad you came, and I try to explain, I wanted to come before, but Noga was sick, and he waves his hand dismissively, you don’t have to explain anything to me, I’m glad you’re here, sit down, I’ll be dressed in a minute, and I sink into the armchair, the blinds are drawn, but even in the gloom I am astonished to see my eyes examining me from the wall, confident and clear. Dozens of gray eyes surround me, and I get up and switch on the light and go from canvas to canvas, one after the other they cover the walls, big and small and medium-sized, and my face is on all of them, my hair swept back, my smile reserved, regal, and in the corner of the room I see myself standing naked, leaning on the wall, tall and slender, and I go up to examine the painting, as excited as if it can tell me something about myself that I didn’t know.
Husband and Wife Page 5