A Room of Their Own

by Rakefet Yarden

  “Shut up!” Revital screamed at them, her migraine driving her crazy. “May the Lord take you already!” Three years later, they both died during a training accident in the army. Revital cried on my shoulder throughout their funeral, even blowing her nose into my shirt. It wasn’t just the mourners who threw away the shirts that the rabbis tore according to the Jewish ritual. Even I tossed out a relatively new black blouse. Is this seriously what you’re thinking about right now? So what if your blouse is ruined? You deserve it! Who shows up at a funeral without tissues?

  I parked my car and started walking. The old familiar trail was no longer there. It was changed due to landslides that had blocked the path, and I chose the shorter route. There wasn’t much time left until dark, and the nature reserves all close before sundown. At the beginning of the route, the cliffs seemed incredibly high. Lupines and poppies shone in blues and reds on both sides of the path, and herons cut through the sky, glistening in their whiteness. The quarantine was over for now, but springtime didn’t wait around for anyone and continued slowly receding, making room for the aggressive summer that awaited us all. The Golan Heights were still green, although faint browns already tinted their edges.

  Two hikers walked ahead of me. When they got closer, I turned my head to them and smiled. They were a man and a woman, good-looking and resembling each other. They looked like siblings, the kind of couple that always made me feel jealous. I’d imagine that the outer resemblance indicated an inner one, too, turning the whole relationship into an easier feat. I smiled and nodded my head to say hello. They walked alongside me, and after a few feet, the woman started walking faster, creating a gap between us.

  How nice of her, I thought. They’re in an open relationship, or perhaps they’re polyamorous. If something has a name, then it makes it logical, of course. I felt as intrigued as an old aunt.

  The man read my mind. “No, she’s my sister,” he chuckled. “My twin sister. I’m Dror, and she’s Shira,” he added as he slowed down.

  “Oh . . . I did think that you look like siblings. I’m Rotem.”

  “We’ve been hiking since morning. The long route brought us here. She’s had enough of me. I think I spoke too much about tax reports . . . And she definitely tries to fix me up at any given opportunity. Even during hikes.”

  “Tries to no avail?” I asked. Doesn’t seem like much of a challenge, I thought to myself. A handsome, communicative guy with a full head of hair, even. What’s the story? Maybe he’s a psychopath? Possessive, violent, or just depressed?

  “She actually did succeed once, with a close friend of hers. But that ended. Lung cancer.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Yes, it’s sad. It’s been nearly two years. This is our first trip together since then, alone that is, without the kids. We sent everyone over to the grandparents. All six of them.”

  I imagined a hand reaching out towards a six-pack of miniature water bottles placed on a shelf, then hesitating and stopping midway. “You have six children?” I choked up on the inside. He’d seemed like quite a catch up until then. Widowers are the most sought-after in the dating market, but not with six children. I reprimanded myself for the imagery, but consoled myself with that fact that at least I wasn’t imagining a meat market.

  “No,” Dror laughed, and I noticed that his eyes were laughing, too. “Two are mine and four are hers. They’re at their grandparents’ summer camp. They’d missed them very much. I have a son and a daughter, and Shira has four little ones.”

  Shira was waiting for us with Turkish coffee and savoury cookies at a little brook. She exhaled rings of smoke and lit up a cigarette for me. “Na’ama went for breast cancer check-ups once a year from the time she was 20. She never smoked. Who even thought about her lungs? After she passed away, I went back to smoking. There’s no logic to that madness.”

  We parted company by our vehicles. It was refreshing to hike together, and Dror was nice, but he was an accountant. Too many numbers − no offense to accountants, especially not mine, since I still need him to submit my yearly report, and he’s a really good guy. Dror’s a good guy, too, but that’s not enough for me. What can I do?

  Still, the encounter with Dror and Shira felt different, like I was more available. Maybe one day I’ll manage to find interest and build a relationship, once the guilt makes room for some more air.

  Continuing to live my life and deciding to have a child is one thing; finding interest in a man is a whole other ballgame. I was Yochai’s Rotem for many years, and then I enjoyed being Rotem’s Rotem, traveling on my own and having time to think. That doesn’t change so easily, but the truth is that I’m already drenched in a sea of meaningfulness. Most of my encounters with people are in-depth ones. I need to find a way to lighten up my life. A few “Our driver is a . . .”-type songs, between one darkness and another, before this all just ceases, at once, without warning.

  The sun set, coloring the valley in hues of red. A big, full moon cruised over the Sea of Galilee, accompanying my drive southbound, back home, to the place where my child lives.

  Four Legs and a Full Heart

  We reached the parking lot. A huge lawn and numerous trees surrounded the entrance to the complex, and a sign said: “The Tree of Life Ranch − a Center for Therapeutic Horseback Riding.” I loved the combination of ranch and center, of therapy and horseback riding. I was intrigued by the combinations, and felt that I’d arrived there genuinely open-minded. Tal was excited by all the trees and statues at the entrance, and made sure to look happy and glowing.

  We walked in and looked for Ronnie, the coordinator for volunteers. A young woman approached us, but I didn’t notice her. A few horses of varying sizes and colors were standing on the other side of the complex, looking at me through the windows. Lots of smiling children stood all around them, and one bright-eyed boy in a wheelchair tried to make eye contact with the horse standing in front of him.

  “Let’s go into my office so we can talk,” Ronnie said.

  I could see the riding grounds from the big windows in her room. A trainer was sitting with a little girl, perhaps handicapped, on a small, golden-colored horse. Even from a distance I could spot a large red spot on her neck. She seemed calm and happy, and all the people surrounding the horse were focused on her. It seemed as though the child, the horse, and all the people around them were on a different planet, far, far away from our world’s ruckus. That really enticed me. Then I suddenly realized that the three of us were sitting in a room and that I needed to answer something about which I had no idea. I looked at Ronnie, bewildered, and then at Tal.

  “I asked what brought you to us. Why do you want to volunteer here?”

  I didn’t know what to say. I felt that the words were stuck in my head, unable to come out. I felt mute, unable to express myself. But I also realized that this was my shot, that I had to overcome myself.

  “Dani?” she asked again.

  “I love animals. More than anything else.”

  “All right. Let’s take a little tour around the stables. You can meet the horses and see what the work entails. Working with horses can be difficult, too, and smelly and dirty. It’s not always as fun and glamorous as one would think.”

  But that was precisely what I wanted. She didn’t manage to discourage me at all. I was glad, and deep down I thanked her for not making me sit and talk anymore.

  We walked around the stables together, and with every passing moment I felt more and more strongly that this was where I wanted to be. That I wanted to stay near that unique animal radiating such nobility and strength forever, alongside gentleness and warmth.

  “This is Billy. He’s a very nice horse.” Ronnie introduced me to a brown horse. He reminded me of a horse I’d met at a ranch I’d once visited with Dad. I wanted to stay and hold him so badly.

  “Billy likes to have his neck scratched,” she said and demonstrat
ed, and Billy lowered his neck, his expression becoming tranquil and utterly devoted. I felt jealous of Ronnie. I wanted to be like that, too, to know precisely what each horse wants and needs, to feel comfortable around animals, but also around humans. I knew that I’d get along with the horses here pretty quickly once I learned the ropes, but I was apprehensive about needing to talk to people. It suddenly dawned on me that working at a ranch also entailed a lot of communication with humans, and that filled me with dread. Nevertheless, I petted Billy and smiled at Ronnie.

  “I see that being around horses comes naturally to you. There’s still a lot to learn. Horses can also be dangerous and unpredictable. To begin with, you’ll be assigned to someone at the beginning of each day, and they’ll stick with you and show you the ropes. You won’t be on your own.”

  That was precisely what I’d dreaded.

  We sat down for dinner on Tal’s little balcony, which was right off her living room. A warm, early-summer breeze blew, and a scent of blossoms filled the air. Tal ate pasta with cream sauce that she’d quickly improvised, and I had the dinner set by my dietician: two slices of bread, four tablespoons of cream cheese, half a tomato, half a cucumber, a teaspoon of olive oil, and one egg. I knew that I had to keep to the menu religiously because otherwise I’d fall into a long and intoxicating fast again. An endless addiction.

  We ate silently, each with her own thoughts and palate. Tal was playing with her food for a long time, twisting the pasta around her fork. “You’re going to kill me,” she then blurted.

  I looked at her, not overly excited, but curious nonetheless.

  “I told Dad. I didn’t mean to. It just came out. I thought that it’s important for him to know what’s happening with you. . . “

  “What did you tell him?” I interrupted her.

  “About what you think Grandpa did to you.”

  I didn’t know what to say. My heart started to pound, palpitations of panic. I felt my pulse in my ears and my feet. I felt my knees weakening and the food getting stuck in my throat. I tried to swallow what I had in my mouth, and to digest what I’d just heard. How dare she!

  “Listen, Dani, it’s not that bad. Maybe this way he’ll understand you and stop giving you such a hard time and worrying so much.”

  I remained silent.

  “I think he did it to me, too,” she added.

  I looked at her. I felt all the blood rushing down to my legs and getting stuck there. I felt hot inside, but also pale and breathless. And it was getting worse and worse.

  “Come on. Say something! Why are you so quiet?”

  “Because I don’t know what to say.”

  “Just say something. Anything!”

  “What can I say? I didn’t want Dad to know. What good can come of it? He’ll just blame himself, or not even believe me. He’ll probably say that I’m making it up. He doesn’t know how to handle reality, so why should he start now? And I definitely didn’t want him to hear it from someone else, and now you’re telling me that you think that you went through it too. . .” I finally took a breath.

  “For a while now I’ve known that there’s something inside of me,” Tal said. “Something that I need to let out. Something distressing that is causing these panic attacks. The new therapy has made it clear. The credit is all yours − well, a lot of it is. I realized that Grandpa did it to me, too. Maybe not as much as he did it to you. And he never blamed me for imagining things or forced me to sleep alone in his work room, but he touched me at every opportunity. He’d make sure that Iddo was fast asleep and then he’d come to me and put his hands under my clothes . . .”

  She spoke as though she were in a trance, with a kind of gushing speech. I felt that with her every word I was becoming more and more distant, traveling to a whole other world, but at the same time I was getting closer. It was hard for me to contain it all, but I also felt a kind of relief trickling into me.

  “And Dani . . . I also realized that I need to ask for your forgiveness,” she said in tears.

  “Forgiveness for what?”

  “For not protecting you. It might be that deep down, I knew what he was doing to you. When the whole mess with his students and with that girl from the hospital started, I wasn’t surprised at all. It was clear to me that it was the truth, not just false accusations. After he and Grandma left for New York, and while Dad was causing an uproar and trying to clear his name, I knew that it was the truth. There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt. But when you started withdrawing inwards, I saw that you were suffering, and I couldn’t be there for you. I couldn’t protect you, and I’m sorry. I’ve been a terrible sister.”

  She was sobbing. A flood of tears washed over her face. I’d never seen her like that. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t understand where it had all suddenly come from, without any warning, where she’d kept it all this time. It was only that same morning that we were at the ranch together, and everything still seemed normal and fine.

  I touched her. I tried to comfort her, but there was no real comfort there. Guilt is an unbearable, abysmal emotion. “I don’t blame you, Tali.” I’d felt the need to call her by a nickname, to get closer to her. “You did what you could at the time. And you, too, were hurt and suffering.” She seemed to calm down a bit. “But, how did Dad react when you told him?” I asked.

  “I don’t really know. He seemed to be angry. And then I thought that he felt guilty. But I have no idea what he really felt. He was just quiet. It was pretty terrible. I so wanted him to say something.”

  “It’s strange that he hasn’t spoken to me about it yet. When did you tell him?”

  “About a week ago, two or three days after you got out of the hospital.”

  Wow, a whole week, I thought to myself. I wonder what he’s planning to do . . . He usually doesn’t waste any time, and he calls immediately, and then continues to call until he gets the answers he wants out of me.

  Since my release, I’d really wanted to tell him already, to finally free myself of the secrets, but I kept postponing the conversation. I was afraid of the questions, the probing. I didn’t expect silence, though, and that confused me.

  “Are you happy about your decision to sign yourself out of the hospital?” Tal suddenly changed the subject.

  “Oh, yeah, I think I am. I know that I wasn’t able to stay there anymore. I feel better now.”

  “Great. That’s good, really good.” She gave a little smile while staring at some far away spot. I knew that she wasn’t really with me.

  Registered Mail

  Once I saw the notice taped to my clinic’s front door, I realized that my lunch break at the café would be replaced by standing in a long line at the nearby post office.

  The clerk handed me a white envelope with a tired smile. “Addressed to: Ms. Rotem Golan.” I stared at the name badge on the clerk’s blouse. “Thanks, Avishag,” I said. She awakened somewhat by the sound of her name, and leaned forward a bit in acknowledgement. I quickly peeled open the envelope.

  “The complainant: Dr. Arik Freedman. The accused: Ms. Rotem Golan. Summoned for trial due to . . . and in accordance with slander laws, on behalf of the deceased, Prof. Amnon Freedman, for planting false memories . . . revocation of therapist’s license . . . one month to retract, otherwise the lawsuit shall proceed.” My eyes sped over it all. “Please inform of your decision as soon as possible. Signed, Dalia Freedman, Attorney-at-Law.”

  I hadn’t expected that at all . . . I gathered that Dani’s parents had been told. Not that I’d expected a bouquet of roses at my clinic once they’d heard that his father had molested his daughter, but still − a lawsuit? Threatening me with taking away my license if I don’t deny Dani’s story? Isn’t that getting a little bit carried away? What do I do now? Call my insurance broker and get my legal defense on board? Call Eyal first and hear what he thinks? Or just go home, draw the curtains and go to sleep? Wait, and
what about Dani? What’s happening with her right now? Maybe I should check that first.

  “Do you really think so, Dani? Do you really think we should forget about this whole thing?”

  Dani looked at me, filled with guilt, embarrassed to her very core. “What do you want me to do, Rotem?” She’d been worried about her father suing me from the very beginning. And that’s precisely what he ended up doing.

  “They’re bringing some professor from the United States to testify, an expert at planting memories. They’ll . . .”

  “For all I care, they can bring Freud out of his grave to testify! This isn’t anything new. He, too, had given in to the pressure and retracted his acknowledging of incest − he said that women were hysterical. Those days are gone. Your parents may not lack for money, but they do very much lack the truth. That, too, can’t always be in two places at once. Not everything can be bent, interpreted, and squashed according to one’s convenience.”

  “But . . . what if your license gets revoked?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Then it’ll be an opportunity for a career change. I’ve always wanted to be a writer . . . Come on, Dani, revoking a therapist’s license is no easy feat, especially since they need to prove something that never happened, such as memory planting. We are not giving up! I’m sticking with you until you can be there for yourself and digest everything that happened − until you no longer need to vomit in order to protect yourself from what the world puts into you.”

  Snoopy approached us. Dani trusted his senses more than she did mine. It’s so much easier to believe animals than humans. They never lie or betray. It does help not to have any slippery words to trip over repeatedly.

  When I was three, I went with my parents to buy shoes for someone’s wedding at Kiryat Shemona’s old shopping center, which was built like a maze. I wanted shiny black pumps with a bow, and they wanted me to buy a pair of white shoes. I didn’t give in.