He then sighed in despair, as though she were a hopeless case.
And got up to leave.
The following week, he suddenly sat beside her again during the Gathering.
Once it ended, he turned to her. Physically. After days of furious silence. Mumbling. One can even say slightly embarrassed.
“Y… you know that David, umm… really appreciates you… right?”
He started hesitantly.
“David?”
Dana was stunned.
“Yes. He appreciates the way you look… the kind of mother that you are… he really likes mothers…”
Back then, Orr was still with her.
She remained silent, in shock.
She would have been less surprised were he to tell her that King David had decided to adopt a Vietnamese orphan. He likes mothers? Since when? Appreciates her? Her…?
His Royal Highness never pays attention to even a single child in the village, and there are a few more except for Orr.
And even if he really does appreciate her, he’s never even hinted towards it.
Eyal recovered, gathered up the courage, and quietly blurted out:
“He wishes to visit you this evening.”
So that’s it.
By that point in time, Dana had already managed to hear whispers about King David’s visits to the village women. And the men too. Mainly the soft youngsters among them.
She didn’t want him to visit her. He scared her. Terrified, even.
He never said a single word in her defence when she got pounded by mockery at Gatherings. On the contrary. He was the first to raise the protective barrier.
Not at once. First, he aimed the stream drop by drop, in little trickles, growing stronger, calculatedly regulated, up to the gushing flood she now experiences, while a strange glimmer frolicked within his eyes.
And she really didn’t want him to visit her. No. She can’t. Can’t bear it.
“Eyal, no. Please. I don’t want David to visit me.”
She almost whispered.
Eyal reddened.
“She doesn’t want! She doesn’t want! Listen to this, the princess doesn’t want. So now you listen to me, you ungrateful woman, did you hear me asking a question here? No, idiot.
I t-o-l-d you. What exactly don’t you get? David wishes to visit you tonight! Exclamation mark! You, Dana! Get it? You, stupid little dweeb-Dana, princess of Northern Tel Aviv, you’re the one that David wishes to visit! Who are you to say no to David?”
He got up, shook off an invisible impurity from his clothes, having gotten supposedly infected by her despicable presence, walked over to His Majesty’s table, whispered something in his ear while nodding and gesturing towards her, and turned to leave, Guy the marine biologist rushing after him.
And that night, the Caesar arrived in her bed for the first time, and she convulsed in attempts to get out, twitching like a fish in a net, until she extricated herself out of her body and floated above.
And it was only Orr’s cries as she awoke into the darkened room’s panting, and cried, “Mommy, mommy, where are you, where are you?” Until the Caesar aggressively pulled himself out of her gaping body, straightened his robe on his exposed stomach and walked out into the night enraged, only then did Dana crash back down onto the hut’s floorboards.
She hugged Orr, shivering with horror.
9
And a week later, the children were taken to the Existential College’s educational home.
It took three Gatherings of flowery discussions, ponderings and questions, as well as tears, for the vote to be unanimous, and for Orr’s educational boarding home to be established.
The Caesar, in his gracious generosity, vacated his large office complex for the sake of the children (a new management complex, more spacious and extravagant, had already begun to be erected, to be completed within a few weeks’ time), the diligent village laborers rolled up their sleeves, building wooden beds and straw mats, expanding study halls and play-rooms, customizing the Caesar’s kitchen and dining room into a colorful children’s kitchen, brightly lit and pleasant. The educational home was bustling, containing ten students, infants to adolescents, and the work was completed.
Mothers do not breastfeed here. There are no new babies born in the village. The King’s decree on the matter is unequivocal. Any pregnancies within the village are to be reported to him directly. Immediately.
Forbidden. And clearly so.
All rebellious pregnancies are handled quietly and swiftly. If His Majesty’s apothecary-made herbs have yet to extract the foreign element from within us, then it shall be efficiently removed by the Shaman of Isla del Salo.
Babies shall not be born here.
First of all, explains King David amiably, his voice delectable as ever, we are all still climbing up the ladder. Towards the existential whole. We haven’t yet reached its top. We have a long way there yet. And so how can we find the spiritual and physical resources to raise children. Secondly, and more importantly, we know how incredibly meaningful our mutual love for one another is. Love without the boundaries of gender, ownership, exclusivity, or age. Everything is open. Everyone here loves one another. With a pure heart. In body and in mind.
New babies, were they to appear, would only create disputes within our pure love, taint our hearts.
Clearly.
And then her Orr is grabbed and uprooted from within her heart, just like that, and taken to the inner walls of the educational boarding home.
Dana feels herself bleeding profusely.
During the first few days she sends her hand to touch her searing chest, imagining blood gushing out of it, surprised when she finds her hand unstained.
She’s appalled to find her womb is also suddenly dripping its own blood streams.
Dana runs, and trips, and gets up, and continues running, through the tall grass growing beneath the barred windows at the back end of the brick structure, running towards the tightly-fenced front yard of the children’s home, pounding her tiny fist on the gate, crying out: “Orr, Orr.” And sobbing as other children’s cries are heard from within the complex, until two men, unrecognizable through her anguish, drag her away from there, carrying her, kicking, straight to the raging Eyal, depositing her with him.
And after they leave, Eyal slaps her.
For the first time.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he screams at her with inflamed hysteria.
Her cheek is burning and reddening.
“Just so you know! I’ve filed for sole custody of Orr! Yes! Yes! Because you’re obviously unfit! Anyone can see that, but I’ve also got certified expert opinions.
Dr. Ramirez has already signed the papers, and Aviram too!”
She wasn’t well acquainted with Dr. Ramirez, the village doctor, but Aviram was their friend from back when they had lived in Tel Aviv. A well-known psychiatrist. Treating celebrities of varying fame. He is written about. Talked about. Interviewed. Has a finger in every pie. A year ago he got into some trouble with the law in Israel, a bit of tax authorities here, money laundering investigations there, or something.
He hastily abandoned his flashy clinic, his wife and their two adolescent children, and became a welcomed village member.
Dana never exchanges a single word with Aviram here. A nod to say hello. That’s it.
How has Aviram declared her to be an unfit mother.
Eyal is way ahead of her.
“Aviram diagnosed you from the very first moment, Dana. You’ve alienated Orr ever since she was born.
You’ve shown no maternal sentiments towards her. You never breastfed her (true, Dana recalls. She had trouble doing it. Despaired, gave up on it). You don’t love her like a mother should. I thought that you’d develop some sort of feeling towards her here in the village. But as a
lways, you’re only interested in Dana.
Aviram didn’t even need to speak to you, he already realized who you are a long time ago.”
Dana doesn’t know if Eyal really did file for sole custody. Sometimes Eyal tends to slightly alter reality, customizing it to his heart’s yearnings.
But she knows that she can’t forfeit Orr. Her Orr. She’s going to have to think.
This is difficult. They’re strong. So perhaps not immediately. She’ll be as obedient as they want her to be. Do whatever they tell her to do. Work in the kitchen. The laundrette. The corn field. Whatever they say.
She’ll nod during Gatherings, raise her hand during every vote, always and without hesitation, she will be the humiliated Dana whom they love so much.
When need be, she’ll lay in her bed in the dark until His Royal Highness climbs up her.
Because they hate that Dana. Proud, tall, upright, opinionated, glowing-black-haired. Now she knows.
They never loved her. The beautiful PhD student that she was back in Jerusalem years ago, when the Gatherings had only just started. They longed for her presence during their first meetings, because back then she added color and brightness to them, contributing a tinge of cool Jerusalemite intellect to the mediocre academic group that they were. She helped them in branding their mysterious team.
Only the worthy. Only the esteemed chosen few.
A professor, well-known doctors, a head of a department, lecturers, a beautiful doctoral student soon to receive her coveted PhD, they cushioned the surface with an array of grad students, as well as random passers-by picked from the edges of Jerusalem’s bizarre crops.
But they didn’t really appreciate, and certainly didn’t love her, Dana.
Ever.
The funds that she brought with her were very much to their liking. And her attractive and tranquil silhouette during Gatherings, glass of wine in hand, bright black eyes, glimmering with admiration for the Jerusalem King, of course.
They saw a desirable goal in recruiting her to their ranks. Of course. An esteemed lecturer, Doctor of Law.
Dana gets it now.
They don’t like strong women.
They don’t like women.
Period.
And when they found the right time, they transferred her to Eyal’s patronage. Because Eyal was the lieutenant, and that was where they designated her to be.
Eyal answers directly to Professor Doron Sadeh’s commands, and above him is no other but His Royal Highness, King David.
And King David wants Dana to be with them. Dana the woman. Not the Doctor of Law. Not the shining intellect.
Just a beautiful woman.
And submissive.
Jerusalem 2010
10
Eyal remembers himself only ever being alone.
Not lonely. Alone.
And that is how he sits now, on his own, on a wooden bench near the Wolfson Building, in the gentle breeze of Mount Scopus, staring within himself at the child he once was, back in Antwerp.
How he had spent every single day surrounded by other people. But kept to himself. The other people all around him. There, in front of him. Dressing him, putting a warm hat on his head in preparation for the chill outside, woollen mittens on his hands. Scarf around his neck.
“Aren’t you cold, Leo?” they asked with genuine concern.
“No,” he answered.
Leo. That was his name back then. A little boy. Three years old. Wrapped from head to toe in their warmth. Grandma and Grandpa’s. Uncles. Nannies. Kindergarten teachers.
Not Mom and Dad.
When he grows up, he’ll understand.
He’ll be shown photographs. There he is, Leo, in a stroller, pushed by a beautiful woman in a white jacket and matching hat. Next to her is a young man, dapperly dressed.
Mom and Dad.
They’ll explain: They drove together from Antwerp to the Munich branch of their family business. His mother had a fear of flying, so they chose to drive there in their car.
On the German four-lane highway, a bus had suddenly veered off its lane, tore through the partition fence and galloped straight towards his Mom and Dad, to the lane ahead.
It was a head-on collision. Their car was burnt to the ground.
And that’s how Leo was raised by his Grandma and Grandpa, and with a crowd of adults surrounding him.
He was the boy that everyone always cared for.
- Not hungry?
- Not thirsty?
- Not painful?
- Not cold?
- Not hot?
No. No. No. Everything’s fine. He’s growing up to be a strong, tall, athletic, sociable boy, a good student.
And he’s alone.
He often imagines himself looking at everyone through a transparent screen. Their voices a little muffled, as though they’d been sifted through invisible filters.
He’s not a chatterbox, but not a detached introvert either. He has friends. Girlfriends. He’s a welcomed guest in the homes of children from the Tachkemoni Jewish school in Antwerp. They go over to his house too, Grandma’s house. And Grandpa’s.
There’s even a close friend, Henri.
They swim together in the school’s swim team.
Henri is shorter than him, but wide-shouldered, sturdy, swims well. Sometimes, during competitions, Leo is ahead of Henri, occasionally Henri gets ahead of Leo. They laugh, shake off the water and pat each other on the back to congratulate, friendly.
Henri’s eyes are blue. Leo likes to look at them.
One time, in junior high, they went out for a school trip. They spent the night at a Jewish institution’s boarding home.
Leo and Henri slept in narrow beds on both sides of a small room. While sleeping, Leo suddenly sensed a figure sitting at the edge of his bed, and a hand feeling underneath his sweatshirt. He was terrified, and shut his eyes tightly. The room was dark. But he felt Henri’s warm palm. Caressing. Gliding down towards the elastic of his pants.
He didn’t dare move. Push away the invasive hand.
He didn’t want to either.
Because he was immediately filled by a sense of desire the likes of which he had never before experienced. Leo felt it flowing within his entire body. Gushing through him, his arteries, veins, each and every capillary.
And he shut his eyes even more forcefully, not daring to budge, his hands laying still at his sides, not reaching out. Delectably swallowing his pound of pleasure.
In the shadows. In the darkness of the room.
In the morning, they both woke up in silence. Their eyes directed to the sides. Went out for morning prayers, as was customary, each turning to a separate group of friends.
As the trip continued they resumed hanging out, laughing, competing against each other in climbing towards the mountain’s observation point.
They never mentioned that night, and Leo was never again to experience that pleasure.
Surely not with any of the girls he was to see in the coming years.
Girls always liked him. Sent him looks. Desired him. He was kind and courteous. Smiley, in moderation.
And detached.
Leo wasn’t attracted to any of them.
He answered their courtships, that he did. Sometimes he went out with them.
Towards the end of high school, he had already partaken in what had suddenly become the main occupation and sole yearning of all the boys around him, his peers. The conquest of girls.
Like in battle. Like in war. Chasing. Raiding. Accomplishing. Dividing the loot. Taking. The girls give. The boys take.
Leo, on his part, had already received a few small graces. Nice. He summarized the experience to himself. No big deal.
He didn’t talk much about the subject matter.
Henri asked him, and Leo
answered. Sparce with his words.
Yes. With Danielle. And Elsa too.
Nice. Both of them.
Henri himself was at the time entangled in a sticky relationship with Michelle, a short, fair-haired hyperactive girl with shiny amber eyes, who had studied with them since kindergarten and became, at some unnoticed stage, the most attractive girl at school.
Henri too had already experienced his own knowledge of the flesh.
He and Michelle squirmed away from any superfluous human company, communing with each other at any possible time and place. In their rooms, their yards, the park, the gym hall, the science lab, even the elevator, as he told Leo.
It seemed that Henri was enthused by the expanding new discoveries spreading before him, with their vast array of possibilities and manners, much more intensely than Leo.
And it wasn’t that Leo wasn’t having fun. He absolutely was. But he wasn’t excited, wasn’t emotionally or physically shaken up in any fashion.
He just kept thinking to himself: And that’s it?
Leo completed high school. Successfully, one should add.
Almost immediately after graduation, his Grandma passed away, quietly, without warning, as though she had completed her role on Earth and retired to some other place. Grandpa, who had been ill for many years, no longer recognizing anyone around him, somehow realized his new situation, using some hidden sense still left within the depths of his soul, his loneliness in the world, without his spouse of sixty years, and retired after her.
They were buried together at a Jewish cemetery.
Leo looked at their shared marble gravestone, near his Mom and Dad’s old gravestone.
And knew that he was embarking on a new path.
That was the moment that he peeled Leo off of himself, becoming Eyal.
His Hebrew was fine. After years at the Jewish school and his trips to Israel, with Grandma and without her.
A Savage Flower Page 5