Husband and Wife

by Zeruya Shalev

  So what do you want from me with your frightening stories, I burst out, after waiting in suspense, naively expecting a happy end, what freedom are you talking about when my little girl is sick and my husband’s left us, and she says, but these are the most important moments in your life, the moment when the doors of enlightenment are opened, you have fallen now from a great height, but you have landed on the ground of truth, and the fall is not a tragedy but an opportunity to find a refuge within you, to understand that in the last analysis nothing is either good or bad, and there is no point in getting overly emotional. We must live without attachment and without anger, she declaims, we must attain perfect balance, neither clinging to happy experiences nor collapsing because of sad events, not allowing turbulent emotions, good or bad, to take hold of us, and I listen to her impatiently, my indignation rising until I can no longer ignore it. But what will be left of me without my emotions, I interrupt her, they’re all I have, you want me to be as unfeeling as a statue, without any emotions? Then let me tell you that it won’t work, what you’re saying is monstrous, I burst out, how come I never saw it before, what does it mean to live without attachments, do you want me to let my daughter die, to look at the clouds while she suffers? What is all this serenity you talk about worth if it comes in place of feeling? It’s simply one more step toward death, that’s why you’re all so happy to die, because as far as you’re concerned there’s no big difference between life and death, but it doesn’t suit me, you understand, I’m ready to feel sorrow, because otherwise I won’t be able to feel joy either, I don’t want to give it up and I never will.

  She examines me with open disapproval, her velvet eyes dark, you’re completely wrong, Na’ama, I’m not telling you to neglect your daughter, I’m talking to you about something else entirely, about inner freedom, you know that mothers in Tibet send their children to be educated in India, they part from them for years, sometimes even forever, but they do it wholeheartedly because from their point of view the physical presence is marginal, mental closeness is what’s important, and mentally they aren’t separated. So what are you trying to tell me, I ask, are you talking about Noga or about Udi, and she says, we’ll talk about it some other time, you’re too upset now, and I have to get back to my baby, I have to feed her, and I look at her lean breasts filling with milk under her blouse, ashamed of my outburst, I’ve succeeded in chasing her away too, leaving me alone with my sick child, hurrying off to her healthy baby, I never even noticed that she’d come without her, suddenly she’s got someone to baby-sit for her, and I accompany her to the door and stand at the threshold surveying the sweltering living room, the sun seems to be squatting on the ceiling, vomiting all the heat it has accumulated since the morning on it, and I remember how Noga and I came in only a few weeks ago and saw Udi walking up and down holding the fair baby in his arms, rocking her and murmuring, shush, shush, shush, how our legs trembled on the threshold, and then I understand.

  Sixteen

  Awake, awake, stand up, O Jerusalem, which hast drunk at the hand of the Lord the cup of his fury; thou hast drunken the dregs of the cup of trembling and wrung them out. There is none to guide her among all the sons whom she hath brought forth; neither is there any that taketh her by the hand of all the sons that she hath brought up. These two things are come unto thee; who shall be sorry for thee? Desolation, and destruction, and the famine, and the sword: by whom shall I comfort thee? For the Lord hath called thee as a woman forsaken and grieved in spirit, and a wife of youth, when thou wast refused, saith thy God. For a small moment have I forsaken thee, but with great mercy will I gather thee. In a little wrath I hid my face from thee for a moment; but with everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee, saith the Lord thy Redeemer.

  On the rug at the foot of the bed I lie, a worn-out dog wallowing in the bones of the ancient verses, in the book he left behind him, a common fate uniting the three of us on this night of terror, none of us needed anymore, not the furious book buffeted on its waves of wrath and consolation, not the sick child with the treasure ships drowned in her depths, not the rejected wife of his youth. Ephraim compasseth me about with lies, and the house of Israel with deceit, who would have believed that this would be the end of our love, the end that accompanied it from the day it came into being, in the bloom of our youth, that tagged on to all the words of love and longing and jealousy and hostility, that peeped out from under our marriage bed, lying in wait for the right moment, no one would have believed, of all the members of the wedding who accompanied our lives, that a strange woman would appear and succeed in diverting the river, in directing the stream of his love toward her. Legions of cruel light have invaded the world, not leaving a single mystery, now I understand the meaning of his frequent, aimless wanderings, the meaning of his frowning brows every evening, when we sat at the table to eat, and he examined us with his darting eyes, moving restlessly about the rooms like a spy in enemy territory, the meaning of the door that closed so early at night, hiding his elusive shadow, for a moment I am comforted, perhaps it’s better this way, I can almost understand this abandonment, he was ill, she saved him, I almost fell in love with her myself, with her dark quietness, her surprising insight, I too would have preferred her to myself, and there is a relief in understanding, compared to the endless bewilderment, but I immediately protest, what has she to do with him, she’s a total stranger, and we grew up together, he isn’t only my husband, he’s my whole family, all my memories, I have nothing without him. Why didn’t he tell me the truth, for weeks he hid it from me, what are all the words we exchanged over the years worth, millions of words passing from hand to hand like coins in a shady business deal, if at the most important moment everything is concealed. I would have understood, I would have told him that it’s only natural for a new love to arise from time to time, it happened to me too, all these years I denied it and now I’m ready to admit it, and nevertheless it never occurred to me to leave, it was clear to me that I had to give him up, and not even with any great difficulty, and now I’m not even asking you to give her up, just to stay with us, not to remove your protection from us. Perhaps we’ll clear a room for her and the baby, we’ll all live together, we’ll raise the baby together, anything not to separate, but I immediately take it back, that’s what you wish yourself? all these years you’ve been making concessions and making concessions and now you’re prepared to concede his love too, as long as he stays with you, weep ye not for the dead, neither bemoan him, but weep sore for him that goeth away, for he shall return no more, nor see his native country.

  Noga whimpers in her sleep and I sit up, feel her forehead, swallow her boiling breath, her sickness squats on top of me, heavy and terrifying, in the morning I won’t have any alternative, a white ambulance will park outside our house, its doors will open wide, men in phosphorescent tunics will load her body onto a stretcher, only a few months ago I accompanied him on this journey, when summer had just begun, a kind of frightened practice drill for what awaits me tomorrow, but tonight she’s still mine, I’m not ready to hand her over yet, with the power of my love I try to heal her, with the power of his love, he has to come back tonight, if he doesn’t come back tonight he’ll never come back, this house will no longer be his house, this child will no longer be his child, my body will no longer be his body, in the place where I loved him an ugly scar will grow, a barbed-wire fence will stand forever between us, if he doesn’t come back tonight, when she is suffering in her sickness, and I lean my head against her bed, weeping into the blazing hollow of her shoulder, before the sun rises he will deny me three times.

  She puts out a sweaty hand and feels my face in disappointment, where’s Daddy, she whispers, I want Daddy, a bad smell comes from her mouth, the smell of burnt porridge at the bottom of the saucepan, and I say, Daddy will come as soon as he can, and I hurry out of the room, she’ll die if he doesn’t come, she’ll die, and I grope for the telephone in the dark, I’ll call her house, I’ll tell her that the child will die if
he doesn’t come at once, and I begin to dial the number, I don’t care if I wake the whole world up, as long as my child is saved, but the minute her sleepy voice answers I hang up, the words escape my mouth and echo through the house, I can’t force him, she has to get well without him, she mustn’t be so dependent on him, and I go and sit on the porch, cool breezes pierce the heat, the show is over, I suddenly understand, the curtain is torn, the stage has crumbled, the limits of my ability have become clear, I no longer have the power to prettify the world for her. For years and years I’ve been exhausting my strength in these vain efforts, stretching my body to its full length, to cover up the rifts, from year to year it’s grown harder, and now the moment I feared has arrived, the moment when it’s impossible to cover up anymore, because the truth, fierce as fire, has consumed with its breath the flower beds I planted with an anxious heart. I stand up heavily and return to her room, the darkness in the depths of the house is dense and oppressive, covering her white face, her lifeless curls, and in a broken voice I whisper into her sleep, before I can regret it, he’s left home, Noga, he’ll come only when he chooses, he’ll call only when it suits him, the time has come for us to stop waiting.

  But early in the morning, a mantle of majestic blue light still covering the room, I seem to hear an insistent knocking at the door and I wake from my restless sleep, Behold, I will bring them from the north country, and gather them from the coasts of the earth, and with them the blind and the lame, the woman with child and her that travaileth with child together; a great company shall return thither. They shall come with weeping, and with supplications will I lead them; I will cause them to walk by the river of waters in a straight way, wherein they shall not stumble; for I am a father to Israel, and Ephraim is my firstborn. The verses of consolation I have been reading all night stand up next to me and cheer, like the dead at the moment of their resurrection, refrain thy voice from weeping and thine eyes from tears, I can’t straighten my back and I hurry stooping from the room, my heart beating wildly, he’s come back to me, my Udi, he couldn’t really go away, we’re one people, even if two kingdoms, we will make a new covenant between us now, for I will forgive his iniquity and remember his sin no more. Why is he knocking on the door instead of opening it, overnight he has turned from a resident to a guest, where’s his key, and I approach the door, filled with absolute happiness, from the day I was born to this minute there’s nothing I wanted more than his return this morning at sunrise, to redeem Noga from her sickness and me from my sorrow, to be a family again, and I deliberately draw out this moment of his knocking on my door, delicate, timid knocks of sorrow and regret, open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, for my head is filled with dew and my locks with the drops of the night, until they suddenly peter out and I hasten to turn the key, in case he changes his mind and leaves, in case he slips away, and my eyes burning with tiredness narrow at the sight of the old back slowly descending the stairs, at the sight of the face turning toward me, a dark, wrinkled face, covered with black sunglasses, and I open my mouth in a wail of disappointment, it seems to open wider and wider, until the lips tear as in giving birth, so great is the disappointment that rends me, his not coming shocks me even more than his going, and my whole body bows down in a cry of despair, Mother, what are you doing here?

  I came to help you, she says, the stairs bringing her back to me, and I stretch out my arms to her in an endless fall, here I am hugging her knees in childish dismay, Mommy don’t go, stay with us, Mommy why are you getting all dressed up, why are you wearing high heels, why are you putting on makeup, her knees hurry from room to room with me between them, tangled up in them, trying to trip her up, Mommy stay, Daddy’s so sad without you, we’re so sad, stay with us, and here are her hands on my hair, I have to, I have no choice, she says, it will be all right, everyone will be better off, but no one was better off, certainly not her, did a malicious false prophecy echo in her ears then too, a voice calling her to get up and go, and now her voice is hoarse from smoking, her hands rumple my hair, you should start dyeing it, she says, look how many white hairs you have all of a sudden.

  It’s not all of a sudden, I mutter, it’s just that you haven’t stroked me for a long time, and I hang on to her and stand up with difficulty, a hooked beak gapes at me in a hungry smile, black wings spread out before my eyes, and then close, and I wave my arms to and fro to chase them away, I’m not quite dead yet, I shout, leave me alone, I can’t die, I can’t die yet, and my mother embraces me, that’s enough, stop crying now, I didn’t realize I was crying, and then a cry rises from inside the house, a cry that darkens the beating of the wings around me in its despair, Daddy?

  It’s not Daddy, I say and hurry to her room, morbid vapors rise from it, but she is sitting up and pointing at the door with a contorted smile, her eyes bulging and opaque as the eyes of a doll, Daddy’s back, she shouts, and immediately lies down again, as if frightened by the sound of her own voice, dropping her head to the pillow and sinking into a delirious sleep, breathing heavily. Has she seen a doctor, my mother asks sternly, and I say, not really, and she yells, what are you trying to prove, why haven’t you called a doctor, do you want her to get worse so that you can show that he’s a murderer too? And I yell back, I don’t need you to preach to me, I need you to help me, you said you came to help me, and only then I remember to ask, how did you know?

  Udi called me, she says, a note of pride stealing into her voice, and I ask in suspense, where did he call from, and she replies, he said that he was in the south, in the Arava I think, he asked me to be with you, and I raise my voice again, did he know that Noga was sick, did he say anything about it? And she shrugs her shoulders, I have no idea, I could hardly hear him, but I examine her doubtfully, it seems to me that she knows more than she’s letting on, and I plant myself in front of her, eager for every scrap of information, like a hungry dog in front of a pot of meat whose lid he can’t remove.

  I trail behind her to the kitchen, studying the tiles, anything not to look at her, for years I’ve been averting my eyes from her, avoiding her gaze, there is so much to hide, the endless anger against her and the spiteful glee, the sorrow for her beauty and the sorrow for her life, and the fear of being like her and the fear of being like him, like my father, and it seems that tonight the pendulum that has been swinging over my head all my life has finally made up its mind, I’m like him, on the side of the abandoned, of the ones who take the blows, not those who deliver them, I’m on the side of the victims and not the victimizers, that’s my place, and I’ll have to get used to it. At the beginning it seemed completely different, Udi would denounce my genes, you’re faithless like your mother, you’ll throw me out in the end like she threw him out. And for years I tried apologetically to prove that I wasn’t like her, that I was faithful, and now the truth had come out, he who was always above suspicion turned out to be the cheater and I had won, actually I had lost, and I fill with shame before her at having been beaten like this, my inferiority is so striking in comparison to her, the beautiful heartbreaker, while I am the heartbroken daughter, and I can no longer hide my disgrace, I lay my head on the kitchen table, I’m so ashamed, Mother, I suppose I seem as pathetic as Daddy to you now, and she says in a gentle voice, you’re quite wrong, Noam, I almost envy you, it is better to be on the side of the abandoned, and I raise my head in surprise, ancient crumbs of bread sticking to my cheek in a moist trail along the track of my tears, you’re talking nonsense, Mother, I wish I’d left him, I’m sorry for every day I stayed with him, how could I let him decide for me, that’s what makes all the difference, and she says, sometimes it’s a lot more convenient when someone else decides, and I say, bullshit, you don’t know what you’re talking about.

  Believe me, Noam, she coaxes me, the one who has the decision made for him recovers a lot more quickly than the one who decides, you’ll soon get over it, you’ll be able to have a better life, but he’ll remain with the whole burden of the responsibility, all the guilt, the doubts, h
e doesn’t know yet what’s in store for him, you’ll see that you’ll get over it long before he does, but to me all this sounds like a fiction, something out of her imagination, because I saw him, I heard him, he’s completely in control, cold and calculating, and I’m falling apart, but nevertheless her words succeed in surprising me, and I peek at her with lowered eyes, she always managed to confuse me until in the end I gave up trying to understand her, everything about her is contrary, illogical, she seems happy when she’s unhappy and vice versa, for years I’ve been avoiding her and now he’s sent her to me, on this sick morning, still controlling my life from a distance, so that I’ll sit opposite her in the kitchen, my face freckled with sticky bread crumbs, abandoned and sulky as a child, and say to her, why did you do it to me?

  Her light eyes stare at the door for a moment, as if waiting for someone to save her, but she immediately recovers, I didn’t do it to you, she says, it wasn’t against you, it was for me, mothers are allowed to live too, it’s not a crime. With all due respect to children, she continues with an effort, as if trying to convince herself, you don’t have to commit suicide for them, and I feel my face turning white, just as my father’s did when she scolded him, and I ask, was staying with my father like committing suicide? Aren’t you exaggerating a bit? I don’t understand how anyone could leave such a good husband, and she says, stop it, Na’ama, there’s no point in discussing your father now, but I persevere, now that I’ve dared to ask I’m not about to let her get away without answering me. Of course there’s a point, I want to understand how you could permit yourself to leave a man who loved you so much, who only wanted your happiness, who only wanted to be with you and your children, who came home from work with baskets full of shopping, and washed the dishes and made the food and read us stories, and never got angry, and never made accusations, he was an angel, wasn’t that good enough for you, what did you think, that you deserved to have God himself in bed with you?