So We Said Goodbye
Rama Marinov-Cohen
Is it possible to love two people at once, and does the advice of King Solomon the Wise, "Take hold of one, yet release not the other," apply to love as well?
Don't let the delicacy and restraint of this beautiful and touching book fool you; this is no ordinary book – it plays with fire.
Judith Rotem, Author
Can an old love disappear? Does the past simply end, pass, go away? These are but a few of the questions this book addresses. They may be age-old questions but in So We Said Goodbye they appear in new garb, with a tempestuous, convincing voice, through the characters' intriguing bonds and relationships.
Gail Hareven, Author
This book deals with processes that couples undergo after years of marriage: growing apart, new intimacy, and the blindness it imposes on its subjects.
Rama Marinov-Cohen describes the processes the two couples undergo with wisdom, courage and a deep understanding of her protagonists.
Alit Karp, columnist for Ha'aretz
To my parents
Rachel and Amnon Marinov
with endless love
To my father,
A scientist and researcher in every fibre of your being.
Your life is an inspiration to the spirit of man,
recognising no boundaries,
desiring only pure knowledge and truth.
You are all gentleness, modesty and honesty,
and your heart – nothing surpasses it.
To my mother,
to the life-force that beats within you,
to your heart that swells at vistas of blossom,
to your manifold talents, your insightful wisdom,
and the warmth of your heart.
It is your love to which we owe our existence.
I feel so blessed.
Copyright © 2015 Rama Marinov-Cohen
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission, in writing, of the author. The characters and events in this book are figments of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any person, living or dead.
First published in Hebrew on 2012 as “Preda Nechona” by Yedioth Ahronoth Books and Penn Publishing House.
Translated from Hebrew by Aloma Halter & Rama Marinov-Cohen.
Editor: Dorit Ofek
Linguistic editor: Julie Phelps
Contact: [email protected]
Table of Contents
1. Aya:I did it
2. Yaron:She suddenly landed on me
3. Aya:Four days have passed, time seems to crawl
4. Yaron:I remember everything
5. Aya:I’ve never seen you like this before
6. Yaron:She didn’t hang up
7. Aya:Writing down, rubbing out
8. Hagar:Loving, in his way
9. Aya:Hundreds of emails piling up in my inbox
10. Yaron:Didn’t know what to say
11. Aya:There's no expiry date
12. Hagar:What would I do without you
13. Aya:Wake up, something’s bothering you
14. Yaron:It's nearly two a.m.
15. Aya:I’d give anything not to have got it
16. Hagar:I was going to get rid of them
17. Aya:Cups of coffee brought in, taken out
18. Hagar:The morning started out just fine
19. Aya:The pile's going down
20. Yaron:Long queues, shopping list in my pocket
21. Aya:A whole year has gone by
22. Hagar:Why hang on to old things
23. Aya:The darkness is quiet
24. Hagar:Sometimes I can’t believe it was him
25. Aya:Spring is in the air
26. Hagar:He has this politeness about him
27. Aya:So we talked
28. Yaron:Complicated
29. Hagar:The weekend’s almost over
30. Aya:It’s so good that we’ve come here
31. Hagar:I have to get you out of this
32. Yaron:Yesterday, when I was walking down Masada Street
33. Hagar:At last you’ve let me cut your hair short
34. Aya:Layers upon layers of years
35. Yaron:It happens slowly, over the years
36. Hagar:I could hardly hold myself back
37. Aya:So we said goodbye
The woman with the laptop:An epilogue
Thanks
Yaron.
That's his name.
Ya-ron, a name that opens wide, the sound of love.
Ron. A closed motion.
About a relationship that ended, slapping shut.
There was no lilt to it.
That's what I thought, for twenty-eight years.
Until I saw him again.
1. Aya
February 8
I did it.
Hard to believe. The idea’s been going round in my mind for years. Surfacing from time to time, drifting in and out of my mind, coming and going. Find Yaron, call him. Perhaps meet up. Is he still in Haifa? I remember that his wife’s name is Hagar. They must have children. We haven’t seen one another since then – a lifetime. Does he remember? What does he remember? No, he wouldn’t slam the phone down on me. But how would he react? Impossible to imagine after such a long time, after we vanished from each other’s lives. My eyes mist over. Get his number, dial it, cross my fingers that I won’t have to identify myself to her, evade questions along the way. Reach him. Talk to him. Hope against hope that he’ll be alone. Like landing on the other side of the world in one leap. Beyond imagination.
It all started one Friday morning. We got up leisurely, making our way to the kitchen for our morning coffee. As we sat around the table opening the post – letters from the bank, a parents’ meeting at school, the annual car test – Uri said: “Aya, look what you’ve got. Here’s an invitation to a reunion, your high school.” He handed me an envelope with an old photo of the school, promising ‘an unforgettable evening of nostalgia’. Something lurched in my stomach as I was putting it on the fridge, marking off the date on the calendar. Good, there’s time. And no harm in a blitz diet. But apparently, it didn’t really help, for a few weeks later, as I stood there, trying things on, nothing seemed right, couldn’t find a single outfit. “Why don’t you just come as you are,” my Uri teased me as the green dress was also rejected, sliding to my ankles, and I sighed in despair.
The sleepy streets of the old neighbourhood in Haifa were bustling with the crowd that had come for the event, former high-school students streamed toward it from all directions, on the look-out for the signs directing everyone to their year and their fellow classmates. People were trying to recognize faces, hoping that they themselves would be easily recognized, and that their names would also be remembered. They hadn’t really changed, not really. Well, perhaps just a bit.
I remember the cries of amazement at the reunion and the shrieks as we met up, embracing. “A judge? You’re a judge? And in the District Court? You spent the whole of high school in the playground, there wasn’t a single teacher who could put up with you, how on earth did you become a judge?”…. “Have you seen Sara? That quiet girl with two plaits… A brain surgeon, a neurosurgeon... that’s what they call it. Good for her, really, amazing.” “Hey, did you know that Dana has two grandchildren? A grandma in jeans and a tank-top – incredible.”
Up and down the stairs, wandering around the corridors, looking for our old classroom, the memories seeping in.
/> “It’s the same water fountain, it was rusty even then,” we said, smiling at it. “But now it looks smaller, doesn’t it?” said Dan, and we laughed. “Even the classroom hasn’t changed … it’s the same Upper 6th. And you sat here, I remember you sitting right here,” I said to Sara, pointing to the middle chair in the front row. “The sign’s gone. Why did they take it down? There used to be a sign here, to the right of the door, it said Upper 6/2,” Oded said. “No it wasn’t, the sign was on the left,” Dana insisted, and immediately we got swept into a passionate argument, standing there outside our classroom – whether the sign had been to the right of the door or to the left. “And the girls’ toilets were here, they moved them,” said Oded, a tinge of wistfulness in his voice. “And what would you have been doing in the girls’ toilets?” we teased him, giggling – us girls. Then his face was suddenly serious. “So what were you looking for there?” we pressed him. Oded, who in the IVth year had been the heart-throb of all the girls, even me. “At break I’d go in there looking for Sara,” he admitted, giving away a secret he had harboured for thirty years. I caught sight of his belly protruding through his shirt, the stubborn balding, and the beard that did not suit him. He would have been better off without it. “I had no idea, I had no idea at all,” Sara stammered, blushing in plain sight of us all, and I suddenly saw her, a bashful girl with pigtails, hardworking, diligent, in shorts and sandals. Now in high-heeled shoes and tailored clothes. A doctor. Smiling, her eyes on Oded.
Afterwards, in the playground, suddenly Dana said —
“There used to be a bench here, under the tree, I remember Aya sitting here, with her boyfriend, Alon, right? Was he two classes ahead of us or three?”
“I think it was two,” I said, but didn’t correct his name.
“Don’t tell me you don’t remember,” said Dana. “You used to sit here all the time. What’s he doing these days?”
“They’ve changed the whole garden, I think the bench was there, on that side. And tell me, what about you, where do you live? What are the names of your grandchildren?”
“You disappeared on me,” said Uri.
“I just wanted to walk around a bit,” I replied.
“OK, come on, it’s really late,” he said, and put the camera back in his pocket. It was already one in the morning. “I’ll be right there,” I replied, “just a few moments. Wait for me in the car.” The parting was going on as we exchanged phone numbers, addresses, emails, taking out our glasses to check we had written them down right. “It’s unbelievable how the years have gone by, it’s simply terrible how time flies,” we said over and over again. “From now on we’re staying in touch,” we promised one another. “We won’t let any more years slip by like this.” And so our class stood on the pavement next to the old school, agreeing it was just outrageous how the time had flown. Finally Dan suggested, “Let’s meet again, let’s have another get-together in the summer. That’s it, it’s decided. You’ll all come to me.”
So we parted.
Settling back on the seat next to Uri for the late night drive home, a little dazed, awash with memories.
“I’m so happy you came with me.” I stroked his forearm, his hand gripping the steering wheel. “I hope you took some photos?”
“I’ve got photos, don’t worry.”
“I’ll send them on with an email; they’ll all want to see them.”
“You haven’t met up for almost thirty years and now you can’t bear to part,” said Uri.
“Yes, it’s great that Dan invited the whole class round in the summer.”
And after a silence, with another two hours of the journey ahead of us –
“Yaron didn’t come?” said Uri, his hand resting against my leg.
“No. How did you know that I was just thinking about him,” I smiled at Uri in the darkness.
“Why didn’t he come?”
“I walked around a bit among the older classes, but I didn’t see him. Maybe they couldn’t get hold of him.”
After a few moments.
“Don’t let that spoil it for you; you were having such a good time.”
“I’m annoyed with myself for not having the guts to ask.”
“Never mind. Maybe it’s for the best.”
“Maybe. It was really fun.”
“And now I can put a face to your Oded from the 4th Year. So it turns out he was in love with Sara.”
“Yes, just think, it took him thirty years to tell her.”
“You noticed how almost everyone came alone, without their partners.”
“Of course I noticed. What of it. It’s so much better like this,” I said. And then I dozed off. It was late. And we reached home.
That summer we got together at Dan’s.
And time passed.
And what of Yaron?
Suddenly I got a sign of life. It was last winter; almost a year had passed since he ran into an old girlfriend of mine in town. A strange man suddenly came up to her, she told me, approaching from under an umbrella, all bundled up in a heavy coat. It was only after he started to speak that she remembered him, Yaron. It was the same smile, she said, like then, when we were in high school. His hair had gone grey, that youthful slenderness had gone. He ran quickly through the main landmarks of his life for her. Electrical engineering, studied in Haifa, Masters. Started his PhD. Years and years in Australia, still going back and forth. A wife, children. He didn’t ask for my phone number. She didn’t mention if he asked about me. Apparently my name didn’t come up.
Since then – the idea had been there, lodged within me. Thinking and not doing. Summer had come and gone. Maybe in September, for New Year, I wondered, but the days slipped by.[1] Never mind, I could also call him on Sukkot to wish him a happy holiday. Sukkot passed by, yet the idea lingered. And meanwhile, the autumn rains had come. So maybe for his birthday… he has a birthday in February, on the eighth I think. Will he be fifty or am I a year off, I wondered, trying to gauge the precise age difference between us. No, I don’t think so, it’s fifty. Fine, then February 8th it is, that’s the day, I thought, and set an unseen timer for the date that was now flashing in my mind. OK, there’s time. You can prepare. And don’t let yourself down.
The months went by. Would I do it or would I back down? So many years had gone by since we parted, all my life. How could it be, for our entire beings had been merged, every part of our body. How could the years have gone by like that? Don’t miss the date, grab your chance. If you don’t do it then, then you’re utterly hopeless.
The day has arrived. All the excuses have run out, the endless postponements are over. I sit in the car, closed, protected. A series of phone calls, trying to find out the number, indifferent phone operators, my heartbeat growing louder and stronger. I’ve begun, I’ve already started. The world hasn’t changed, I can retrace my steps, I haven’t left a mark. But the decision I’ve made propels me forward. Don’t stop, don’t think, carry on. Another enquiry, another call. A female voice. No, not a woman, it’s a girl. It’s going well. Yaron’s daughter dictates the number to me, no curiosity, she doesn’t ask the superfluous question, “Who’s asking for him?” – a question that could bring the whole tower of cards in my hand tumbling down.
“Yes, he’s there, you can call him, why not?” she replied with the nonchalance of a teenager focused on her world. “Thanks,” I break off quickly, so as not to squander what I have just gained. And I tot up my successes: his telephone number, the knowledge that he’s around, and the fact that I remain in the shadows, seeing and unseen. Fine, go on. You’ve got this far, don’t stop now. And you’re not going to ask yourself a single question.
I shut my eyes tight, take a deep breath and leap into the cold, dark water. Dial the number, steady my finger. The rings mingling with heartbeats.
“Hello?” can be heard from the other side.
“Can I talk to Yaron?” I hear myself.
“Speaking.”
Can this be him? I’d never ha
ve recognized his voice. Has his voice changed or is it my memory?
“Who’s speaking?”
“Guess.” It pops out of me.
He thinks, embarrassed. Stuck, searching for a clue.
“Go on, guess,” I say, edgily, putting him on the spot, stretching the seconds like elastic, savouring his embarrassment.
Silence. He hasn’t a clue who’s on the line.
“It’s Aya.”
“Aya?” He’s astonished.
Do you remember me, I almost ask, the question on the tip of my tongue. Luckily I pull back, at the very edge.
“Aya …” I hear him say my name.
“I called to congratulate you, it’s your birthday today, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he smiles, still astounded.
“And it’s a special one, right?”
“Yes, that’s right. I’m fifty,” he smiles.
I ask him about himself, and he tells me, whizzing through the main milestones of his life. Then he asks about me. “I married Uri, from the kibbutz, you remember?”
“Yes, I remember, and you’re still with him?”
“Of course,” I smile.
He’s surprised. “I thought you got divorced a few years ago.”
“Oh, God no,” I’m completely taken aback.
“God no,” he echoes my words softly, smiling. He has no idea why he’d thought that.
“Yes, we do have children,” I reply, pride and happiness in my voice, and I name them, like presenting them in a family album. Then, lightly, I add, at first we lived in Haifa, then we moved to Jerusalem to study. And now we live in a small place, out in the country.”
So We Said Goodbye: A Contemporary Fiction Novel Page 1