by Amos Talshir
“I’m not willing to give up,” Rose said. “Even if they have snipers, that doesn’t make them any more right.”
“What do you suggest?”
“That we team up with the president and his ministers. I’m sure they’re not as naïve as we are.”
“Yesterday you were ready to slaughter them.”
“And today I’m willing to be their ally and slaughter you.”
“Me?”
“You betrayed me. You promised to break into the president’s box,” Rose said, tears welling in her eyes. “I was freezing there, naked in the cold, and you didn’t move your dignified ass. Not only did you not attack the president, you also didn’t come and help me. If it wasn’t for that boy who saved me, I wouldn’t be here to tell you I’m sorry about all out shared dreams and the love I gave you during those nights of ours. If it wasn’t for Simon, who gave me hot chocolate and a blanket, there’d be no one here to tell you that you betrayed me and our dream of freedom.”
David tried to hug Rose’s shoulders, but she pushed him out of the way and split off from the resistance group, which tracked her as she walked away.
“Rose, if you’re leaving, there’s no way back for you,” David called out after her.
“Being traitorous is a matter of character, not an occurrence,” Rose replied over her shoulder. “It’s been a while since you abandoned me, and no one has seen fit to talk to me about what happened. Suddenly you got all quiet. I’m thinking back to those long conversations we had in the basement at the university, and the nights in which every one of you came up with some extreme suggestion, and it all ended with me sacrificing my body, not for world freedom but for your cowardice. You’re stuck in your seats, bursting with conspiracy theories you make up about the Others, and not daring to budge from your places. As if your loyalty to your seats will protect you from any harm. But you’re wrong. Time isn’t on your side, and the Others will get to you. With every day that goes by, more traitors pop up from their holes and start snitching. You’re like sitting ducks in your chairs, and they’re going to put holes in your heads.”
“Rose, you’re emotional and you’re stressed out, we’re all stressed out. You can’t just leave like that. If you’re not in your seat at night, they’ll take notice and look for you. They see all of us, a hundred thousand people arranged like peas in a pod, and they’ll immediately pick up on one empty seat. We can defeat them too; they’re a virtual entity and we’re real. Come back and let’s start over. I love you.”
“You love me? Don’t you dare say that!” Rose turned to David from the bottom of the stairs, her face flushed with rage. “Don’t you lie straight to my face like that. You don’t even feel the faintest wisp of what you’re saying. You think blurting out the word that defines that emotion gives you a discount. Like you’re swept up in forgivable emotional turmoil. Don’t you dare say that word in my presence. If you felt what you claim to feel, you’d have rushed to be next to me when I collapsed. This is one more manipulation you think you’re entitled to because you’re so charismatic. Because you’re such a man. If you dare abuse that word one more time, I’ll murder you.
“Hey, David,” Rose called out once she reached the turf. “You and I both know that you, David, talked me into streaking after the game was over. While they seized control of the roofs, the entire audience was focused on my ass. I know it and you know it, and maybe the Others knew it too—what do you think? So it turned out that I ran naked for them, to create a distraction for their takeover. What do you have to say about that, David, leader of the resistance?”
“That you’re paranoid at best. What’s worse is that you’re an untamable wild animal,” David shouted out before blending into the crowd of fans on the stand.
“There was a time when you lied and said you loved that about me, you piece of shit.” Rose widened her steps and began to run on the jogging track surrounding the pitch. She felt so lonely and exploited, even more than when she had been freezing naked on the grass. Then at least she’d thought she had friends fighting by her side for an important cause. Now she knew that the group did not exist, and even the idea she had fought for was over. The only person left to her in this twisted world of betrayal, oppression and killing was a sixteen-year-old boy who had given her hot chocolate and covered her with a blanket. She continued to run around the pitch on which numerous fans were trying to pass the time, stretching their legs in improvised ball games. After all, he was an exceptional boy, Rose thought as the adrenaline reignited her muscles, strained from her run. He was smart and curious and knew so much. The kiss had been special too. Not just because of the flavor of the hot chocolate. A light stream of pleasure soothed her and she wiped the tears from her eyes when she saw Simon waving to her from the top of the stand. Rose paused from her jog, breathing heavily, watching Simon as he began to descend toward her. She took him into her extended arms, hugging him tightly against her body. He was not prepared for this and his body stiffened a bit. She bent his head toward her and kissed him on the lips. He hesitated, disengaged and looked in her eyes in wonder.
“Did you come to return my blanket?” he asked.
“I came because I have nowhere to go,” Rose said, gazing at him intently. “You’re the best,” she added, her eyes filling with tears again.
“Don’t cry,” he said, hugging her of his own initiative for the first time.
“It’s not that bad to cry. You’ll learn that there are plenty of worse things.”
“Cry, then. But don’t be sad, because I’ll take care of you.”
“How will you take care of me? You’re a sixteen-year-old boy.”
“I’m a boy who knows how to take care of things that are given to him, and I’ll find a place for you to stay. I have an idea.”
“I knew I could count on you, when you covered me that night.” She smiled at him.
“Sometimes that feeling is misleading.”
“I know. I’ve got experience.”
“It won’t happen with me,” Simon said.
Rose started to cry. It seemed like one of those small moments she had always managed to overcome. A kind of fluttering irritation in the nose leading to one tear, maybe two, and then she forced herself to remember that she was strong and couldn’t break down; but this time, it erupted from another place. A place she didn’t know, and therefore it surprised her as it seized control, flooding her with sweeping, pleasant weeping. She stopped trying to resist; this time, she didn’t have the strength. The chill that had invaded her body on the turf had depleted her of her brazenness, against which her father had so protested. Her respected father, the mayor. He had told her she needed to learn to behave like her mother. Like a lady. Why was she breaking down now, of all times? What was it about this boy that brought on this weakness in her? It was simply the circumstances, she told herself, trying to seal herself off. He had been there with a bottle of hot chocolate and a blanket, that’s all. It’s gratitude toward the boy who was kind to me, she told herself, trying to ease the outburst of tears. She looked at his face, still wearing an “it won’t happen with me” expression, and the tears began to flow once again.
His eyes tracked her placidly. He amazed her with his composure, with his mild attitude toward her wailing. Usually, it would trigger a loss of control in males: the father, the boyfriend, the male friend who happened to be around. Suddenly, she realized why she was so upset. This boy, who had been brave enough to come to her with a blanket and hot chocolate, did not understand what life had in store for him. He walked around smiling, with eyes wide open in this traitorous world, never imagining that he, too, could get hurt. But why did he move her so—this boy she had met out of nowhere? Perhaps it was that moment when she had been lying naked and frozen on the grass, with a hundred thousand pairs of eyes invading her body, and had felt that there was one person in the world who was taking care of her without wanting
anything in return.
“You’re really not afraid of getting hurt, kid?”
“It’s not so terrible to be afraid of getting hurt,” Simon replied. “The worst thing is to be helpless.”
“Explain it to me,” she asked.
Suddenly, Rose liked the sound of her own voice. Explain it to me, she had told this sixteen-year-old boy. She experienced a tiredness that she suddenly found pleasurable. A sense of renewal. More than that, even of wonder. She was now about to hear an explanation, words, a thought from the mind of the boy who had saved her, who had given her a warm beverage and made her feel good. She put her arms around her shoulders in order to feel herself, in order to cherish this new sensation. Someone who had showered her with kindness was talking to her. For a single instant, a fleeting second, one heartbeat, she was engulfed in stillness. The tens of thousands of human rags became a gray fog moving slowly in the seats. The self-importance of David and her fellow resistance members sank like a stone in blue water, transforming into a distant, indistinct silence. David became a bird that migrated far away and the boy’s blanket warmed her heart. His eyes, watching her humbly from the towering height of his head, caressed her body, which grew limp, yearning for rest.
“We have a few hours left before lights-out,” Simon said. “I’ll tell you some other time why it’s good to get hurt. Come on, you keep the blanket, since you’re going to need it.”
“Just give me a hint now,” she begged.
“Because it develops your personality,” he replied.
19.
“You’re the naked girl,” Veronica said, popping up out of nowhere and hugging Rose. “I really wanted to get to know you. You’re so brave. I always wanted to be appreciated like that, but I didn’t do anything brave to earn it. I sit next to Simon and his dad.” Rose extended her hand, and Veronica took it, also kissing Rose on the cheek.
“When I was your age, I had a good body like yours,” Veronica said.
“You still have a good body,” Rose said, seeking out Simon’s eyes. He did not know quite how to conduct himself during this conversation.
“Believe me, I’ve seen you naked. Your body’s charming and natural. With me, it’s all a matter of the gym and lots and lots of exercise, mostly dancing. Did Simon tell you that I’m a dance instructor? Actually, aerobics, which isn’t exactly dance.”
“No, he hasn’t had time,” Rose said, looking as if she was having a hard time connecting to this feminine, new-age conversation under the sights of the snipers lying on the roofs.
“At my age, it’s all about working on the muscles that strengthen the body. With you, it’s natural and soft and pretty. I’m sure you know what I mean, right?”
“I do,” Rose said. “Simon, do you understand too?” she asked as if reaching for a life vest, bursting out in laughter.
“No,” Simon admitted. “This whole thing with the body is really complicated, really.”
“Really,” Veronica said.
“Really, reeeeally,” Rose said, erupting in liberating laughter that spread to Veronica as well. The two women were swept up in their laughter. They fell into one another’s arms, and different notes crept into the laughter, sounding to Simon as if they might be crying. Veronica slapped her thigh and said, still laughing wildly, “This fat is really complicated.” Rose pinched her own rump and tried to say “This cellulite is really complicated,” but couldn’t manage it because the peals of laughter swept up the letters of “cellulite,” transforming it into something between “celluloid” and “cellular.” This made the two of them laugh even harder, and they allowed themselves to fall on the grass, hugging and exhausted. Rose was the first to notice Simon towering above them at his full height, trying to understand the meaning of this great laughter.
“Simon, I’m sorry I laughed like that. I’m really tense. I lost my seat today because my boyfriend betrayed me and I have nowhere to go back to.”
“Yeah, you don’t have to tell me what cheating men are like. All they need is to get what they want for long enough, and then they’re ready to cheat,” Veronica said.
“No,” Rose insisted. “He betrayed our ideals.”
“I meant an ideal, too,” Veronica said. “Which one did you mean?”
“I think we should go to the president and take care of you later,” Simon told Rose.
“Can I come too?” Veronica asked. “I’ve always felt better with younger people. Younger men, too. Okay, I really have to shut up, before you start thinking all kinds of things about me. Actually, I bet you already do, right?”
Simon’s gaze met Rose’s, and suddenly, a light sparked in Rose’s eyes.
“Sure, it would be great to introduce you to the president. Let’s go,” Rose spurred them on.
They walked along the edge of the pitch toward the VIP boxes. Veronica, who was in an excellent mood, sent out compliments in all directions. She told them she had gotten used to bathing at the sink and even found it to be frugal, and in fact, she had always thought they should help Planet Earth and stop wasting so much water. Simon suppressed his embarrassment at what she was saying by staring down at his shoes. He felt responsible for Veronica’s idle chatter in Rose’s ears. He liked Veronica, who was being a trooper about their conditions under lockdown, but for some reason, thought that Rose would have little patience for her folly. However, he was wrong. Rose stroked his back as they walked, sending him an understanding look, while Veronica’s frothy babble created a pleasant sensation of temporary levity: “I love traveling abroad. Everyone in my dance classes knows it, so they invite me on trips, and we have a good time together, with no commitment. But I really admire austerity. I think you should drink water and eat just a little, since that’s healthiest. I read in a pamphlet about proper nutrition that on average, people eat three times as much food as what they actually need. Don’t you think that’s awful?”
“It’s really awful.” Rose said. “And the worst part is that other than eating, they don’t do much.”
Simon wondered why he was still feeling responsible for Veronica’s opinions and would have felt glad if she had shut up for a bit. In any case, he felt relief due to Rose’s pleasant attitude toward her. Rose smiled at him the whole way, whispering to him that she had a lot to tell him, and would do so later. They entered the aisle leading behind the VIP boxes—Rose’s steps were light and energetic, with Veronica by her side, in her tight exercise outfits that managed not to look wrinkled despite the impossible ongoing conditions of sleeping in a chair. As they walked, Veronica explained to Rose that she washed a few items of clothing at a time in the sink, letting them dry during the day. She even found that this, too, contributed to the simple way of life she had been yearning for. Living frugally, she said, had been her secret ideal throughout her life, and she was happy to discover it now, of all times, under the difficult circumstances of the stadium lockdown.
They arrived at the rear entrances into the VIP boxes and found themselves observing the honorable president and the members of his government performing stretches and other invigorating exercises under the tutelage of the minister of health.
“Which one of you is the president?” Veronica asked, thrilled, joining them in midexercise.
Simon noticed, yet again, the immediate receptiveness these older men exhibited in a woman’s presence, especially when she looked good. And even more so when she looked like Veronica. Simon was already aware of her ostentatious femininity. It was true that he had already seen Rose naked, and that she was actually the first woman he had seen that way. But she was different from Veronica, who projected the impression that her entire existence was intended solely to make you feel pleasant and good. It was probably how the president felt as he extended his hand to her, bowing in an artificial gesture of respect to mark their sudden meeting. The members of his government hurried to huddle around them, encouraging the unexpected encoun
ter between the elderly president and the fresh-faced Veronica. The president held her hand with both of his, swinging her arm until her hidden breasts swayed slightly under her tight leotard. Veronica’s erect body towered above his head of dyed hair, dark and too long for a man of his advanced age. His hefty overweight body was packed into a casual striped suit, wrinkled and displaying prominent age spots. The white handkerchief in his jacket pocket, folded in the form of a swallowtail, was wrinkled as well, tucked in with ridiculous carelessness. His cheeks sported wild stubble emphasizing his gray facial hair in contrast to the dye job, where lighter roots were sprouting at the edges of his scalp, evidence of the many days of lockdown.
It was particularly from the president and his posse that Simon had expected to pick up the same sensation that was troubling his own thoughts—a refusal to accept the lockdown, seeking a solution, perhaps even an aspiration to rebel against the ongoing situation. However, their pathetic, complacent conduct indicated that they had already resigned themselves to the lockdown. Their faces were unshaven. One might claim in their defense that they had not equipped themselves with a shaving kit, as he had, and yet they looked as if they had resigned themselves to their gradually deteriorating, graying and disheveled circumstances, smiling and playing dumb. The entire entourage accompanied the president with moist smiles as he continued to hold on to Veronica’s hand—she was the only woman who had honored him with her presence in the lengthening period of the lockdown.
“A man my age has to stay fit,” the president told Veronica in Spanish. She smiled admiringly in response.
“I know better ways to stay fit,” she replied, opting for French, producing lewd smirks from the cabinet members surrounding the president.
“In my situation, I’d be happy to learn anything from you.” The president smiled at her.
“And I would be happy to offer my services to the president,” Veronica said, blushing and thanking God that Simon and Rose did not speak French.