“My recuperation took a very long time. I was hospitalized for four months. Apparently, I was close to death. The doctors told me that at some point they almost gave up on me.
“I left the hospital half a man. The doctors had to remove one of my kidneys and my spleen. One of my lungs was injured, and sometimes I have asthma attacks that force me to go to the hospital for a few days. But the worst part is that my ability to father children was damaged. That’s the reason Michelle and I don’t have any kids.”
“And that’s the reason Mrs. Jacobs expressed such hatred toward your brother,” I said.
“Yes. She never recovered from the incident. I think she even spent time in a psychiatric hospital. She never got married and lives alone to this day.”
“She never pressed charges against him with the police?”
“No, she chose not to. I still don’t understand why.”
“She bought your house and lives in it,” I said quietly.
“One day, after John disappeared, I heard a knock on the door. I was still very weak and spent most of my time in bed. My muscles lost their tone and I got very thin, like a skeleton. When I opened the door, she was standing there—Beth. All she said was, ‘I want to buy your house from you.’ At first I didn’t understand what she was talking about—what house? She answered immediately that she wanted this house.
“The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like the best solution for both of us, and I agreed to sell her the house. It was one of the wisest decisions I ever made. We never talked about her reasons for buying the house; she never explained and I never asked. Maybe it was a kind of revenge for what he took from her by force. For me, it was a kind of compensation for the terrible injustice he did her, and also a kind of revenge against my brother.”
“You said he disappeared?”
“Yes, when I got out of the hospital, he wasn’t home. He had taken a few things and disappeared. From that day forward, I never heard from him until yesterday, when you came to us.”
“Did you try to find him?”
“Not at first. I think about a year had passed before I began to try to find him, but I wasn’t successful. I also didn’t try especially hard. After many years, I even went to your church and asked the priest about him. He told me that John was killed in an accident.”
“So that was you?”
He nodded and continued. “With the money from the sale of the house, I bought my current house. I found a job at a bank in the city and married Michelle. I learned to live without him. Every once in a while, there were rumors, but I never paid any attention to them. There were days when he came into my mind, making me wonder what was going on with him, but I chose not to know. Usually my mental image of him had him behind bars. It was clear he would go to prison—he never seemed like a family man.”
“Would you like something hot to drink?”
“Yes, please.”
I made two cups of coffee and we went out to the front porch. The air was chilly. Ron turned out to be an interesting and intelligent conversationalist. He told me about his work at the bank and offered to help me with the money that remained following my parents’ death. I was happy he offered, because I assumed that meant he intended to remain in contact with me, although we did not talk about the future. In the late hours of the afternoon, he got up and said he had to go.
“Can I keep in touch with you?” I asked with trepidation.
“Let’s let time take its course,” he answered vaguely.
I was disappointed in his answer. But after the story I heard him tell, I realized that it was the best he could give for now.
31
Roy left the house. I was in the kitchen and heard sounds coming from his room. When I went there, I saw him packing.
“Are you going somewhere?”
“I’m leaving.”
“Leaving?”
Roy stopped for a minute and asked me to come in and sit down next to him on the bed.
“Eva, I can’t go on like this.”
“Like what?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
I knew. His feelings were hanging over us and between us the whole time, but I preferred to act as if everything was normal.
“I understand that you’re confused, that your situation is problematic, but I have to move on.”
I didn’t know what moving on meant. I didn’t want him to move on—he needed to stay exactly where he had been until now! But our situation was indeed untenable. Finally, I said, “I understand.” He was probably hoping for a different answer, but I couldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear.
He waited a moment and then got up to continue packing.
“Are you leaving now?”
“Yes.”
“I met my father’s brother yesterday,” I said, hoping it would pique his interest and he would want to hear more and stay. I was a little girl who didn’t want to stay home alone, but Roy wasn’t the mother who’s always available. He just said, “Great, I’m happy for you.”
When he finished packing, he planted a light kiss on my lips and left the house. Once again, I was alone with my loneliness, and this time the pain was physical. I was a bundle of nerves as I wandered around the house, finally deciding it was time to visit Sarah. I had run into her on the street the week before and promised I would come over. She didn’t pressure me, but said that she would be happy to see me again.
When I entered her house, I was welcomed by the same scents, the same warmth, the same doilies on the armrests of the chairs. Nothing had changed; nothing was out of place. There was a measure of comfort in that. Something about the permanence and predictability had a calming effect on me and gave me a sense of security. That’s how I felt with her, given the painful turmoil I had experienced over the last few years. Before I could get over one trauma, something else would occur. Sarah was like an old tree whose roots are deep and long-lasting.
“How are you?” she asked after placing a plate of cookies on the table and sitting down in the chair across from me. I thought I saw tiny wrinkles forming on her cheeks, and her body appeared thinner. When she sat down, she did so slowly, as if every movement took an enormous amount of effort.
“I’m OK. And you?”
“Oh, I’m as old as ever,” she chuckled. “Tell me what’s been going on with you the last two weeks.”
I debated whether to tell her about Ron and decided that she deserved to know. “I found out my father had a brother, Ron. I met him yesterday.”
Her curiosity was genuine. “I didn’t know he had a brother,” she said.
“Yeah, neither did I.”
“How did you find out?”
“I met someone who knew him and he told me.”
Sarah was wise enough not to ask too many questions. “Tell me about him,” she said.
“He’s a very nice and smart man. He doesn’t have any children, works at a bank, and is married to a woman named Michelle.”
“And…”
“And what?”
“Do you want to tell me what he told you about your father?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, pondering out loud.
“Is it that bad?” she read my mind.
“Yes,” I answered simply.
“Is it that hard for you to talk about?”
“I’m ashamed.”
“I understand.”
“He was a bad man,” I said suddenly. “Did you know he was like that?”
She didn’t answer right away. Maybe she was choosing her words carefully so as not to hurt me. Finally, she said, “I know that your mother was not happy.”
“Did she talk to you about him?”
“Very rarely.”
“What did she say?”
All of a sudden, Sarah got up and asked if I would like a cup of tea. I said no, and she disappeared into the kitchen, returning after a short while holding a cup of tea. She didn’t say a word the entire time and then sat back down i
n the same spot. She took a sip of tea and said, “She didn’t tell me, she just led me to understand that her life wasn’t simple—what was visible from the outside wasn’t necessarily what’s really going on.”
“But besides the fact that she was Jewish and her name was Sonia, I don’t know anything about her. I don’t know where else to look.”
Sarah didn’t say a thing; she just shrugged and made a gesture of helplessness with her hand. Then, like she had last time, she said she had somewhere to go and hurried me out of her house.
32
My sense of loneliness grew deeper. I found myself sitting alone without a single soul to talk to. Even Donna kept her distance from me. She was angry because of my many absences from work, and because I didn’t share what was going on in my life with her. And Roy—Roy almost completely broke off all contact. He called once a week, and then it was like he was doing it out of a sense of duty. The conversations were brief. Mickey called once and I asked him for more time. I was back to square one. No parents, no friends, just me, my memories and secrets.
One day, when I was close to losing hope, Mickey called and asked to come over. I agreed hesitantly, and he arrived a little before eight in the evening. I made us both something to eat and we sat in the kitchen. He had changed. His hair was short and he looked younger than his age, but also older. His body language projected a heaviness. He moved slowly, and it looked like every movement was difficult. His speech, which before was to the point, was now weighted, and it seemed like each word was passing through a filter before being spoken.
“Eva, have you thought about what I proposed?”
“I thought about it a lot, but first tell me what’s been going on with you these last few weeks.”
He took a deep breath and said, “OK.” It was clear he wanted a more decisive response from me, but he answered anyway.
“These last few days have been very difficult for me. I’ve been thinking and replaying my life, and I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I’m going to fix them now!”
“And what about your father?”
“I don’t want to talk about that. It belongs in the past.”
He got up from the chair and went into the living room. I followed and sat down next to him.
“How do you feel today, after everything?” I didn’t want to say the words.
He said them instead of me. “You mean after my suicide attempt?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know. Something is happening to me. Something is changing, but I don’t know how to put this something into words. That’s why I want to go away. I need time to think, far from the place and the people connected to this story. I need alone time.”
“And why do you want me to go with you?”
“Because I love you,” he answered immediately.
“Why?”
“Why?” he repeated. “I don’t know. I just love you. I want you by my side all the time.” He came close to me and took my hand in his. “I love you, Eva,” he said. He hungrily pressed his lips to mine. His hands stroked my hair. I responded and felt myself disappearing into his world. A world with an unspeaking father and a mother who has accepted her fate and the fate of her son: guilt.
Our hands roamed all over each other with unrestrained passion. We were the only ones there at that moment, with nothing around us. Inside, we both knew that afterward there would be nothing left to give.
We lay in bed breathing heavily, our bodies close together. His arms embraced my body and I curled up inside them like an infant. This is how we fell asleep—holding each other like two people drowning. Morning arrived, and so did reality and the need for a decision. Mickey kissed my nose and got up from the sofa. He went into the bathroom and stayed there for a long time. When he came back, his face was back to the one I saw the day before, serious and grown up.
An hour later we stood by the front door. Mickey looked at my face and I returned his gaze. There was no need for words. Our lovemaking was the chord of separation. Mickey had some rough days of soul searching ahead. He didn’t need me by his side. I would only get in the way of his devoting himself to the process he was about to experience. Besides, I also needed to do some soul searching—to let go of the heavy burden of the past and the difficult memories, alone, without the weight of his guilt added to my own. From the beginning, I knew we didn’t have a chance, even though the journey we took to discover it was apparently crucial, at least for me. I gave him a long kiss and closed the door.
33
Several days after Mickey’s visit, I decided to visit Donna. It was late afternoon, almost twilight. I didn’t announce my visit. She opened the door for me before I could knock. “I saw you coming,” she explained.
The last time I was in her house was after the first shocking discovery about my father. I was in such a bad way I never looked around. Now I saw that the house was clean and meticulously organized. The white walls made the apartment feel cold. There was not even one picture on the wall, and no rugs on the floor. I glanced quickly at the kitchen; it looked like it hadn’t ever been used. The counter sparkled like crystal, and the chairs were in precise places under the table. Donna suggested we sit out on the balcony. She lingered a few minutes in the house, and then came out with two cups of coffee. With her hair gathered at her neck and her flowery dress, she looked a bit old-fashioned. Her face, clean of any makeup, shone brightly, and her warm smile was a complete contrast to her cold house.
“I met my father’s brother,” I said.
Her eyebrows raised in astonishment. I told her about my meeting with Ron at my house.
“You’ll find a family for yourself yet,” she said, her tone sounding somewhat ironic.
“Donna, didn’t your foster parents have any family?” I asked. I saw her eyes, which had been shining a minute before, go dark like a candle being extinguished.
“They never mentioned any family, and nobody ever came to visit, except for neighbors living close by. But that’s OK,” she added quickly. “I’m used to living by myself. I like it this way—not answering to anyone. I used to think I wanted a family, children. But I’m not willing to give up my independence.”
“Aren’t you lonely sometimes?” I asked.
“Now and then, yes,” she answered. “But that’s OK too. My loneliness and I are good friends and we accept each other.” She chuckled. “And now, enough of this melancholy. How about a good movie? We haven’t been to the movie theater in a long time.”
“You’re right,” I said.
“So, get up! We’re going!” She stood up, gathered the coffee cups, and went into the house.
“What, now?”
“Now!” she commanded.
I smiled to myself on the way back home. When I imagined a close friend, it never occurred to me it would be someone like Donna. She was surprising—sometimes chilly, but full of warmth. We were so different from one another. She was extremely sure of herself, decisive and direct, while I was insecure, hesitant, and usually afraid to vocalize what was in my heart. The glue that joined us together was the great dissimilarity in our personalities.
“The perfect couple,” I said to myself out loud.
***
The next few days passed by in a monotonous routine. I was alone most of the time. The house was quiet, and the nights passed with no extraordinary occurrences. My strong feeling that there was someone in the house watching over me had disappeared as well. Sometimes I wished it would return.
One day Ron called and invited me over for dinner. I gladly accepted the invitation. It was the first friendly voice I had heard in many days. My loneliness seemed to have taken on a shade of detachment and isolation. It went so far as to prevent me from even talking to people at work. I noticed that they kept their distance from me, as if they were afraid my mood might be contagious.
On Friday night, I put on a pair of jeans and a new red shirt, bought the day before on my way home from work. The color went well with my fa
ce and my hair, and my reflection in the mirror pleased me. My outward appearance undeniably compensated for what was happening in my gut. I was distraught. So many questions troubled me. Would there be more meals together? Is this what it will be like from now on? What will I talk to them about? Will they want to know more about my father? My mother? My life? I went to dinner with serious misgivings.
Michelle opened the door. Her eyes were bright and a warm smile graced her face. I hoped her smile was authentic. Ron was waiting inside and welcomed me with a hug.
“Come, sit down,” he invited me. “This is your place.”
I wondered if he meant only for dinner or in general.
Ron and Michelle made every effort to make me feel good. They avoided talking about my father, instead asking about my job at the office, about my friends, about my studies. I told them that I was in college up until my parents died, and Ron asked why I didn’t go back to school. I told him that I intended to register for the following school year.
“If you need help, in any form, call me,” he said. Then, surprisingly, he added, “Even if it’s financial help.”
I was so surprised that I looked down and didn’t answer. His offer touched my heart. It involved so much more than just an offer of financial support. He was saying, in his way, that he wanted to stay in touch with me, that I was family now. It was the most treasured and touching thing anyone had said to me recently. I thanked him. When the meal was over, Michelle brought out dessert from the refrigerator and asked me to help move the dishes out to the porch. “We’ll eat dessert out there,” she said.
It was a lovely evening. A light breeze swayed the fringes of the tablecloth. Ron sat next to me and Michelle sat across from us.
“Such nice weather,” he said.
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