by Eshkol Nevo
* * *
—
The clerk at the city emergency center asked us for identifying marks. I remember her tone. Matter-of-fact. Tinged with impatience. The end-of-shift tone. I said, Small body, light brown. White paws. A white stripe on her forehead. A long white tail. Uncombed. Then I asked Noam if she wanted to add anything. Yes, she said, she’s really smart, our dog, whenever I’m sad, she feels it even if I don’t say anything, and she comes to sit near me.
Okay, the clerk said. I’ll get in touch with the city animal shelter and check if anyone picked up a dog that looks like her.
I remember the long minute that passed until she came back to us. I remember that my daughter bit her nails down to the flesh. And I remember forcing myself not to say anything about her biting her nails down to the flesh.
* * *
—
Tell me, didn’t we pass that ugly building already?
It’s possible. We’ve been driving for an hour already. And this is a small city.
“A city without a libido.”
What?
That’s what Adi said about your city.
Wow. And do you also happen to remember Adi’s last name?
No.
Or…other things she told you about herself?
Like what?
I don’t know. Things she likes to do, let’s say. Does she play tennis? Basketball? Buy secondhand clothes? Like hummus. Every bit of information can move us forward here.
She likes to read, I think.
Okay, that’s good! Explain.
I told her that we were going to meet an Israeli writer. You, I mean. So she told me that she had read all your books.
Great.
No offense, but she said that the first one was the best, and everything after that went downhill.
You don’t say.
Hey man, I have no idea, I didn’t read any of them. I’m more into Scandinavian writers. I’m crazy about their sick minds. You know Axel Wolff?
Unfortunately, yes.
Never mind. What I said before…does it point you in any direction?
Look, we can try to go to all the bookstores in the city, but that would take a lot of time. Aren’t you supposed to go back to your family? Isn’t your flight tomorrow?
So?
* * *
—
Then, too, when we were looking for Luna, I almost gave up. I remember saying to my daughter: It’s dark already, what are the chances we’ll find her now? But that daughter who, unlike her older sister and her younger brother, almost never asked for things for herself, wanted to try a little more. Just a tiny bit more. And she lowered her lashes as if she were about to cry. I took a deep breath and started to drive in the general direction of the house, but very slowly. The speed of a bicycle. And then—we saw her. I mean, first we heard her. A whimper. Familiar. Heartbreaking.
We found her behind the monument for the soldiers who fell in the Second Lebanon War. Licking herself. When she saw us, her whimpering turned into short barks of joy. She tried to run to us, but collapsed to the ground when she tried to stand up. Only then did we notice the large, bleeding wound that had opened slightly above her left leg.
* * *
—
Wait a minute!
What?
I just remembered something else Adi liked. Apart from reading books.
What?
Ice cream! She always said how much she feels like eating ice cream.
Okay…Ice cream’s a little general. Did she say what kind of ice cream?
Yes, she did, the soft kind. You know, like they sell at McDonald’s for a dollar?
American ice cream?
Yes, she really told me you call it that. I don’t get it. What’s American about soft-serve ice cream?
The truth is that—
Why are you driving slowly again?
So you can enjoy my city. When we drive quickly, you miss out on its unique charm.
Cut the crap. Why are you driving slowly?
Because I have an idea. And I’m turning it around in my mind. Slowly.
What? Tell me!
Don’t get too excited. It’s pretty much…a long shot.
Come on, tell me already!
There’s only one shopping center in the city that has both a bookshop and a McDonald’s.
* * *
—
We drove cautiously with Luna on the backseat. She kept licking herself and bleeding on the upholstery. My daughter sat beside her, stroked her head, and spoke to her like a mother comforting her child. We drove to an all-night veterinary clinic in our old neighborhood. Luna was happy when we lived there, in a not-so-new house that was neither symmetrical nor entirely legal, on the edge of the city, adjacent to the fields. She had so much space: A small jump over the low stone fence, and she was free to run in any direction and bark at the moon. When I think about it, it was only when we moved to the new house, trapped between other houses, with no view to speak of, that she began to deteriorate. As if old age had assaulted her all at once.
The vet we knew wasn’t in his clinic. The night-shift vet was there instead.
Usually, we went to the clinic with Luna to get her vaccinated, and she used to bark and try to run away. This time, she didn’t have the strength even to protest.
We placed her on the examination table, with her wound facing up.
The vet said: Wow. And asked: Did you see the car that hit her?
We said no.
She lightly touched the area close to the wound and Luna whimpered. My daughter’s voice broke as she asked: Can you…bandage it?
I can, but…the vet replied in an ominous tone.
* * *
—
How do I look? Rachel asked.
She had been checking herself in the mirror for a few minutes now, rummaging through a small makeup case, and at some point, she even took out a hairbrush. And brushed her hair.
Sorry, Rachel, I’m driving now. I can’t look.
So look when we get to a light. Please.
I looked when we got to a light.
Straight black hair with one blond streak. An eyebrow ring. Large dark eyes. A Jewish nose. Thin lips covered in very red lipstick. A blush of excitement on her cheeks.
You’re lovely, Rachel, I said truthfully. But—
You think Adi will be glad to see me?
Rachel, listen, for years I’ve been looking all over the world for a friend who disappeared on me, and the chances that—
My heart tells me she’ll be there, Rachel said with conviction.
“My heart tells me.” I repeated her words silently, sarcastically. And thought: These Americans. They think that life is Hollywood.
* * *
—
Then I called Dikla and told her to meet us. I knew that when it came to Luna, I didn’t have the right to decide alone. After all, she was originally Dikla’s dog. She’d found her wandering around the streets during one of our separations, and when we got back together, she said: I won’t go back to living with you without the dog.
I couldn’t stand dogs until Luna. The first dog I ever knew in my life was the crazy bulldog in Haifa that used to leap onto the fence with bared teeth whenever anyone passed. And once, on a path below the house on Einstein Street, it bit me, not to mention that an army tracker dog on weekend leave that, mistaking me for a terrorist, tore a piece of flesh off my back. Years later, I would still get chills on the back of my neck every time a dog barked near me. But Luna was small and pacifistic, and never jumped on anyone with her teeth bared. Just the opposite: Our first night together, she climbed onto the bed and put her head on my chest. Slowly. As if asking for permission. And so she and I became bosom buddies, as she did with the kids.
* * *
Dikla arrived and listened to the vet’s detailed explanation, one we had already received. I knew that slow nod of hers very well, the “digesting bad news” nod. She had nodded exactly that way when she was told that, even after a recount, she hadn’t been elected head of the movement.
* * *
—
There she is, man!
No way. Where?
There! And, in fact, standing on the sidewalk in front of McDonald’s was a girl soldier. With an American ice-cream cone in her hand. And a Golani Brigade beret under her epaulette.
You’re sure that—
Yes, stop the car already.
I stopped the car already. Rachel hurried out, leaving her bag behind. I watched what was happening through the window. Her back was to me, so I didn’t see her face, but I did see the girl soldier. Her first reaction was to tense up. Almost recoil. She even put a hand on her rifle stock. It took her a fraction of a second to realize who was approaching her. And then—there was a lovely moment of recognition. Her face was illuminated by a new light and her large body, which had been slightly stooped, straightened up. They hugged briefly. The soldier was still holding the American ice cream, so she hugged Rachel with only one hand. Then they moved away from each other and Rachel spoke. I didn’t hear a word, but I saw her embarrassed, excited hand movements, and I saw the effect of her words on the soldier. I saw her eyes soften and her lips open slightly, in amazement. I saw the ice cream fall from her hand and land upside down on the sidewalk. Then they hugged again. And the hug was so warm and intimate that I should have looked away. But I couldn’t.
After a long moment, they broke away from each other and walked hand in hand toward my car.
I thought: What a tender sight it is, two women walking hand in hand.
Before I realized what was happening, Rachel bent down quickly and, through the window, planted a warm kiss on my cheek.
Thank you for everything you did for me, she said, and gestured for me to give her her bag. I’ll read all your books! Even the awful ones! I promise!
A moment before the two girls disappeared into the bookstore, my phone rang.
It was Ron, from Birthright. The Project with a Purpose.
I wanted to thank you for the lecture, he said. I had good feedback on it.
Great, I said. I enjoyed it too.
We’ll talk longer next week, he said. Right now, I have to cut it short, the truth is that we’re in a bit of a mess here, one of the girls is missing. And their flight is leaving tomorrow morning.
Wow.
A problematic kind of girl, a little unstable. With a family history of…we’re afraid she might…
Of course.
We’re scouring Tel Aviv. The police are on the lookout too. We can’t allow a hair on her head to be hurt!
* * *
I didn’t go right home after that. I knew what was waiting for me there. Or, more accurately, what wasn’t waiting for me.
I drove up and down the streets of the city for another hour, with the window open.
Whistling Luna’s whistle. In the wind.
If you could relive a moment in your life, what moment would you choose?
We said we’d meet on the beach in Beit Yanai. She already had a new boyfriend, I had a girlfriend. We hadn’t seen each other for almost a year, since the split. Out of the blue, she left me a voice mail: Want to meet up? Her teenage voice.
I had a haircut first thing in the morning. Even though I didn’t think there was a chance. She was waiting for me on the bluff, wearing the brown dress she knew I couldn’t resist. I kissed her on the cheek. The scent of her body lotion. I didn’t notice that she was carrying a leash until she said, Meet Luna.
Nice to meet you, Luna—I bent down and petted the dog’s head.
I thought you didn’t like dogs.
I don’t, I said.
Should we go down to the beach for a while? she said, taking off her shoes. Her feet. I took mine off too. We walked along the waterline until there were no more people. Luna walked at our side, occasionally barking at the waves.
You still live in Givatayim? she asked.
You still make shakshuka with feta cheese?
She laughed. The small snort she makes when she laughs wholeheartedly.
Let’s sit down for a while, she said, and took a large towel out of her bag.
We sat down. Close. Shoulders almost touching. Luna circled around us, agitated. We didn’t speak for a few minutes as we watched the sunset. And then Dikla put her head on my shoulder. At first I felt her soft hair. Then her cheek. I put my arm around her naked shoulder and pulled her toward me.
I’m tired of it, she said into my neck.
Of what?
Of fighting against it, she said.
I sighed and rested my cheek on her head, as if to say, So am I.
Suddenly, Luna climbed onto me and began licking my face. I was startled. I drew back. Her wet tongue. Her piercing paws. I tried to pry her off me gently.
Dikla laughed. You might not like dogs, but Luna likes you!
The pleasure is all mine, I said.
The pleasure is all mine? Since when do you say that?
People change, I said.
It grew dark, the first stars came out. Dikla lay back on the towel. Luna stretched out beside her, suddenly calm. I lay down too. My elbow touched hers, our faces to the stars. Then we turned to each other at exactly the same second, as if the same metronome were ticking in both of us. Her face, so close. Her wide mouth.
I can’t kiss you, she said, I have a boyfriend.
I can’t kiss you, I said, I have a girlfriend.
We kissed. A gentle kiss. Hesitant. I began to lift her dress and she caught my hand in hers and said: No. I stopped. Our fingers intertwined. I was still breathing quickly.
Maybe it’s a sign, I said.
What sign?
It was clear to me that she knew, but wanted me to say it out loud. So I said: If we can’t forget each other for such a long time, maybe it’s a sign.
Maybe, she said, uneasily.
Luna jumped over her and squeezed between us. Don’t be afraid, she doesn’t bite, you can pet her. She had a long white stripe in the middle of her forehead. I petted it gingerly.
She loves being petted there, Dikla encouraged me.
Where did you find her?
In front of the vehicle licensing bureau in Holon. Someone abandoned her there.
She’s sweet, I admitted.
So are you, Dikla said, looking at me warmly.
We kissed again. A long, hungry kiss this time. A prelude kiss—that we had to stop because Luna started kicking sand on us with her hind legs.
Sometimes she wants attention, Dikla apologized and pulled her over to us with her leash.
I tried to get my breath back, calm my hungry heart.
You have sand on your lashes, Dikla said. Close your eyes for a second.
I closed my eyes. She came very close and blew on my face, gently. Once, then again.
Chills ran up and down my spine.
I have to get back, she finally said.
Me too, I said.
She stood up. So did I. We brushed the sand off our clothes and, in the light of the moon, walked toward the parking lot. On the way, I boasted that my first book was coming out. In two months.
That’s great, she said, I’m really proud of you. I always wanted to marry a writer.
I remember, I said.
She described her new job enthusiastically. Those dramatic hand gestures of hers. I thought: She has finally found what she was meant to do, and I have found writing. Maybe now, when we’re happier with ourselves, we can stop screwing things up between us. I thought: Don’t say anything now. Absolutely not. You haven’t
seen each other for a full year and it might freak her out. Let it ripen for a while.
I said: Is September okay for you?
Okay for what? she said, stopping suddenly. We were already fairly close to our cars.
For the wedding. Cyprus. Just you and me. And a month later, a party for family and friends.
You’re saying that just because you’re hot for me, she said teasingly.
I’m saying it because I love you.
I love you too, she said, suddenly serious. But…are you sure that’s enough?
A week later, she moved in with me and brought Luna with her. As a condition.
In September of that year, we got married. In Cyprus.
Two years later, Shira was born.
* * *
The only memento we had of Luna was a framed picture in the living room. It had been taken in the Ein Hod Artists’ Village—Luna with her leash tied to a stone sculpture of a lion. To the stone tail of the lion. Her own tail is wagging in the air like a mane.
I was the one who opened the door for the pizza-delivery guy. I’m the one who forgot to close it behind him when I went to get my wallet, which enabled Luna to slip through the opening onto the dangerous streets. Dikla was still at work, the kids were in their rooms. There were no witnesses. After the vet, after the injection, after Noam went to sleep, when Dikla asked me, But how did it happen? How did she get out?—I rearranged the details of the story to show myself in a more positive light. The delivery guy came in, I told her, and before I could close the door, she…just…squeezed behind it and ran away.
Dikla didn’t ask anything else. Didn’t speak. All she did was give me a look that said: We both know that Luna couldn’t move fast enough to do something like that. And it also said: I know you’re lying to me. And I’m embarrassed for you. But we won’t get into that now.