He finishes his coffee and starts packing up the kit. She asks if she can help with something and he says there’s no need, she should take advantage of the next few minutes to rest, because he’s going to abuse her a little. She says he really doesn’t scare her, and they both laugh. The kit goes back in the trunk. He releases his bike and then hers, and asks if she’s ready to get going. Sure she’s ready. She thinks she’s been ready all her life, she just didn’t know it.
She gets into ready position and off they go, away from the paved road and along a dirt road into the wadi. She soon feels the steep descent.
“You remember, lean your body back,” he hollers and adds, “and lower your saddle!”
She does as he says, her heels firm on the pedals, as close as possible to the ground, her hands gentle on the brakes.
She’s gaining momentum. The wind whistles in her ears. She can’t focus on the vegetation, the landscape or the stream flowing at her feet. But then, she reassures herself that when they get to the bottom, she’ll be able to look around and enjoy the sights.
She loses her concentration for a fraction of a second, leans sideways on a turn, but doesn’t get the angle right. Her heart is pounding. She crashes, falling on her side with the bike on top of her.
It’s quiet now. He brakes behind her, dust flying from the friction of his wheels. She grips her thigh, paralyzed by pain for a moment.
“Are you okay?” he leans over her and squats, then lifts the bike off her and asks to examine her leg.
“Yes,” she bites her bottom lip, “I didn’t break anything.”
“How do you know?” he asks, looking at her leg. It’s as if they’re the only people in the world.
“It’s just a bump,” she assures him, “a scrape…it may be bleeding a little.” She removes her helmet. Her hair sticks to her dripping forehead.
“Roll up your pants,” he instructs her, “let’s see what the damage is. Can you move?”
She tries to straighten her leg and groans in pain. It hurts, but she can do it. nothing’s damaged, except perhaps her pride. She bends her back and tries to roll her pants up from her ankle. The pants refuse to cooperate and she manages with great difficulty to roll them up to her knee. What do I do now? Okay, she decides, there’s no choice, she’ll have to pull them down from the top. She rolls them back down, releasing the blood that had stopped somewhere in her calf.
He sits down beside her on the dirt path and watches her. She holds the elastic around her waist and slowly slips the tights down on the left. That doesn’t work either. She exhales. She’ll just pull them off altogether and be done with it. She wants to see for herself. Leaning on one hand, she lifts her butt and yanks the pants down with the other, leaving them rolled up at her knees. Her gray silk panties are in full view, along with the two narrow strips of sweat on the edges, close to where her groin meets her legs. She wants to bury herself with embarrassment. There’s a large scrape on her left thigh, by her hip. Her skin is chaffed and red, and a few bruises are appearing before her eyes.
“It doesn’t look too bad…” he notes, placing a hesitant finger on her thigh, caressing the taut, tan skin, gently massaging the area around the blow, careful not to touch the injured area. Open to his touch, she responds.
“Relax,” he whispers, allowing his warm fingers to creep slowly to the inside of her thigh, to the lace edge of her panties, where he stops to stroke her leg, staring intently at the unruly pubic hairs peeking out through the lace.
Watching his fingers hovering over her, she tries to breathe. Quietly, she swallows. All she wants is for this moment to never end. When last had she been so aroused? She couldn’t remember. Maybe when she was eighteen. Maybe never.
And then, he reaches a finger into her tight panties, through the lace trim by her inner thigh, touching the narrow strip of sweat, gently stroking her dark curls, investigating, discovering worlds.
Her heart is pounding, and she’s panting. How far will he dare to go? She wants it, and she doesn’t. It’s agonizing. And then his fingers pull back, trail away from her panties back to the scrape on her thigh and stop there. She doesn’t utter a sound.
He stares into her eyes. “Do you want to continue?” he asks softly.
She wants to ask: “Continue what?” but she resists. “I think I can get up,” she says at last and slowly pulls her pants up and lifts herself from the dusty ground. That’s it. She wishes it wasn’t over.
“Can you ride like that?” he asks, his voice still gentle, “Or should we turn around? Don’t worry, we can do this trail another time…”
“I want to go on,” she says and picks up her bike from the side of the trail. They climb on and push off.
Tears are filling her eyes and she’s afraid that any minute now, she’ll start crying. Maybe he won’t notice, since they’re focused on riding, and the helmet and sunglasses are hiding her eyes.
They reach the bottom and continue along the trail. The scenery is quite breathtaking, but her mind is somewhere else. They ride in silence, and then something inside her snaps like a vase made of thin glass, shattering into tiny shards. She can no longer stop the tears and they burst out uncontrollably, warm and salty, forming a sticky coating on her cheeks. The wind rushes to dry them, but like a gushing spring, they just keep flowing. She feels an incredible sense of release. It feels so good to cry. And to ride. And to feel again. . She doesn’t want it to end, but she doesn’t want to hurt Amnon either. She loves him. And Ofer and Ilai. And the protective home she built with her own two hands. She won’t let anything destroy it, ever.
***
On Friday evening, they have dinner at Amnon’s parents. Anucha prepares all the family’s favorite Romanian dishes. Menachem is responsible for buying fresh challahs. And, for saying the blessing, too, of course.
Amnon’s two brothers are also there, with their children, and the house is in turmoil. Ofer is racing around the living room with two of the boys and Ilai is building a tower with one of the girls.
“Such sweet souls they are!” Anucha exclaims, clasping her hands. To her, this is happiness incarnate. Nothing is more important than family, and that’s a fact she made sure to impart to her children. She seems to have done a good job. Her three sons have exemplary families. “Come to the table,” she calls out, “everything is ready!”
The children, who would rather continue playing, grumble and reluctantly go off to wash their hands. Amnon and his two brothers are already at the table. The three princes of the Davidovich family. She studies them with a touch of disdain. They’re unaware of anything around them: the commotion, the children, the help their mother needs. They’re having a lively conversation, apparently about work and business. She goes to the kitchen and brings out the salad she prepared, her modest contribution to the meal.
Her two sisters-in-law, Noa and Liron, do the same. One has brought beet salad, the other a lettuce salad. She glances at the bowl of lettuce that Liron is holding. Come on! Lettuce? She probably bought it washed too! Liron doesn’t notice her scrutinizing look and carries it to the table for all to see.
The kids drag their chairs closer to the table. “I want to sit next to Ron!” Ofer immediately declares.
“But Ron is sitting next to his father,” she explains patiently.
“Then I’ll sit on the other side!” Ofer insists.
“But Tali is sitting on the other side,” she continues to explain. She can see that this argument won’t end well.
“It’s not fair!” Ofer stamps his foot angrily, “Tali always sits next to Ron!”
She looks hopelessly at Noa. Noa smiles and takes care of the matter. She shuffles them around, satisfying the kids, moving Tali’s plastic princess plate to a different place, until everyone is happy. The men are still talking. None of them notice the minor crisis. Menachem says the blessing, pours wine into a glass and tears
off a chunk of fresh challah. There are cries of Shabbat Shalom and Amen from around the table.
Anucha serves the fish, with lumps of fresh garlic and plenty of lemon as usual, followed by potatoes, her children’s favorite, Romanian kebab, carrot salad and pasta with tomato sauce, the only thing the grandchildren are prepared to eat. Noa and Liron serve, first the kids, then Menachem.
She helps too. She serves Ilai, Ofer, and finally Amnon the King, who is old enough to serve himself, but that’s how it’s done here, and who is she to break with tradition? After everyone’s been served, she fills a plate for herself. She sits down to eat, her mind elsewhere. She’s been lost in thought since they arrived an hour ago. Before, too, while she was dolling herself up, doing her makeup and dousing herself with perfume, just as she does every Friday evening.
When everyone is stuffed, and the cutlery has been placed in the middle of the sauce-stained dishes, she clears them from the table, one by one, like a robot. Noa washes the dishes, Anucha has already done enough. The kids scatter across the living room, doing their own thing.
When tea and orange cake is served in the living room, and everyone is finally sitting comfortably, her phone buzzes. She’s leaning on her purse, which she’d tossed on the sofa earlier, and she can feel it vibrating. It’s Friday evening…who could it be at this time? Her heart misses a beat. She takes her phone out of her purse, looking around to make sure that the coast is clear enough for her to check her messages. No one is looking at her, so she’ll just peek, they won’t notice.
“I’m alone at home on a Friday night and I can’t stop thinking about you.”
She feels dizzy. She promptly deletes the message, then swiftly shoves her phone back in her purse, which she picks up and heads for the bathroom.
Her fingers trembling, she writes, “Me too,” then wonders whether to send it. She hesitates, then taps the green arrow. Send. He comes online. He’s right there, in front of her. And he’s probably noticed that she’s also online. Should she disconnect? Before she has time to, he sends her a pink flower, followed by another message.
“When are we meeting? I’m dying to see you again.”
They arranged to ride on Monday, she remembers. “Monday,” she replies.
“I won’t survive until then,” the answer comes, followed by: “How’s your leg? I was worried about you…”
“Sweet,” she answers and sends a smiley. What sweet? she growls at herself. Amnon’s sweet! Koby teaches cycling, that’s all.
“Which panties will you be wearing on Monday?” he writes, adding a winking smiley. She shivers. How direct!
“Don’t worry,” she replies hastily, “something nice.”
“I’m waiting.”
What is she doing? She shakes herself.
“Hagar?” he writes, “Are you still there?”
“Yes,” she’s replies promptly.
“Good. I thought you’d fainted.”
“Only choosing panties…” she says with a winking emoji.
He sends a laughing emoji and asks, “Where are you?”
“At my in-laws for Friday night dinner. You?”
“Alone at home. Kids are at my ex. I want you here with me.”
“I can’t.”
“I know. I’ll have to take care of myself tonight.” Again a winking smiley.
She wonders if he means what she thinks he means.
“What are you wearing?” he asks and she describes her tight, black dress with the square neckline she loves so much.
“You’re probably in sweats,” she adds, followed by a laughing smiley.
“In boxers,” he retorts, “there’s no one here to dress up for.”
“There’ll be someone next week, no?” she tries to encourage him.
“I don’t dress up when the kids are here either,” he explains, “we’re not into fancy dinners. We eat what we have, the main thing is we’re together…we watch a good movie on TV…a little popcorn…what else do we need?”
“Too true!” she agrees. She wishes she could also stay home in comfortable clothes.
A knock on the door startles her and forces her to look up from the screen. “Hagar?” she hears Liron’s voice, “Is everything all right, honey?”
“Yes, yes,” she responds immediately.
“They aren’t leaving you any cake,” Liron laughs.
“That’s okay,” she says distractedly and flushes the clean toilet. “Got to go,” she writes to Koby.
“Message me later?” he asks with a sad smiley.
“Yes,” she promises, though she has no idea when. After she puts the kids to bed? When she gets into bed with Amnon?
“I can’t last until Monday,” he adds.
She sighs. She puts the phone on the countertop and turns the faucet. Now she washes her hands. How will she respond before she disconnects? Should she send a heart? No, that would be totally over the top. A flower? A thumbs up? She can’t think of any emoji to match her feelings, or what she wants to say. But then again, she has no idea what that would be. Eventually she chooses one at random. A yellow smiley wearing a cowboy hat.
He sends five question marks. She stifles a giggle. “That’s what came out,” she writes at once and disconnects, before he can answer, before she can see his answer. She has to control herself. She throws her phone into her purse and leaves the bathroom for the real world outside, for the living room full of shrieking children and cake crumbs.
After the kids finally fall asleep, she changes into pajamas. Amnon pulls off his socks and asks, “Where were you all evening?”
“I was serving your children food,” she raises an eyebrow, “and you?”
He laughs. “You looked like you were elsewhere. Are you okay?” He moves closer and slides her hair behind her ear, just as Koby had done. She washed it earlier. Thoroughly, to make sure it didn’t smell of Koby.
“I’m still aching from the fall,” she says and wonders if she can use it as an excuse the following night too, when they’re supposed to have sex.
“Angel,” he kisses her forehead, “maybe this sport is too dangerous for you—”
“Not at all!” she objects. She can do it, she knows she can. Just like Amnon.
He kisses her softly on both cheeks and then on her mouth. “I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he says sweetly and holds her close, “I need you in one piece…”
“Amnon, my leg is really aching and I’m exhausted,” she says.
He lets her go, downcast, and his erection follows suit. There’s no room in their relationship for spontaneity. There’s barely any room for planned sex.
She hears him sigh and snaps at him, “Perhaps if you’d helped me a little more during the evening, I’d have more energy now!” She knows that it wouldn’t have mattered an ounce, but she needs to let off some steam.
“What should I have helped with?” he appears surprised, “The kids got along fine, I could see that everything was under control.”
She knows it’s a lost battle. He really doesn’t notice when he should be helping. Ever. “Fine,” she states, “everything is fine, Ami, really. Let’s go to sleep.” She gets into bed and picks up the thriller she’s reading. The words dance before her eyes and she has trouble understanding them. Her eyes glaze over. Fingers are touching her thigh, roaming toward her gray silk panties, past the lace to her thick pubic hair. It’ll be Monday in two days.
***
“How was your ride?” Anat asks when she delivers Ilai to preschool.
“It was amazing,” she says proudly, “it’s such great fun, and I’m really getting the hang of it.”
Anat looks pleased.
“I never would have imagined that I’d enjoy it so much,” she continues, hanging Ilai’s backpack on a hook and then dropping his water bottle in the plastic basket. Ilai is
already playing with a boy whose nose is always running. She studies the ropy goo blocking one of his nostrils and is filled with disgust. “It really gives me an adrenaline rush,” she adds.”
Anat chuckles, “Yes, Koby is the king of excitement…” There’s a trace of bitterness in her voice.
She smiles, not sure what Anat means, and reads the new, disturbing announcement on the board: “Lice have come to visit our preschool.” “Lice?” she asks, shocked.
“Two kids so far,” Anat tells her, “so I’m telling everyone to check the children’s heads before we have an epidemic.”
She shudders and a strange tingling feeling creeps over her sculp. She’ll check them today, of course, Ofer too, just in case. Maybe even herself.
“When will you join the group again?” Anat asks.
She shrugs. “I have no idea. I still don’t feel ready. The private sessions are really helping me to improve…”
“I’m sure,” Anat agrees, “but there’s nothing like riding with a group. We’re going to the desert in a month, did he tell you? A three-day trip, over the weekend, Thursday through Saturday night. It should be a special experience.”
He hadn’t mentioned it to her. “Are you going?” she asks.
“For sure!” Anat answers decisively, “Everyone is. The whole group.”
“Where are you sleeping?” she continues to probe, “There’ll be showers and toilets, right?”
Anat laughs, “We aren’t in the Scouts, you know. We’re sleeping at a field school. It has everything. Showers, toilets and food.”
Thoughts rush through her mind. “Do you think I can do both?” she asks, “Have private lessons, and ride with the group?”
“Of course,” Anat replies, tying up her curly hair, “Koby’s an expert at doing it all!” Her lips curl, as if she’s trying to smile, but she just looks bitter.
“I’ll talk to him” she decides, “maybe it’s time to combine.” She leaves the preschool floating on air. Tomorrow she has a lesson.
Riding Lies Page 4