“Still thinking about that dream of yours?”
She blushes. “Yes, how did you know?” She pulls out a crushed pack of cigarettes and a box of matches from the pocket of her dressing gown, lights a cigarette, inhaling the smoke deeply.
“It’s strange, I keep remembering more details, the dream’s getting clearer. There was someone there in a white coat, sort of in disguise, assisting the dentist, because the dentist was asleep. He gave me the drink and started the treatment, with wooden instruments, a narrow ruler, and it really didn’t hurt, he treated me so gently, so pleasantly … a real experience …”
“Who was it?”
“A stranger … I didn’t know him … just a young man.”
I look at my watch. She goes inside, switches on the kettle, goes to wash, the air grows wanner, the sounds of the awakening city. Looks like a heavy day of hamsin. She comes out to join me with a cup of coffee and a plate of biscuits, it’s a long time since we’ve sat together like this in the morning. She sits down in the corner of the balcony, in the worn wicker chair that they brought here especially for her father in the days of mourning, the cigarette between her fingers, her face reminding me of her old Either, who sat there in the last months before his death, a blanket on his knees, solemnly receiving the people who came to console him, to ask his forgiveness.
We sit in silence, sipping our coffee, our faces to the sea.
“Is he coming today?”
“Yes.”
“Are you making progress?”
“Slowly.”
“We shall have to start making a note of the hours he works.” I smile, but she takes me seriously.
“How much does he owe you?”
“I can’t remember, I shall have to look at the bill … soon we’ll be owing him money.”
She doesn’t answer, she stares at the ground, can she still fall in love?
“We shall have to think about it … perhaps I should give him back the car.”
“Already?” Softly it slips from her mouth.
“But if he’s really making himself useful of course we can continue … is he helping you?”
“Yes … he’s helping me … do you mind?”
This fear of me, that frightened look my way.
Pity stirs in me for the little woman gripped by desire. I smile at her, but she’s still serious.
“What else was there in your dream?”
“The dream?” She’s forgotten it already. “That’s all.”
I drink the rest of my coffee, bring my boots out to the balcony to put them on. She watches me uneasily. I stand up, comb my hair, smooth my beard, put my keys and wallet in my pocket, she gets up and follows me, accompanying me to the door like a faithful dog, not knowing what to do with herself, as if suddenly she can’t bear to be parted from me.
At the door I say, “Now I remember … you said something like, ‘… my love, my love’ …”
“What? ‘My love’?” She laughs, astonished. “I said ‘my love’? That’s impossible.”
DAFI
I just didn’t understand, I didn’t realize at first that the door was locked on the inside, because I’m the only one who locks doors in this house. I pressed the handle hard and started to turn it, trying to force the door open thinking someone was trapped in there, I don’t really know why I tried so hard. I was a bit giddy, the sudden change from the sunlight to the darkness in the house confused me. Because today I left the beach at midday and came home, suddenly I got tired of that Nirvana by the sea, and myself too. Osnat stopped coming with us last week and just Tali and I have been going down there. The last days of the vacation and there’s a change in the air, a mixture of hamsin and autumn, the sky clouding over. And I see that Tali doesn’t want to go into the water, doesn’t even want to run, just lying there in the sand, studying her brown, shapely body, which attracts more and more furtive glances from passers-by. She hardly talks, just smiles her weary, enigmatic smile. The beach is getting empty and I look across at the houses of the city, at the road and the speeding cars, feeling suddenly alone, seeing that if I go on just being with her I’ll begin to be as bored as she is. Today I jumped up and said, “I’m going, I’ve had enough of this, I’m bored.” But she didn’t want to come with me, I left her, took the bus and went home, I had to talk to someone, I went straight to the study, because Mommy’s always there, and suddenly the door was closed.
I went and fetched my own key and tried to fit it in the lock, then I saw a key in the lock on the other side.
“Mommy?” I shouted. “Mommy?”
But there was no answer, not even a whisper, and suddenly, what a fool I am, I was sure something had happened to her, she’d been murdered, I don’t know why the idea of murder suddenly came into my head, perhaps it was all the movies I’d seen in the vacation, I couldn’t think of anything less than murder, and I started to wail, thumping the door fiercely – “Mommy! Mommy!”
And suddenly I heard her voice, clear and soft, not the voice of somebody who’s just woken up.
“Yes Dafi what is it?”
“Mommy? Is that you? What’s happened?”
“Nothing, I’m working.”
“Then open the door.”
“In a moment, I’m just finishing something, don’t bother me now.”
I still suspected nothing, I was so confused, all hot from the sun. I went to the kitchen for a drink of cold water, came back to the living room, waiting, I don’t know what for. After a few minutes the door opened, and Mommy came out, closing the door behind her, she was barefoot, wearing a thin dressing gown, her hair in a bit of a mess, she came and sat down beside me, there was something odd about her but I couldn’t think what, she was all attention.
“What’s the matter?”
“I just didn’t know if you were in the house …”
“Have you been down at the beach?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you come back so early?”
“I just got tired of it, I suddenly got bored with the sea.”
“Perhaps you should go and rest for a while, the vacation will be over soon and you haven’t had any rest at all, you’ve been rushing about everywhere … Are you going to the movies again today?”
“Maybe.”
“Come on then” – and she lifted me up – “go and rest, you look really worn out.”
She was gentle, inscrutable, her eyes darting about anxiously, and I still didn’t understand, I let her lead me to my room, watched her as she tidied up the bed that was still in a mess from the night before, straightening the sheets and the pillows, helping me to unfasten the buckle of my swimsuit, stripping me naked, gently brushing the sand from my shoulders.
“Should I take a shower?”
“Take a shower later … you’ll be all right … you’re really burning.”
And I didn’t understand, hell, I didn’t understand anything, letting her put me to bed, covering me up, pulling down the blinds, making the room dark for me, her movements brisk and agile.
She smiled at me, closing the door behind her, and I lay there under the blankets, at midday, shutting my eyes, as if really trying to sleep, as if she’d hypnotized me, and suddenly I jumped out of bed, put on my clothes in a hurry, and barefoot, without a sound, I went to the study, stood by the closed door. It was quiet in there, just the faint rustle of papers. Then I heard her say in a low voice, “I’ve put her to bed” – a soft chuckle – “she doesn’t suspect anything.” I shuddered, I thought I was going to faint, and just as I was I fled, going out again into the sunlight, running to Osnat’s house, I had to talk to somebody, but there was nobody at her house, I ran to Tali’s house, perhaps she’d come back. Her mom opened the door, in her dirty stained dressing gown, a cigarette in the corner of her mouth, a big knife in her hand.
“Tali’s not at home,” she said and she was about to close the door but I clutched the handle, pleading with her.
“Can I wait for her here?”
She looked at me with surprise, but she let me come in, I went to Tali’s room to wait there, but I was in such a state of nerves, pacing about the room, stumbling against the walls, in the end I went into the kitchen. Tali’s mom was busy cooking, all the burners of the stove were alight, she was slicing onions, meat, vegetables – great confusion.
“Could I sit here for a while … just to watch …” I asked, my voice shaking.
She was surprised, but she found a little stool and put it in the corner, I sat there huddled up, watching her, a big woman, sure in her movements, banging the saucepans about angrily, impatiently, impulsively, rushing about the kitchen with a wet cigarette in her mouth, among the piles of vegetables and headless fish streaming blood, the smell and the smoke made my head spin. Tears rose to my eyes, I started to cry a bit. If she’d asked me about Mommy and Daddy I’d have told her everything, but she said nothing. Finally she went out and changed her dressing gown for a broad embroidered skirt with a little white apron, hastily she set the table, looking at me again, a huge woman, her hair combed, a strange, beautiful goy, the knife still in her hand. She touched me gently, raised my head.
“What is it, Dafi?”
My eyes full of tears, I started to tell her but there was a ring at the door and people were arriving, local tradesmen, a tailor, a grocer, I didn’t know she was having a lunch party. Conversations began in Hungarian, in Polish, there was laughter. She sat them around the table, scolding them, ran out to bring in the first course, some of them followed her into the kitchen, full of high spirits, sniffing at the saucepans, winking at me. Some of them I knew and I never realized they could be so friendly and cheerful. Tali’s mom gave me a plate of meat and potatoes, and I sat there on the stool in the corner, the plate in my lap, my eyes dry now, eating among the crowd, the stampede, the clatter of knives and forks, leaving the empty plate in the sink and slipping away, without saying a word.
In the street I met Tali, walking slowly, she passed me by without seeing me, I went on home. There was nobody there, the study was empty, they’d gone. In the afternoon I went to the movies, and then home in the evening, Mommy and Daddy were there but Mommy didn’t look at me, nor I at her, instead a conversation about technical matters, you’d think we were in the garage. I take a shower, watch TV, go to bed with a book, the letters start to go dim, I doze off, and suddenly, with a shock, as if someone’s shaking me from inside, I wake up. I go on reading, taking nothing in. Daddy’s already asleep, Mommy’s pacing around the house, she stops at my door, not looking at me. “Shall I put the light out?” I nod my head. She puts it out. I close my eyes, sure that I’ll sleep but I don’t sleep. I get up, start to roam around the house, going from room to room, drinking water. The magic of a night at the end of the summer. The dark sea far away. Two more days and it’ll be back to school and for the first time I have no desire to study, nor any desire for the vacation to go on, I have no desire for anything. I go back to bed, try to sleep, get up again, the tension’s like electricity in my veins. Nothing like this has ever happened to me. I call softly to Daddy and Mommy but they don’t wake up. I go to the bathroom, wondering if I should take another shower. I sit on the edge of the bath, exhausted, I’ve never felt so lonely in my life. Through the window I see in the distance, on the slope across the wadi, an open lighted window. For years now they’ve been building a house there, and now at last the occupants have moved in. A man sitting in a room almost bare of furniture, in a T-shirt, his hair tousled, a pipe in his mouth, typing feverishly, every now and then he stands up, paces about the room and sits down again, attacking the typewriter with deep concentration. I watch him for a long time. I somehow feel relieved by watching him. I’m not as alone as I thought.
ADAM
Everything’s upside down. The long vacation’s over, the house full of Dafi’s books and note pads, wrapping paper, new writing materials, and Dafi herself is an unhappy black woman, wandering about distracted, going from room to room, baffled by the masses of homework that she has to get through. In her room the light stays on after we’re asleep. Asya has gone back to work, and on Sunday, without consulting me, she cut off her hair, standing in front of the mirror, an ageing child looking at herself in despair. It looks like Gabriel has disappeared, but he hasn’t really, occasionally I find traces of him in the house, the beret, sunglasses, a cigarette stub in the bathroom, the imprint of his head in a cushion, a French magazine. Once I phoned home during working hours and he lifted the receiver. I didn’t say who I was, I just asked for her, he said, “She’s not at home, she’s at the school, she’ll be back soon.”
“Who is that, if I may ask …?”
“I’m just a friend of the family.”
Is he already a lover, how can I tell, it’s all a mystery, nothing is said openly, nor do I want things to be said, I know that I must make myself scarce, not show any special interest. I told them to move the Morris out of the storeroom, to clean it, to fit a new battery and fill the fuel tank. Erlich protested, “What about the bill?” “Tear it up,” I said. He didn’t tear it up. I found it in a new file, marked in red ink “Not paid, consult the tax people.”
I brought the car home, gave the keys to Asya and told her to hand it back to him, and I added a thousand pounds as payment for his work. She took the keys and the money and said nothing. The car stood outside the house for a few days and then disappeared.
Are they meeting all the while in secret? I still don’t know, the very idea rouses a sweet pain within, but those days were confused and moved quickly. The festivals were beginning, no, not exactly the festivals, just Yom Kippur. Nineteen hundred and seventy-three.
VEDUCHA
And if this is a human lying in the bed and humans passing by looking at him then why should he be silent? Let him say something he should speak and indeed he has begun to speak without pause hearing his voice a soft voice a broken voice the babbling of an old woman talking and talking perhaps she will grasp some thought. For in her is deep sorrow she has lost much perhaps she will find a little. Smiles all around but no understanding moving the pillow adjusting the blanket turning from side to side saying it’ll be all right. Soon. Sleep a little. But if she must sleep better to die and who is this walking about? Dear, familiar, important, going and coming, standing and disappearing. Where is this? Bring me this! Show me I want so much. This, this, crying from the pillow, the mouth hurts from the shrieks.
And this suddenly comes. Suddenly goes. Suddenly stands. Suddenly disappears. Staring darkly always in a hurry hands in pockets and it’s night.
He had one word to transform the world but the world is in hands in pockets pacing indifferently, forgetting everything, ready for nothing.
Stars at the window. This, she whispers a word, spits a word, throws off a blanket kicks the pillow rolls to the floor rises and falls crawls rises walks rolls, pushes a door and another door into the sky field orchard. Thorns in the feet and a chill in the head, pushing branches sinking to the ground digging to find a word that will open it all.
PART FOUR
NA’IM
They’re getting themselves killed again and when they get themselves killed we have to shrink and lower our voices and mind not to laugh even at some joke that’s got nothing to do with them. This morning on the bus when the news was coming over the radio Issam was talking in a loud voice and laughing and the Jews in the front of the bus turned around and gave us a dry sort of look, and at once Hamid, who’s always so serious, who reckons he’s responsible for us even though he’s not our boss officially, touched Issam, nudged him with his finger, and Issam shut up right away.
Knowing where to draw the line, that’s what matters, and whoever doesn’t want to know had better stay in the village and laugh alone in the fields or sit in the orchard and curse the Jews as long as he likes. Those of us who are with them all day have to be careful. No, they don’t hate us. Anyone who thinks they hate us is completely wrong. We’re beyond hatred, for them we�
�re like shadows. Take, fetch, hold, clean, lift, sweep, unload, move. That’s the way they think of us, but when they start getting killed they get tired and they slow down and they can’t concentrate and they suddenly get all worked up about nothing, just before the news or just after, news that we don’t exactly hear, for us it’s a kind of rustle but not exactly, we hear the words but we don’t want to understand. Not lies, exactly, but not the truth either, just like on Radio Damascus, Amman or Cairo. Half-truths and half-lies and a lot of bullshit. The cheerful music from Beirut is much better, lively modern Arab music that makes your heart pound, as if your blood’s flowing faster. When we’re working on the cars that they leave with us the first thing we do is switch off Radio Israel or the army wave bands and look for a decent station, not a lot of talking, just songs, new and attractive songs about love. A subject that never tires. The main thing is to have none of that endless chattering about the rotten conflict that’ll go on forever. When I lie under a car tightening brakes the music in the car sounds like somebody walking over my head. I tell you, sometimes my eyes are a bit wet.
I don’t exactly hate the work. The garage isn’t such a bad one, big enough not to be always tripping over one another and getting on everybody’s nerves. My cousin Hamid isn’t far away, he pretends to ignore me but he makes sure they don’t pester me too much. But how can I tell them, I wanted to go on studying, not work in a garage. I finished in primary school with very good marks. The young student teacher was very pleased with me. In Hebrew classes I even used to think in Hebrew. And I knew by heart maybe a dozen poems by Bialik, though nobody ever told me to learn them, something catchy about their rhythm. Once a party of Jewish teachers came to the school to check up on what we were doing and the teacher called me up in front of the class and I stood there and recited by heart two verses from In the City of Slaughter, they nearly dropped dead on the spot, they were that impressed and maybe that’s what the teacher intended, he wasn’t exactly a great lover of Jews. Anyway, I could have stayed on at school, the teacher even went to my father to try to persuade him, “It’s a pity about the boy, he’s got a good brain.” But my father was stubborn, “Two studious sons in the family are enough for me,” as if we’re tied together with a rope and if one goes to college it makes the others educated too. Faiz will be finishing medical school in England soon, he’s been studying there for ten years already, and Adnan’s going to the university next year, he’ll be studying medicine too, or electronics. And I’m the youngest so I have to work. Somebody’s got to earn a bit of money. Father’s decided to make me a master mechanic like Hamid, who earns lots of money.
The Lover Page 15