The World of the End

by Ofir Touché Gafla

  The tolerant expression on Marian’s face didn’t baffle the small frightened woman before her. “You just don’t want to recall the good days you had with him.”

  “With whom?”

  “Your husband.”

  “My husband?”

  “The two of you look very happy together in the picture.”

  “This is not the first time you’re confusing that scum with other men. First it was Yonatan and now it’s this guy who I don’t even know.”

  “I understand why you’d want to keep him to yourself.”

  “Who?”

  “Your husband.”

  “Darling, if I could I’d take his face and shove it in a hungry lion’s mouth…”

  “I find it hard to believe, especially when you continue to ignore the photographic evidence.”

  “And for me it’s hard to believe that we’re still talking about this silly photograph as though it has something to do with me.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Who?”

  “Your ex.”

  “Jacques.”

  “And where does he live?”

  “Jacques? I don’t know, I guess in our old apartment in Paris.”

  “How long has he been living there?”

  “Seven years.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve seen him working out at the health club at the end of the block for an entire year.”

  “We didn’t even have a health club on our street.”

  “Here, Marian, at the end of this street.”

  “In Tel Aviv? Jacques? He can’t stand this country.”

  “And yet he spent the last year here, up until two weeks ago when he disappeared.”

  “Ann, you’re making a big mistake. Jacques never…”

  “Do you still love him?”

  “Are you deaf?”

  “Then why won’t you help me find him?”

  “I told you exactly where he is. If he hasn’t moved, then he’s in Paris, in the…”

  “I couldn’t care less about Paris.”

  “But for some reason you care a great deal about Jacques. Why do you want to find him?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Okay. But I can tell you aren’t looking for the SOB for the right reasons.”

  “As far as you’re concerned.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “That you leave Jacques alone and help me get in contact with him.”

  “I left him alone a long time ago. And I’m more than happy to give you his address.”

  “In Tel Aviv?”

  “No, Ann, not in Tel Aviv. He has no address in Tel Aviv.”

  “Why did you go to Paris?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “To Paris. That urgent trip you took. It had to do with him, right?”

  “No, not in the slightest.”

  “I’m starting to get the impression that you’re living a double life.”

  “And I’m starting to get the impression you’ve gone too far.”

  “Yonatan is your virtual lover, to quote you, and Jacques is your real lover. One in Tel Aviv, one in Paris…”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Marian, stop, I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to understand why you’d lie about Jacques.”

  “I have no reason whatsoever to lie about the scum!”

  “Then why did you go to Paris?”

  “It’s personal.”

  “I rest my case.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous … I went to France … Wait a second, why should I have to explain myself?”

  “So I can know if I have any chance of getting to Jacques or if you’re just taunting me.”

  “There’s no reason for me to taunt the woman who saved my life.”

  “So save hers in return and tell me the whole truth about the man in the picture.”

  “God, we’re back to that damn picture. Ann, how many times do I have to tell you I don’t know a thing about it?!” Marian grabbed the picture from Ann and ripped it as many times as she could. “Here you go. You want proof that I have nothing to do with this thing, well here you are! Now there’s nothing left of it. Same as the rest of this idiotic evening!”

  Ann watched as Marian left her seat and walked to the coat hanger. She ran after her and called piteously. “I’m sorry, Marian, please stay a little longer.”

  Marian slipped into her jacket. “It’s late already.”

  “I’m asking you, please, don’t go yet. I didn’t mean to badger you. I will hate myself if you leave now because of what I’ve said. And I really wouldn’t want to totally ruin this idiotic evening.” With a rare display of nerve, she began to help her sour-faced guest out of her coat, hanging it back up, and leading her by the arm toward the living room, where she sat her on the couch, opposite the TV, right near the glass table she’d gotten when it had become clear that little kids would never enter this home, and with the smile she saved for obstinate patients on artificial respiration, she asked, “Coffee or tea?”

  Marian smiled. “Tea, no sugar.”

  Ann nodded and pointed to the remote control. “In the meantime you can watch…”

  “I’m fine,” Marian said.

  “If the vase is in your way…”

  “I said I’m fine.”

  * * *

  In an instant everything collapsed.

  Then came the improvised Plan B. The thrill Ann felt when she decided not to let the information channel known as Marian slip away called for decisive action. A vision of the man from the health club haunted her as she filled the kettle and pulled two tea bags from the silver box, forcing her to admit that if she harbored hopes of ever seeing him again, then she simply had to struggle against the crude obstacle in her way. That woman is the embodiment of evil, she thought, as she slipped into the washroom and snatched a bottle of sleeping pills she’d taken from the hospital during the week when Jacques had kept her up at nights. Back in the kitchen, she stared at the bottle of pills with a kind of playful terror.

  * * *

  She could not relent!—she washed the dishes. She could not relent!—she threw away the scraps of food. She could not relent!—she blew out the candles. Once she had mended the photo, sticking all twelve pieces together, she nodded enthusiastically. “I must not relent,” she mouthed, and went out to the old shed, returning with a length of coarse rope. On the way to the bedroom she eyed the mirror and asked, “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

  The reflection answered laconically. “Got a better idea?”

  She pondered that for moment and shook her head.

  “So then what, exactly, are you waiting for?” the reflection nudged.

  Ann looked away from it, coiled the rope, took a deep breath, and walked into the room. “It’s going to be a long weekend,” she heard the mirror at her back giggle.

  Ann fulfilled her obligation with utmost tenderness. Once she was sure that only supernatural powers would suffice to extricate Marian, she turned off the light, dragged a chair over to the side of the bed, and sat down to watch her, both threatened and threatening. The dizzying thought that she could do with her as she pleased brought a smile to her lips, a smile that receded after eight hours of dreamless sleep. She awoke from her painful sleep and recoiled at the sight of the woman bound to her bed. It took a few seconds, but the events of the previous night came back swiftly. The morning light made it all seem as though she had gone well beyond the pale.

  It’s still not too late. It can still be undone. She ran to the kitchen and pulled the chopping knife out of the dishwasher. Then she froze. The scream from the bedroom parted the silence that hung in the house. Striding somberly, she made for the room, forgetting the glinting knife in her sweaty palm and forcing herself not to make eye contact with the mirror.

  But the mirror was mum and the guest fell silent at the sight of the armed hostess. The terror in her e
yes melted away, and she smiled at Ann. “Oh, Ann, you have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

  Ann looked her over, trying to decide what Marian was up to, wondering if this was some kind of wily feminine trick, as the Frenchwoman called her close with a sideways nod of the head and asked in a whisper, “Did you get rid of them?”

  “Of whom?” Her grip on the knife loosened.

  “I don’t know; the burglars or whoever it was.…”

  “Burglars?”

  “I’m tied to the bed and you’re walking around with a butcher knife in your hand. So I assume…?”

  “Marian, I think that you’re…”

  “Shhh…” Marian silenced her. “Maybe they’re still here. Let me go and we’ll call the police.” Not hearing a response, she bit down on her lower lip. “I hope they haven’t done anything. You look like you’re in shock and I, I don’t even know how I got here. God, they must have given me Rohypnol or whatever the hell it’s called…”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That drug they use to make rape victims forget everything.”

  “I know what Rohypnol is!” Ann said.

  “So, don’t you think…?”

  “Will you just shut up already, you idiot!” Ann barked, waving the knife, amazed at the effect of the words she’d never before spoken.

  Marian’s eyes widened. She waited obediently for an explanation.

  “I, Marian, am the reason you are where you are. I tied you up. And the knife I’m holding was meant to untie you.”

  “Why would you tie me up?” Marian asked, and then, face brightening, she continued in a amazed tone, “Oh, Ann, why didn’t you just tell me straight away? God, what a diversion. You spent half the night driving me crazy with questions about my ex just so you could cover up what you were really after.”

  Ann thought she was dreaming. “You’re crazy … totally crazy…”

  “It’s okay, Ann, I have no problem with that kind of thing even though you should know that as far as sexual orientation goes I’m as average as most.”

  “Oh, do me a favor and stop complimenting yourself. I tied you up for a different reason. Then I changed my mind.”

  “So why don’t I see you working on the rope? My entire body aches and I can’t believe I spent the entire night like this.”

  “I can’t,” Ann said, looking down.

  “What can’t you do?”

  “Untie you.”

  “But a second ago you said you reconsidered and came here to untie me.”

  “I reconsidered again.”

  “Look at me when I talk to you!” Marian yelled.

  “How dare you yell at me!” Ann yelled back.

  Marian burst out in awestruck laughter. “Excuse me?! I don’t think you understand what you’ve gotten yourself into here. I’m not sure what you’re thinking, and it’s starting to seem like you’ve seen Misery one time too many, or maybe you’ve been helping yourself too liberally to the hospital medicine cabinet. All I know is that if you don’t let me go this instant I’ll scream so loud the whole world will be at your door and then you’ll really have some reconsidering to do.”

  Looking at the woman writhe against her restraints, Ann came to her senses. “Okay, I promise to let you go. Just tell me where he is. That’s all I ask.”

  “Who’s he?” Marian asked.

  “Jacques.”

  Marian shut her eyes. “Holy mother of God, why are you obsessed with that jerk?”

  “You want me to let you go, or not?” Ann asked.

  “I already told you where he is,” Marian groaned.

  “You didn’t give me the Tel Aviv address.”

  “There is no Tel Aviv address!” Marian shrieked. “I told you already, you got it all wrong.”

  “No, Marian, you’ve got it all wrong if you think I’m going to let you go without giving me a straight answer,” Ann hissed. She left the room and returned a few seconds later. She sat down beside Marian, brought a whiskey-soaked sock to her lips, forced her defiant mouth open, and shoved the bunched sock down her throat, wiping a traitorous tear from her face and shaking all over. “Now you’ve got no choice but to shut up and think about whether you want to keep playing games with me. I’m going to make some breakfast. If you behave, I’ll come back, take the sock out, and feed you some. But I swear to you, Marian, if you don’t tell me where the man in the picture is, I won’t hesitate. And as I’m sure you’ve already gathered, I don’t usually provide advance warning on my threats.”

  Before even beating the eggs, she handled the concerned neighbor who thought he might have heard screaming from within the house. She smiled and apologized. “Sometimes you’re so in the movie you totally forget yourself. I’ll be sure to turn the volume down next time.”

  “Oh, that’s okay, I just wanted to make sure everyone was alright,” the old man said before leaving.

  She locked the door, returned to the kitchen, made some tea, and dropped a pat of butter in the pan. The faraway cough, a constant intrusion, made her crack the eggs over the warm pan rather than in a bowl for an omelet. Upset, she turned on the radio and pretended to listen to a culture and entertainment show hosted by an authoritative, almost militant announcer, who somberly reported the passing of Rafael Kolanski, the noted artist, of a stroke in the wee hours of the morning. Ann nodded. “He should have been the hundredth one.”

  While the announcer praised the artist’s extraordinary body of work and acquainted the listeners with his life story, Ann appraised the tray of food, pleased with herself indeed. True, the guest was bound and gagged, but the breakfast she prepared, to the elegiac tune of the grandiloquent announcer, was chock-full of all the necessary food groups and, were the Evil One to complain about the hard knocks she had received, she would certainly not be able to find fault with the hostess’s nutritional pampering.

  The phone cracked the tranquility of the moment. She decided to ignore it, wondering who was calling her early on what was supposed to be an obligation-free weekend. She hit the blinking PLAY button on her machine and heard the hospital director’s serious voice. “Ann, good morning. I’d appreciate it if you could come in to the hospital as soon as possible. Thanks.”

  “What terrible timing,” she muttered, lifting the tray and placing a motherly smile on her face, walking with surprising confidence to the silent bedroom.

  The bedroom is silent—the reflection wrinkled her forehead in contagious suspicion.

  The bedroom is silent—the walls responded in an ominous echo.

  The bedroom is silent—the tray trembled.

  * * *

  “Hope you’re hungry,” Ann said, using her most heartfelt voice. But the position she found Marian in was not the kind one prone to noticing the finer points of hospitality might choose. Ann bent over and laid the tray on the floor, giggling in dread. “Stop, Marian, don’t you know I’m a nurse and that I can spot an impersonator from afar?”

  Marian did not respond. She lay frozen, as though Ann had nailed her to the bed, arms and legs sprawled, much as they were before she’d awoken, only her chest did not rise or fall and the front of her shirt was stained with the whiskey that still dripped from the sock stuck deep in her mouth.

  “Stop playing games,” Ann said, keeping her smile intact, hoping, childishly, that her loutish grin would somehow breathe life into the still woman, who did not respond even after Ann slapped her face three times, each stroke slightly more vigorous than the last. “I know you’re faking it,” Ann said, circling the bed, keeping an eye on the fraudulent body, waiting for an unintentional sign of life. “Marian, don’t you realize I’m not going to let you go till I figure out what happened to the one and only? The more you fight over him, the more you’ll lose your hold on him, because the two of you are not made for one another. Even in that picture, the two of you are in the midst of falling. Falling, Marian, falling, shuddering, convulsing, perishing. Acknowledge it, just acknowledge it.”

 
; Her gentle fingers rested on the woman’s lively pulse. As she thought, alive, but something about her position was worrying. She could ill afford any unnecessary risks and, if something happened to her, she’d be unable to pry from her mouth the secret she so jealously guarded. She pulled the sock out of Marian’s mouth and raced to the kitchen, looking for the butcher’s knife. There it was, right where she left it, just like the guest, only the latter surprised Ann, and when she came back to the room she was already in the throes of a seizure, rattling her ropes, her hands and feet convulsing in a singular way, the jig of epilepsy. The end of the seizure was as abrupt as its beginning, and the bed lay silent beneath the still patient, who had not revealed her condition nor left the terrified hostess any options. Ann made quick work of the rope and dropped it on the floor, along with the knife, looking at her arms fall beside her taut body and placing a hand on Marian’s face, when a searing pain coursed through her.

  Marian’s teeth dug into the hand like a dog clamping down on some appealing prey, and before Ann managed to react, the livid guest opened her eyes and whispered in contempt, “Thank you for the idea.” Ann felt herself go woozy as soon as the pretend patient got both her hands around her neck and squeezed the shocked jugular vein. The murderous look in Marian’s eyes paralyzed Ann; however, the lack of oxygen streamlined her thoughts, and she realized that if she didn’t defend herself and get the wheezing animal who kept yelling “Bitch!” off of her, she’d be done for.

  The two struggled, largely in silence, for a long while, intent on choking the life out of one another, the only sound an occasional, smothered moan of exertion, and, in unison, the two of them remembered the weapon by the side of the bed, each keeping their hold fixed with one hand and groping blindly with the other, ten fingers fighting for a single blade, and whenever one seemed to have gotten a hold of it, the other made a quick foiling move, until they lost their balance and tumbled to the floor, falling into a chaotic ball of limbs, scratching, pulling, kicking, slapping, punching. And throughout, it was clear to the two of them that the battle would go on for hours unless one of them managed to land an ingenious blow, ending the exhausting contest once and for all. And when that blow came, in the form of a hardcover book crashing down on Ann’s head, she cursed and looked wide-eyed at Marian, who grabbed an end of the rope and raised it, back arched, eyes seething. But Ann scrambled out of the war room and gained the living room, temporarily free of Marian’s wrath. She came after her, though, deaf to her pleas for a ceasefire, and only when the rope finally thumped flush across her back did Ann, red-eyed and drunk with pain, turn to Marian and look her in the face, as the latter yelled, “You’re insane! I hate you!” and, like an old cowhand, she whipped the hefty, lasso side of the rope straight into Ann’s face, the blow falling with stunning force.