by Edeet Ravel
“I’m afraid of old age and not being able to get it up anymore because I’ll be embarrassed and I’ll feel like a loser.”
“I’m afraid of my breasts sagging and not having my period and not having a child, ever. Because I want a child.”
“I’m afraid of my mean side because I don’t like it.”
“I’m afraid of my mean side because I always regret it afterward.”
“I’m afraid of not being a good enough father. Because my daughter deserves the best.”
“I’m afraid of this game. I’m afraid of not seeing and not understanding and not knowing. I want to stop.”
“I’m afraid of webbed hands and people with tails because they’re going to come in the middle of the night to get me.”
“I’m afraid of the dark because there could be monsters. I want to stop,” I said.
“I’m afraid of good things because of when they end.”
“I’m afraid of good things because I don’t deserve them. Because I let Daniel slip through my fingers. Because I didn’t go into his room right away and I let everyone bully me and I failed him completely. I let him down, it’s all my fault. He fought for me, when I had my miscarriage he fought with everyone in the entire hospital, he never gave up, but I didn’t fight for him. I was a wimp, I couldn’t stand up to them for his sake. It’s my fault. When he didn’t see me, day after day, he must have thought I’d deserted him, that it was because of how he looked. Or maybe he thought I came in while he was sleeping and that I was so horrified that I stayed away and that I’d decided to leave him and that’s why he ran away. And now I’m afraid I’ll never find him, I’m afraid he never saw my ads or my interviews and he doesn’t know I want him more than anything in the world. I’m afraid of not knowing the future and also of being alone and also of my life, which I hate, I hate it, I hate it.”
I tore off my blindfold. “I’m tired of helping everyone,” I said.
“I’m tired of helping everyone, too.”
“I want to be selfish.”
“Me too.”
“Let’s be selfish,” I said.
“Okay.”
“Let’s be selfish tonight.”
“Good idea.”
“Tonight nothing else and no one else will exist.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow we’ll go back to real life.”
“How about we begin with a bath?” Rafi suggested.
“Yes, I’d like that,” I said.
He filled the clawfoot tub and we lay down in the hot water. I felt my body relaxing. “Very stressful day,” I said.
“Why not take a break for a while?”
“I can’t. I always think about the shots I’ll be missing. I never took a bath with Daniel. He didn’t like baths.”
“People aren’t used to baths in this country. I only got into taking baths when I moved in with Graciela, because she could afford it … I really think you should consider taking a short vacation from the activities, Dana.”
“One time I almost didn’t go to this activity. There was going to be a demonstration against the Wall, and I had my period, and a sore throat—I was coming down with something. I really didn’t think I could make it but at the last minute I decided to go. And I got one of my best photographs ever on that day. A photograph I would never have had a chance to take anywhere else, because it was such a fluke.”
“What of?”
“Blue ribbons. There was this barbed wire coming out of the ground—this was in Palestine. And it couldn’t be pulled out, it was stuck, so someone had tied a blue ribbon to it, so that cars and pedestrians would see it and be warned. Well, I focused my camera on it, and right at that second this man from one of the refugee camps, who had come for the demo, stepped into my field of vision, and he had the same blue ribbon wrapped around his shoe. The shoe was falling apart and he couldn’t buy new shoes so he’d wrapped the shoe up in blue ribbon to keep it together. I have a shot of that, of the shoe next to the barbed wire. It’s a really important photograph for me, it just sums up everything. Anyhow, I’m not usually affected the way I was today. It wasn’t just Hroush, it was everything. I didn’t know I felt so guilty about Daniel.”
“Amazing, the obvious things we can’t see.”
“What are you hiding from yourself?”
“What is the logical flaw in that question?”
“I mean, was there something you hid from yourself and then figured out and then wondered how you could have not realized?”
“Sure. Lots of things to do with Graciela, for example. When she began seeing me as dirty, I thought that was because I really was dirty, because of everything I’d done. That’s ridiculous. It’s entirely her problem; in fact, I have very good hygiene.”
“You’re in a good mood, I see.”
“Yes, I am. I’m in a good mood, thanks to you. I may even have another sip of that wine your suitor brought you.”
“Poor Benny!”
“He’ll survive.”
“I didn’t only refuse to marry him, I also refused to have sex with him.”
“Now I’m really shocked.”
“Well, it hurt his feelings.”
“Hurt his balls, more like.”
“He has sex with Miriam all the time. She sneaks in here almost every second day.”
“Dana, how could you refuse such a tempting offer?”
“Don’t make fun of him, he’s okay.”
“Can’t you tell how jealous I am?”
“Jealous of Benny!”
“Yes, I always wanted hairy arms.”
“You’re so mean.”
“True.”
“Do your after-school kids really like that game?”
“Yes, it makes them laugh, they have hysterics. They like to think of scarier and scarier things, they go wild. It’s a good outlet for them.”
A knock on the door startled us. “Expecting anyone?” Rafi asked.
“Could be Alex, he sometimes comes on Fridays. Or even Benny! Let’s not answer.”
“Fine with me.”
There were a few more knocks and then the person went away. We had forgotten all about the visitor, but later, when Rafi opened the door to leave, we found a note pinned to the door. It read: I have Daniel’s address. Come to the hotel tomorrow. Coby.
SUNDAY
IT SEEMED TO ME THAT I DIDN’T SLEEP all night, though I think I dreamed that I was awake. I know at one point I had a hallucinatory dream: Coby came into the room and told me that Daniel was living in a lighthouse on a rock island in the middle of the sea, and that was why no one could find him.
At five in the morning I went into the hotel and sat on the sofa in the lobby, facing the reception desk. There was no one in the lobby apart from Hussein and the desk clerk. The clerk asked if he could help. “I’m waiting for Coby—it’s urgent,” I said. He shrugged; working in a hotel must have inured him to strange behavior.
I was lucky; Coby was early that morning. At seven o’clock he walked in.
“I’ll be with you in a sec,” he said, and disappeared into a back office.
I waited another ten minutes, and finally he emerged. I was so disoriented that for a second I wondered how he could look so composed in his perfectly pressed suit when I was such a wreck. He led the way to the dining room and poured coffee for both of us.
“You look pale.”
“Coby, I haven’t slept all night, what do you think? I’m so excited I can’t breathe.”
“But it isn’t very good news, Dana.”
“Just tell me!”
“Well, he lives in the territories, inside the Coastal Strip. He’s in Qal’at al-Maraya.”
“Qal’at al-Maraya!”
“I don’t know how or why, my cousin wouldn’t say more. By the way, my cousin is going to kill us both if anyone finds out he’s the one who got the address.”
“Do you have his address?”
“Yes, I wrote it down for you.�
� He handed me my napkin, the one on which I’d written Daniel’s ID number. Under the number he’d written: 7 al-Ma’arri Street, Qal’at al-Maraya.
“Qal’at al-Maraya … I was there so many times! I used to go to the beach to take photos there almost once a week.”
“I have no idea how he managed it—how he got them to trust him. Maybe he’s converted?”
“That’s even more ridiculous than your spy theory. Oh God, I’m so happy, thank you, thank you, thank you!” I got up and hugged him. “I’m going to see him! I’m going to see Daniel, maybe in only an hour—I’ll take a taxi, how do I look? What should I bring? Thank you, thank you, I have to go now.”
I turned to leave but Coby caught my arm. “Dana, hold on. Sit down a minute.”
“I can’t. I can’t wait. Sorry, I have to go. I hope I look all right.”
“Dana, you can’t go, you don’t have a permit, you’re not going to get in. You’re not thinking. Calm down, and come back to the table, we have to figure out what you’re going to do.”
“I’ll get in, don’t worry. I’ll just beg.”
“Yes, begging really works at checkpoints. Or with the army in general.”
“They have to let me in.”
“Dana, sit down. Here, take one of these.”
I sat down at the table because people were looking at us. He pulled a bottle of large green pills out of his pocket.
“What are these?”
“My father’s tranquilizers. Have one, you’ll feel better.”
“I don’t want to feel tranquil, Coby!”
“Fine. But you can’t just go to the Coastal Strip. You won’t get in.”
“I’ll find a way. I can’t wait. I can’t wait. It seems so unreal, like a dream. What if I wake up?”
“Want me to pinch you?”
“Qal’at al-Maraya … he must have learned Arabic …”
“I guess so.”
“He was always good at languages. He learned Russian so he could talk to his grandmother …Thank you, Coby. Thank you. You can’t imagine how I feel.”
“I’m getting an idea.”
“I’m going to see Daniel …”
“You need a permit, and it’s very dangerous, I have no idea how you’ll manage it. I don’t think they’ll give you a permit.”
“Maybe Ella can help me.”
“Ella?”
“The journalist. She might be able to help me. Maybe I could go down there with her. Everyone knows her there. I think she even has a flat she rents in Qal’at al-Maraya for occasional use.”
“Please be careful.”
“I have such butterflies in my stomach now. Can I borrow your phone, please?”
Coby handed me his mobile phone and I called Rafi. I told him that I had Daniel’s address, but that I couldn’t leave right away. “Do you want me to come over?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m all jittery,” I said.
Then I left a message at Odelia’s, asking her for Ella’s phone number.
“I was there, in Qal’at al-Maraya,” I repeated. “And all I had to do was ask someone …”
“I hope I did the right thing,” Coby said.
“I don’t understand why they kept it from me in the first place! So he lives in Qal’at al-Maraya, so what!”
Coby’s eyes narrowed and he raised his eyebrows. He looked at me with a mixture of skepticism and reproach, the way he had when I’d said that Rafi had a good life.
“I can’t believe I know where he is and I have to wait. I don’t know how I’ll manage. If only I could just hop in a taxi. People do get in. People do get in and out.”
“Just don’t try anything stupid, Dana,” he said. “Don’t even think about trying to sneak in. No one will know who you are, and we have some trigger-happy people in our army.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise. Promise not to try and sneak in.”
“Okay.”
“If our guys don’t shoot you, theirs will.”
“Okay.”
“Do you know the word for ‘foreigner’?”
“No.”
“Ajnabi. If anything happens, speak English and say you’re a foreigner, and you’re there to support Palestine. Don’t take your ID with you.”
“You think everyone in Palestine is a terrorist!”
“No, of course not, but somehow it only takes one bullet to die, not three million.”
“I won’t go in alone, I’ll go with Ella. I’m not going to lie to Palestinians about who I am. And everyone knows Ella. I can’t believe I’m going to see my husband. I’m going to see him! Maybe in just a day or two, I don’t know how I’ll make it through the next few hours. Do I look okay?”
Coby laughed. “Well, you’re not as pale as you were earlier this morning.”
“I’m so nervous, you can’t imagine. Should I bring something? This is boring for you …”
“No, not at all. Though I should probably be getting back to work.” He yawned and stretched his arms. “Never enough sleep. We had two busloads of tourists yesterday.”
“Tourists …” I said, barely listening.
“Yes, a Christian group. ‘Jesus Is the One,’ something like that. At least someone wants to visit the Holy Land.”
“Thanks, Coby. Thanks for the address. You don’t know what this means to me.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t have better news.”
“This is great news. He isn’t dead, he isn’t with another woman. I can’t wait!”
“I hope it works out. I hope you can convince him to come home.”
“Yes. Yes.”
“I have to get back to work. Let me know how things turn out. I’m not sure I did the right thing—if anything happens to you, it’s on my shoulders.”
“Nothing will happen.”
“Help yourself to the breakfast buffet, by the way. There’s always a lot left over anyhow. Even with the Christians here.”
I sat at the table in the hotel dining room and tried to imagine my husband in Qal’at al-Maraya, living in a little flat there, or maybe renting a room in someone’s house. How well did he know Arabic? Had he taught himself? He must have hired a teacher. Could he read and write Arabic too? Did he go out? How did he support himself? Maybe the money from the army was enough—things were cheaper there. What were his days like, day in, day out, alone in a Palestinian city? He had probably made some friends. But how did he get them to trust him? He had vanished during the uprising— how had he managed to move in without being killed? And what about now? Everything he loved was here: going to shows and walking down the streets and the crazy people on television, laughing at them and cracking jokes and making all sorts of puns, and the sea … well, he still had the sea. I could have sent him a message in a bottle.
From the window of the dining hall I saw a man approach my building. He was carrying a large toolbox and walking very deliberately to the front door. I wondered who he was; it was way too early for Tanya to be prophesying. Maybe she or her mother had some sort of plumbing emergency. Then it hit me: this was probably the locksmith Rafi had promised to send my way, to protect me from evil. I hurried out of the hotel and into the building.
The locksmith was standing at the door to my apartment, knocking loudly. Then he kicked the door. “Open up!” he yelled.
“It’s me, I’m here,” I said.
“You Dana?”
“Yes.”
“Unlock.”
“It’s open,” I said.
He flung the door open and bellowed at me, “Out of my way!” Then he reconsidered. “Money up front or I’m going home.”
“Okay. Just tell me how much it is.”
“Two hundred.”
I gave him the money and he stuffed the bills in his back pocket. I was a little worried about him; I was afraid he was going to have a nervous breakdown in front of my eyes. I could imagine him picking up his hammer and smashing all the walls in the building.
He began taking a
part the lock on my door. He was a short, stocky man with a wide face, narrow eyes, and a pursed mouth. His eyes weren’t naturally narrow; he was just very tense. He began cursing the door and various other opponents.
“Fuck his fucking mother,” he said.
“Who?” I asked.
He looked up at me and tried to decide whether to swear at me or to answer. Finally he said, “Fucking son of a whore who attacked me, I’ll rip his fucking heart out and throw it to the dogs. Look what he did—”
I saw that his arm was covered with blood and that in fact he was still bleeding. I wondered how I’d failed to notice: maybe it was because he was hairy, or maybe his anger eclipsed everything else about him.
“I’ll get something for that,” I said.
“Don’t bother.”
I went to the kitchen and ran a towel under warm water. I brought it to the locksmith and said, “Here, put this on it.”
“What are you, a fucking nurse?”
“You could get an infection. You should really come in and wash your arm.”
He took the towel and threw it on the floor. “Screw this,” he said.
“What happened?”
“Fucking maniacs. Her husband wasn’t supposed to be anywhere around, and what’s it my business anyhow, I just do the locks, I’m not her fucking lover, I don’t know this person from a whore on the street. But I’m the one who gets attacked.”
“Why didn’t you call the police?”
He guffawed. “Anyhow, I beat him up good. Gave him a run for his money, damned bastard.”
“I guess I’m out of my depth here.”
“That’s right, baby. Nice place you got here. Who you keeping out? I swear if I have any more crazy boyfriends today I’m not responsible for my actions.”
“I’m not keeping anyone out, and I don’t have a boyfriend. And I think everyone’s responsible for their actions.”
He looked up at me. I stepped back.
He returned to his work, letting out his rage on the lock. I made coffee while he worked and when it was ready I handed him a mug. He seemed very surprised.
“Thanks,” he said.
“You’re welcome. You know, you’re very good-looking, but your face is so strained.”
“Yeah, well, life’s a bitch.”