It’s good I didn’t insist. Michal really suits Michal.
And for me, Aya has remained as she was then.
All these years, she’s stayed as she was.
What will happen now?
Whatever happens is what’s meant to happen.
7. Aya
The End of the Quarter
“You have to go, we have to promote the China project,” Edward told me. Once I would have been happy just at the thought of such a journey, the chance to see the world. And now, how am I going to manage travelling, I just can’t. These days at the end of the quarter, financial reports scattered all over the place, confusing quarterly data, writing things down, rubbing them out, correcting; can’t get things right. I should be preparing for this trip, schedule timetables, send out documents, think about packing – but I can’t, just can’t do it now. “I suggest planning the trip for early May,” I said to Edward at the division’s management meeting. “No problem,” he said, immediately whipping out his magic formula, “you’re the one who initiated this project but we can easily hand it over to someone else.” And then he turned to us all, “Anyone who’d like to lead the China project, come to me after this meeting.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Yair passed me a note under the table. “You’re insane,” his lips mouthed at me silently.
“I have to travel to China,” I told Uri that evening, “it’s planned for next week.”
“It might actually be for the best that you’re off now.”
“How can you say something like that, Uri, don’t you see that I can’t deal with it?” The offence must have been written all over my face. And why now, Uri with his youth centre renovation, without a moment to breathe, why would he suddenly want me to go?
“I think you need some detox from everything that’s going on here,” he said.
Detox? What d’you mean? It’s those teenage kids of yours who are always trying to kick some habit or another, fighting addiction.
“So you think I’m addicted?”
“Yes, somewhat,” said Uri, a catch in his voice.
I was silent. Best to remain silent. And after a few days, while I was putting clothes into my suitcase, taking them out, putting them in again, trying so hard to concentrate, making a note of things for Uri to do, to take Liora to her afternoon activities, water the garden, take extra care of the roses, and a note for myself, to charge my phone for China, backup the computer, get my black jacket cleaned, do the laundry… ah, laundry, add laundry to Uri’s note, where’s the note, sheets on a hot wash, shirts on the delicate programme, suddenly he said, “Aya,” quietly, ever so quietly. What is it that he has to say, he has never spoken to me like this. “Aya,” he said again. “Yes, my Uri,” I touched his upper arm, put down the notes, anxiety knotting my stomach. “I’d like you to break off any connection with Yaron while you’re there, until you come back.” “What are you saying?” I said quietly, restraining myself from asking why, what difference would it make. Such a modest request, breaking off contact with Yaron for eight days, why should that be a problem for me?
How did this break, this act of abstention, suddenly turn out to be impossible, insufferable. “Just one email,” I wake Uri up in the middle of the night, an absolutely futile conversation, I’m pleading, “All right, so I agreed; yes, it’s true that we decided,” the protest rising in my voice, my legs folded under me in the corner of a luxurious bed, a luxurious room, a hotel in Beijing, who needs it, all my focus on the forbidden email, I have to, I must, why should I require your permission to send a simple email? Just a few words, that’s all. Worrying about Yaron gives me no peace, this separation must be cutting off his air, he’s choking, it’s clear as daylight, how can I be so cruel as to do this to him?
Another two and a half days of work, dragging on, hardly making it. What am I doing here, what’s this project, threads dangling in my mind. And in the evenings, iron weights on my legs, drifting from one boring tourist site to the next, all marked in the guide book as ‘not to be missed’. Everything is so strange, and alien, and cold, how come it’s so cold here? And why can’t they smile, can’t they see that I’m alone, completely alone, not one waiter, or driver, or guard, why only this icy politeness that seeps out from the slits of their eyes? What an effort it is, this trip to China, brushing up on currency regulations and tax laws. Unimaginable that only a few weeks ago it was me who initiated this financial research on Israeli companies in Eastern Asia, and even presented the project to the management. “Fine, do it,” said Edward, taking in the nods of approval, so grudgingly giving his consent. And his call yesterday, “I don’t understand why this project has to take two months, I’m giving you five weeks, it’s more than enough.” The call was followed up by an email, to leave no room for misunderstanding. Within seconds the mail had made its way from our office in Tel Aviv to my inbox in Beijing:
“While it is the case that you presented a plan for two months, I expect to receive an updated plan by tomorrow. We show how things can be done, not why they can’t. I would strongly suggest that you reacquaint yourself with the company’s values.”
Attached was a link to the Intranet,Toall our employees: Our company’s values; the things we believe in.
“When you don’t respond to him, he just dumps all his shit on you. It’s time you started answering him back,” Yair told me ages ago.
The plane’s wheels descend over the runway, barely touching, not touching, a trembling seizes me – touch-down. I’m engulfed by longing, my Uri, where are you, my eyes scan the Arrivals Hall, ready to throw myself into his embrace, maybe his hug will ease my distress. Here, that’s him there, that’s where he always stands, every trip, sleeves rolled up, shorts, the inevitable sandals, everything as usual. Arriving home, after being away for eight long days, will I be able to get myself some peace?
Entering the house, Uri’s sandals ahead of me, wheeling the suitcase. I follow him, glancing at the garden, the two rose bushes have wilted. A hug for the kids, tight, inhaling their smell deep inside me. Iddo breaking away, as always, “Okay, Mum, okay.” Liora clings on. Drawing some shards of strength from them. And Yaron hovers in my mind, troubling, his image in me, a welter of excitement and distress. Everything mingling, sticky, the intermesh of body and soul.
“Aya, you’re sick, you’re burning up, why didn’t you tell me?” Uri touches my forehead, puts me into bed like a child. There’s a hot cup of tea next to me, “Drink it, it’ll help you. Try to drink a little.” Is it my body or something else, my head is all smushy and sticky.
“Come on, Aya, I’m taking you to the clinic.” Uri made the appointment, and cancelled his work meetings for that morning – a social worker, a youth officer, a renovations supervisor. Driving to the clinic, silence. A doctor. Not familiar. His hair is white; his hairstyle is similar, is his smile also similar, or am I imagining it? His manner is polite, and pleasant; his voice - gentle. Could you please put your blouse here. Delicate fingers tapping over the back of my shoulders, moving down my exposed back, feeling overcome by shyness. What’s going on with you, it’s not as if you’re fourteen, I tell myself. From now on is any man with white hair going to make your heart miss a beat?
Renewing our connection. That’s what was agreed upon; it was only temporary, this weaning off, this brief abstention. A quick message, an SMS, this is what people do in the modern age. “Hello, Yaron, how are you? I’m back.” And immediately, within an instant, the torrent of emails and phone calls is flowing again. And amidst them, between one email and the next – excitement, tension, anticipation, confusion – all floating up like shiny oil stains on a muddy puddle. Life between the emails becomes inconceivably empty. And Uri, Uri is withering in front of my very eyes, his face no longer filled with laughter.
8. Hagar
It wasn’t that easy at first. It took time for us to build a life together, to get used to one another. Married for twenty-five years, unbelievable. We have a pleasant r
outine. Life flows, it’s really all right, I never cared for those women who are always complaining. And sometimes, suddenly, all of a sudden, he can be really tender and good to me. Loving, in his way. It seems like that’s how he loves. The surprise party that he set up for me, the first time in my life, after the half-marathon in Ein Gedi. I remember his eyes smiling into my eyes, “Let’s make a toast to Hagar, she did it, the only one in her age-group. Thirteen miles! Can you all believe it?” And when they raised their glasses, he pulled me to him, “Come here, Hagari, right next to me,” and hugged me a moment. “Just wait, she’ll soon be doing a full marathon, you’ll see.” I didn’t know where to put myself, I didn’t even dare then to dream about a full marathon. Why couldn’t he have been like that at the beginning, why was it so difficult with him? I was always trying to do the right thing, to figure out what he liked, what made him feel good. I couldn’t have known, I hadn’t had a boyfriend before him. Sometimes he would be gripped by anger, “I’m disappointed in you, Hagar. And you have no idea how disappointed.” Words I couldn’t bear. Sometimes I’d break down completely. We would stop talking to one another. Or touching. Sleeping back to back, yet neither of us daring to be the first to move into the living room. Getting dressed alone. Then, after a few weeks, slowly groping towards one another. And then again, out of nowhere, another searing quarrel, I can’t even remember what it was all about. I so wanted to feel that I was his wife. For him to touch me, “This is Hagar, my wife.” To hold hands in front of other people, so many couples do that, why not? “Enough, stop it, don’t force me, you know that I’m not like that.” People were always saying about me, “What a good girl.” Once, when we were still living in that old, small flat in Hadar, the elderly neighbours downstairs said to him, “What a good wife you have, Yaron.” He didn’t know that I’d heard, I was two flights higher up on the staircase. He didn’t even react. I was so restrained then, when the children were little, always heeding my mother’s words, “He’ll learn to love you; just you wait and see, my sweet, you’ll see.” And Yael, there aren’t many friends like her, sometimes she’d say, “Why do you keep going back for more? Don’t you ever forget that he chose you, it’s you he chose.” I remember one Saturday, it was winter, and that morning we decided to go hiking on the slopes of the Carmel mountains. I must have been in my fifth month with Iddo, it was a lovely day, coloured flowers all around. He went off to pick some wild flowers for me, came back and handed me a bunch. I hugged him tight, tummy and all; suddenly he bent down and gave me a kiss on my tummy. Then I spread out the blanket and we sat under the trees, leaning back to back, a fun way to sit. We were sitting there, gazing at the forest, suddenly I decided to ask, “Yaron, what happened with Aya? You were together for such a long time, you never really told me.” “Drop it, Hagar, why bring it up now.” And afterwards – “Why dredge up long-lost friendships? It’s over and done with.” I didn’t want to upset him, I was afraid that would spoil the entire day, but I’d already begun so I wanted to go on, perhaps because we were sitting like that on the blanket, leaning back to back, the bunch of flowers in my hand, so I got it into my head to ask, “Why did you decide to marry me, Yaron, you never actually told me.” “I liked you, I thought we would suit one another,” that’s what he said. Why didn’t he say different words? I needed different words, really needed them, especially after he’d picked those flowers for me, why couldn’t he have told me things, why always that silence, even when we were together, really together?
Now the children have grown up, Iddo will soon be finishing his army service, at last we’ll be able to breathe. And Yaron has got his promotion, Vice-President of Engineering. VP is what they call it. He waited three years for the position, he’s deserved it for such a long time. I hoped that after they’d given it to him he’d take things easier, spend some more time at home, but it’s been more of the same, meetings the whole time. “Soon, it’ll be easier; you have no idea what issuing stock is like, it’ll calm down when it’s all over.” Never mind, I’ve learned how to get by on my own, so long as he’s happy.
As for me, at school they’ve started to look at me in a different light since that half-marathon, and now they’ve asked me to train the girls’ team. I’ll somehow have to organise the lists of the girls, make tables of all their training results, plan personal targets. “I’m fed up with these papers taking over the house, Hagar. It’s been a year that I’ve been telling you to put it all on the computer.” On Thursday night it came up again, “I’ve set up a separate user name for you on the computer, I can teach you how to work on it. It’s impossible this way, Hagar. How come you can’t do email, or find things on the internet, or use spreadsheets? Everyone can, even my mother.” I didn’t answer, what could I say? “And the most irritating thing is that at work sometimes I have to let you know something and I’m in meetings all day, and if you could read my emails then I could let you know that Iddo won’t be coming home tomorrow from the army and you wouldn’t have made all that food for nothing.” That’s what he told me when I had all the saucepans on the stove, when I’d been slaving away in the kitchen for hours. That day I’d squeezed in a ride on the bike, but I didn’t get as far as a run. I would like to know how to use the computer, I really would. But when I imagine him explaining to me, I just can’t. What’s more, Yaffa, his new secretary, told me that she never had such a nice boss, so patient. Maybe I’ll ask Yael, it’s different with a girlfriend, why didn’t I think of that before?
“Well, how about it, Yael?”
“Of course, Hagari, why not. “
“When?”
“Whenever you want, we’ll sit together and I’ll explain it to you. It’s no trouble.”
“And email?”
“Sure.”
“You might have to show me a few times.”
“Don’t worry.”
“Are you sure you have the time?”
“For God’s sake, Hagar, we should have done it ages ago. Just ask Yaron for the username and the password.”
“How should I ask him?”
“Just like that, ask him what’s the username and the password, and write down what he says.”
“Maybe you can ask him?”
“All right, though it’s months since I’ve spoken to him.”
“I know, you always disappear the moment he gets home.”
“Best like that.”
9. Aya
A week’s gone by, a week since I got back. Hundreds of emails piling up in my inbox, reports waiting to be written and sent. And at home, in the middle of the living room, a suitcase with tattered labels from Beijing, building plans for the youth centre, piles of laundry. And then it happened. The filament that I stretched tighter and tighter suddenly snapped in my face like a rubber band. “We can’t go on like this,” Uri said quietly. It was a sleepless night. And his voice, it was so hollow, I didn’t recognize it. “We need some peace around here,” he murmured. I barely recognised his face. “Till the High Holidays,” I heard. “Yes,” I answered, and said nothing, all the words had dried up. And my mind got busy with calculations, High Holidays, New Year, when is the New Year, September, another six and a half months, an eternity. I’m swimming alone here, how am I going to make it across the ocean? And what am I going to say to Yaron? How am I going to say it to him, what brought on this sudden separation, how is it possible? The night passed, neither of us slept a wink, as if we were both defeated in battle, not knowing who the enemy was. The first cracks of light showed hesitantly beyond the curtain. Maybe I should write Yaron a letter. Maybe that’s what I should do. The thought suddenly surfaced in my mind out of nowhere.
“I have to write to him, Uri, it will take me time, I need a little time.”
Uri is stunned, like me, and lets the rope slacken a little, “So take two days and write to him, if it’s so important to you.”
Morning. It’s quiet at home, I haven’t gone to work.
Have to tell Yaron. To part, again. Is this
the last time I’ll be dialling his number? Will I ever hear his voice again?
Writing the letter. Deleting, re-writing. Remembering back then. Trying to explain. I have an extension, two days. And the clock is ticking. When the letter is sent, that’s it. The wall comes down. A complete break, a total cut off till the New Year. Six and a half months.
The end of the second day is approaching, the sand in the hour glass is running out. I must finish this letter and get it sent.
The net is about to be drawn close, it’s definitely the last email:
Yaron
I’m enclosing a letter. I’ve worked on it for two full days.
Let me know that it’s reached you.
I hope that in the future we can find a way to be friends.
It’s so hard to say goodbye again, what a superfluous word.
Aya.
I check my emails. Did he receive it, has he read it, did he reply? And after a couple of minutes, I check again. Uri is in the kitchen. A click on the computer. Uri is in the living room. Another click. Now he’s gone to take a shower. How is this concealment possible? We never used to conceal things, we would never hide anything from one another. I push the troubling thoughts out of my mind, later, not now, now there are just a few more hours left, Yaron still exists, soon he won’t. Later, I’ll take care of it later. Now, quick, check the emails.
Night, almost midnight.
Aya,
Yes, I got the letter. I’m sending it back to you, I wrote to you inside it.
I’m so grateful to you, Aya, if you only knew how I felt.
I don’t know if the friendship that you want is possible.
So We Said Goodbye: A Contemporary Fiction Novel Page 4