"Tell me Dafna. What has happened?" Adam pleaded. "Is it too late? Is that what you are trying to tell us?"
Dafna nodded. Her sobbing had subsided a little, not much, and she had rolled over onto her front, face in the pillow. She was shuddering and drawing her breath in like a child who is deeply upset, unable to control her body. Adam half lay beside her, holding her, waiting patiently until she would be able to speak again. His parents left them and went to the phone to call the airlines. Another trip would have to be taken.
They were both thinking the same thing… 'Poor Dafna, just when things were starting to go well again. These two young people were star-crossed. Always, something has to happen to upset them.'
It took a long time for Dafna to be able to regain her composure, but finally she was able to sit up. Wiping her face and nose yet again, with Adam's arms around her, she said, "Mum has had another massive stroke, in her sleep. She didn't wake up from this one. Oh, Adam, she's dead. My mother is dead. I thought she was doing so well. She said she was doing well last time we spoke. I'll have to go back again. I'll have to arrange the funeral."
Adam rocked her in his arms. He was saddened by Mrs Zoreff's death. He had liked her a lot, having spent quite some time with her when they were both recovering. His thoughts went back to the days spent sitting in the garden, her pride and joy, when he was her legs, and she was his eyes, helping each other.
Adam stayed with Dafna until her eyes closed, and, exhausted from crying so hard, she slept against him. He carefully laid her back on the pillow and covered her with the blanket again, then left to find his parents. It didn't take long to fill them in on the news and its impact. Dafna would have to go, which they knew, and he would have to stay, as his operation was scheduled for the following week. Dr Feldman had already made it clear there was to be no last minute change of heart, for any reason.
The old couple had already guessed the news, of course, and had left a message for the airline staff to call back with the earliest possible booking for Dafna. There were always a few seats available for emergencies, so they knew Dafna would be able to fly back to Australia very soon.
CHAPTER 24
Dafna was sitting hunched down in the aircraft seat, looking out of the window at the clouds as they seemed to crawl by. With the help of Adam and his parents she had been put on this flight. It was hard to believe that it was less than twenty-four hours since that phone call had come to Adam's house. Today, they had brought her to the airport, escorted her as far as the departure gate, where they handed her over to a waiting airport staff member who would see that she got on the plane alright. The airline had been alerted to her grief, and a sympathetic, but business-like woman had taken charge of Dafna, walking her to her seat and making sure she was settled comfortably.
Through the fog of grief surrounding her, Dafna realised that she was getting special treatment, being a frequent user of the airline. Nevertheless, she was grateful for the lack of fuss, and the smooth manner in which everyone had combined to bring her to this point.
Her thoughts were all of her mother. She remembered back as far as she could, and her very first memory of her mother was of her in a garden somewhere, probably in Israel. A tear rolled down her cheek and Dafna wiped it away before anyone could see it. Fortunately, the seat next to her was vacant. The flight attendant had told her that it would be vacant until they reached Singapore. After that, she would have company as far as Sydney. Dafna had spread herself out along the two seats so that no one else would be encouraged to sit beside her. This time alone was her chance to recover from the shock of her mother's death. She didn't have to make conversation with anyone; she didn't have to look at anyone. Her eyes were behind very dark glasses which masked the very swollen, red eyes. Anyone looking at her would have assumed that the glasses were there as protection against the sun's brightness shining in the window. She wore the headset supplied by the airline, but barely listened to the classical music channel as she reminisced about her mother's life.
The flight to Australia dragged on. Waiting for her in Sydney, was the funeral arrangements, which, with help from her mother's old friend, would be dealt with as quickly as possible.
From time to time, the attendant came around with a trolley of food and drinks. Dafna ate sparingly and absent-mindedly. She had no appetite, and all food tasted pretty much the same. The alcohol on offer didn’t tempt her, mainly from her long experience of flying. She always abstained from drinking it because of the effects of jetlag combined with alcohol. Water was all she would drink while on board.
A book lay open on her lap, mainly to deter other passengers from trying to talk to her. It was open about a quarter of the way into the story, although she had no idea what it was about. Nothing had sunk in. She wasn't even sure if she had actually been reading it, or had just opened it for convenience. Occasionally, she left the book on the seat and walked around the cabin, never giving anyone the opportunity to speak with her, always on the move.
It was a long, lonely flight.
Sydney greeted the aircraft with a cool but sunny autumn day. Dafna felt like 'something the cat had dragged in' as her mother used to say. She was weary from the hours in the air, the break in routine, the lack of sleep.
Once again, she had to endure the gathering of her luggage from the baggage conveyor and its attendant memories of the explosion so many months before. The only good thing to have come out of that was meeting Adam, she had thought.
She collected the luggage. All the passengers were directed towards the reception area while a sniffer dog from the Drug Squad moved amongst them, nose to the bags and parcels. Occasionally, he stopped to sniff again at a particular bag, and the owner would stiffen a little in alarm, in case someone had put 'something' illegal in there. Dafna stood through this operation, her thoughts a million miles away. With a start, she heard they were being called to collect the luggage again and move towards the customs gateways. The sniffer dog had obviously found nothing untoward. She followed the crowd, jostling for position in the queues that formed in front of the customs officers. This was the part she hated most. It could be the longest part of the procedure or the fastest - one never knew until it was too late.
As it happened, Dafna got through the customs check with only a brief delay. She walked through the Arrivals Lounge and queued again, this time for a taxi. There were plenty of them. She would be on her way directly, she knew.
Arriving at her mother's house was a difficult moment for Dafna. It suddenly hit her that her mother wouldn't come out the door onto the verandah to greet her with the customary smile and hug and kiss. Again, tears coursed down her cheeks, dripping onto the front of her jacket. She sniffed desperately, trying to gain some sort of control of her emotions. Standing in front of the house, she saw one of her mother's neighbours come to the fence to murmur her condolences to Dafna. Nodding her acceptance, Dafna picked up her bags and opened the gate. She stepped through, closing it quietly behind her, as if not to wake her mother. The walk to the front door seemed to take an eternity, memories flooding back to again make her stifle the sobs that were close to the surface.
She had always carried a set of keys in her handbag. Dafna managed to open the front door. Silence greeted her. Silence and darkness. She turned on the light in the living room and stood looking about her. The furniture looked the same; there were flowers in the vases as always; her mother's knitting lay on the coffee table where it had been placed, possibly just before going to bed on that last night of her life. Dafna released a deep sigh, wishing Adam could have come with her for moral and emotional support.
Her mind went over the times when she remembered being lonely. Being an only child had been lonely at times. There were no siblings to play with each time they had travelled from Sydney to Tel Aviv, and vice versa, during her early years. Relocating often meant trying to make new friends - over and over again. She remembered being lonely the first day of school, after her mother had left her to return
home. When her father died, the feeling of being 'left behind' had been extraordinary. And now, she felt that again. Without a brother or sister, or Adam, to lean on for support, she was alone again.
While these thoughts were going through her mind, Dafna had sat on a lounge chair, slumped forward, arms on knees. She slowly lifted her head and looked about her again, before standing up and turning towards the kitchen. Walking through the doorway, Dafna saw that the house was clean and tidy. Perhaps Mrs Bergman had been in to make sure it was in a fit state to live in. There was a note propped up against the jug on the bench from Mrs Bergman. She would come and see Dafna in the morning, after she'd rested from the flight. Some preliminary arrangements for the funeral had been made on her behalf and would be confirmed when they talked. She expressed her regrets and condolences to Dafna.
Dafna was tired enough not to want to do anything other than shower and go to bed. The next day would be hard enough and she would need to rest well before facing anyone else.
Two weeks after her mother's funeral, Dafna was still in Sydney, loath to leave the house. The funeral itself had been the ordeal that she had expected it to be. Some of her mother's friends and distant relatives had come back to the house for a wake, along with the neighbours and a few friends that Dafna had kept since childhood. They had the usual tea, coffee, cakes and sandwiches and some hot snacks, prepared by Dafna and Mrs Bergman. The house had emptied out by mid-afternoon and Dafna had time to collect herself, to wander among her mother's belongings.
Either Adam, or his parents, had rung several times to see how she was managing. It gave her someone different to talk with, apart from old Mrs Bergman. She was in mourning for her friend and not communicating very well herself.
The legal side of the death, the reading of the will, transfer of the house to Dafna's name, had all taken their toll on Dafna's emotional state. Her mother had left all her possessions to Dafna with the exception of a beautifully crafted patchwork quilt on the bed. This was to go to Mrs Bergman, because she had always admired it and the skill it had taken to put it together.
Dafna spent as much time as possible in the garden. Over the past weeks, the plants had wilted from lack of attention, some of the garden beds needed to be dug over and replanted. The roses would soon need to be cut back, ready for the next spurt of growth. The roof gutters were full of leaves again. The windows needed cleaning. There were many jobs to be done to take her mind off the fact that this house now belonged to her and would benefit from her presence.
She decided to start from the house and work outwards. Dafna cleared the guttering of leaves, dropping most of them into buckets and emptying them onto the compost heap. Quite a lot of them fell down onto the gardens and lawns around the house. They would be collected when she started on the grounds. Next, she cleaned the windows and screens all the way around the house. The stone slabs of the verandah were discoloured where they were most used, near the door, so Dafna scrubbed them with hot soapy water and a wire brush that she found in the laundry. It was her aching back which alerted her to the time… the light was fading when she finally stopped work for the day. She wouldn't need rocking before she slept that night!
Dafna dreamed of Adam frequently, sometimes waking up damp with perspiration from the 'hot' memories of their last time together in his house. However, for all her yearning for him, she couldn't bring herself to call him. So deep was her sense of loss of her mother that she was unable to make contact with other people.
During the day, she worked herself into exhaustion, so that she would sleep at night. Inevitably, hours of tearful reminiscing were part of the daily routine, as she touched various items loved by her mother, now left to Dafna. Because the garden was her mother's pride and joy, Dafna spent most of her time there, recreating the glorious, relaxing atmosphere that she always associated with her mother.
The worst times came in the evening, when Dafna moved about amongst the furnishings. She had even tried to pick up the knitting, left on the coffee table by her mother, to finish the garment. But, the wool was constantly becoming damp from the tears dripping off her chin, so Dafna stopped working with it.
Somewhere, in the back of her mind, was the thought that Adam would be going through his operation around this time, or maybe it had already been done. The numbness in her whole being stopped her from ringing Israel to ask if the operation was over yet, or still to be done. She lost all sense of time as days ran into days, nights into nights. She only ate when she was hungry, which meant her meals were taken at irregular intervals and odd times of day or night.
One morning, cool now with approaching winter, Dafna walked out into the garden and realised that the whole yard looked immaculate. It looked as though the fairies had been there and tidied everything up!
Every garden bed was trimmed, dug over, aerated, and weeded. No self-respecting flower dared to wilt or lean over. The lawns were cut and almost smooth. The straggling climbing rose was tidy and neatly woven into the latticework frame. There was really nothing else a person could do to improve it. She couldn't believe that she had done so much work out there and not realised the extent of the gardening fervour that had obviously overtaken her.
Dafna stood and admired the scene before her, knowing that her mother would have approved of the effort and the result. She felt a sense of relief and happiness come over her. Now she could accept her mother's death and go on from here with this new-found feeling.
"OK, Mum. I've done this for you because it's how you would want to remember it," she said quietly to the garden in general. She was smiling as she turned and went back inside the house.
The front doorbell rang.
"Oh, bother," said Dafna, "who could be coming at this hour?" She glanced at her watch. It was not yet nine o'clock. Maybe it was old Mrs Bergman, wanting someone to talk with over a cup of tea.
Dafna opened the door and was struck dumb with surprise. Her mouth opened and closed.
Adam stood before her, his hand on the door jam, a slight smile on his face. His eyebrows raised as the silence went on… his eyes looking at her face weren't moving about.
"Dafna?" he asked. "Are you OK? Is it alright if I come in?"
"Adam! Oh, Adam," she cried, rushing into his arms and jolting him backwards. He laughed at the force of her charge forward and rocked back on his heels before regaining his balance. She pulled his head down to her and covered his face with kisses, which he was doing his best to return if only she would stay still.
"Come in. Come in. How are you? Why didn't you tell me you were coming? How long will you stay?" she fired the questions at him, not allowing him to answer them anyway, and all the time pulling him into the living room.
"Wow!" he said, "what a welcome. If I'd known I would get that sort of 'hello' I would have come sooner."
Dafna stopped pulling him into the room and hurled herself at him once more. Again, he reeled back as her weight hit him. Putting his arms around her once more he stood with this head cocked to one side, musing.
"What is it?" she asked him, smiling up at his wonderful face.
"You've lost a lot of weight. I can tell when I put my arms around you. Haven't you been eating?" he asked her.
"Of course, but I've also worked like a navvy putting the house and garden in shape. It took my mind off things. I needed to do it. I was just outside admiring my work, before you came. Oh Adam, what a surprise. I'm so pleased to see you." Dafna hugged him to her. She could smell the maleness of him, mixed with the pleasant scent of an aftershave lotion.
He hugged her back and then said, "OK my dear, what I really need is a shower and a cup of coffee to make myself presentable. But first, let me look at you."
Dafna waited for his hands to come up to her face, as he used to do when he 'looked' at her. Instead, he held her by the shoulders, at arms length, seemingly studying her face.
She stood quite still, in front of him, watching him. Gasping, she could barely get her throat to work, but finally sh
e said, "Adam, are you looking at me? Are you really looking at me?"
He didn't answer straight away, but continued to let his eyes roam over her shining black hair, pulled back with a yellow ribbon; the arched eyebrows; the beautiful, fresh complexion; the pink, full lips, open now in surprise; the dark eyes gleaming with love. Slowly, he folded her back into his arms with a deep sigh of satisfaction.
Interrupted Romance Page 17