“Everything-everything,” he retorts, “I told you, she did nothing. She didn’t cook or clean, she didn’t do the laundry or drive the kids around because she never got her license…all she did was get pregnant three times and be a receptacle for nine months. I don’t want to jinx it, but at least she did that well. The kids turned out healthy and beautiful.”
“That’s crazy,” she says, finishing the fish. He nods and leans back, his plate clean. “So what’s the problem, then?” she tries to get back to the subject they started with.
“What?” he scratches his shabby, wavy hair. He’s lost her.
“What will you cook for them?”
He remembers and laughs. “I don’t know. They always complain that I don’t have normal food. What can I tell you, food is—”
“—a lot of work?” she tries to complete his line of thought.
“—also,” he replies, but clearly, she hasn’t hit the right spot.
“—a lot of money?” she dares to ask.
He nods. “A little unnecessarily, too. I mean, I eat to survive, no more than that. I find it hard to spend money on something that’s a luxury. I’m not exactly rolling in it…I know they’d like a chef at home, with fresh herbs, vegetables, meat—”
She smiles. Like her mother.
“—but they already know that it won’t happen with me or their mother. They aren’t spoiled; they understand that they won’t ever have a dream house like some of their friends have, but that’s okay, it’s a matter of how you bring them up. I’m against raising spoiled brats who think they deserve it all.”
She nods and remembers Ofer and Ilai, Ofer’s PlayStation, the humungous television in the living room, and the other two in the kids’ rooms, the expensive phone they gave Ofer, his new computer. Her children are unaware that life could be different.
“It’s not easy to make a living in my field of work,” he adds candidly, fiddling with the lumps of salt scattered on the table. “I’m not on the verge of starvation, heaven forbid, but let’s say I can’t buy steak every day…and I don’t have the patience to cook anymore like I used to. Usually we land up eating pasta and tomato sauce, and that’s it. And they, the cheeky brutes, dare to complain.”
She grimaces.
“No, I’m just kidding,” he explains, “they don’t really complain, they’re good kids, but I can feel that they want more. And it makes sense. But they’ll be better people for it, at least that’s what I believe.”
“Do you mind if I make them a batch of bestile?” she offers generously.
He laughs. “Are you crazy?”
“Why not?” She signals the waitress and indicates that she’d like the bill. “I make amazing bestile, almost as good as my mother’s.”
“What is bestile anyway?” he asks, amused.
“Oh, that’s why you aren’t all excited!” She leans back triumphantly. “You just don’t know what it is! Bestile are patties made of potato and meat. They’re out of this world. Until you taste my bestile, you won’t truly know me!”
“If so, I really will have to,” he starts to cave in, “but when do you have the time?” You’re at work all day, aren’t you?”
“I don’t have much time, that’s true, but cooking is therapeutic, and I love cooking every now and then. I admit, it’s usually very convenient for me to hand over the job to my mother, but let me spoil you all, just a little. I’m not working tomorrow. I can prepare a double batch, that way Amnon and my kids will also benefit. For a change I’ll have something worth bringing for Friday night dinner.”
“All right, then,” he agrees.
She’s delighted. Tomorrow she’ll bring him a full pot.
***
At five in the afternoon she’s ready to leave. After standing for ages in front of the mirror and choosing a flattering black dress, applying her makeup, combing her wet hair, putting on jewelry and high heels, she finally feels ready.
“You’re ready early today,” Amnon, who’s just returned from biking all sweaty and dusty, examines her.
“I have to take a pot of bestile over to someone,” she blows him a kiss, “I’ll be back in an hour, tops. Get ready in the meantime, okay? We’re leaving at six-thirty.”
“What do you mean, get ready in the meantime?” Amnon snaps, “How can I take a shower if you’re going out?!”
“Oh really! Ofer can keep an eye on Ilai for ten minutes, it’s no big deal!”
“All right,” Amnon gives in, “but tell him too, because I’m jumping straight into shower. I’m dripping with sweat.”
She agrees.
“Where are you going, by the way?” he asks, making things difficult, “Didn’t you make the bestile for us? I’ve eaten five already—”
“Amnon!” she gets annoyed, “which pot did you eat from?”
“I ate some of the patties on the counter, on the plate with the kitchen towel.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” she relaxes, “those I’m taking to my mother tonight.”
“Are you sure?” his eyes widen, “Bringing Tripolitanian food to your mother—isn’t that like declaring war?”
She smiles tensely. “I have to go, Ami.”
“But where to?” he asks again, “Where are you taking my patties?”
“To someone from work,” she says off the top of her head, “I promised…someone who doesn’t have food for the Sabbath…”
Amnon raises an eyebrow. “Who is it?”
“You don’t know her,” she says impatiently. “Enough, Amnon, what’s with the investigation now?” Let me go already!”
“Okay, go, go,” he accedes, “but be quick. And tell Ofer to watch Ilai!”
“Yes, yes,” she promises and leaves the bedroom.
Ofer and Ilai are sitting in the living room engrossed in the PlayStation. They’ve both bathed and are clean and dressed in their best clothes for Friday dinner. When Ilai hears she’s going out, he bursts into tears. She has no patience. “Ilai, Dad will be right out of the shower. He’ll play with you. And I’ll be back soon.”
“I also want to go!” he stamps his feet and bashes the remote control against the stone and glass designer table.
“Hey!” she shouts, “You’ll break it!”
“I want to go too!”
“You can’t!” she says firmly, “go eat some bestile in the meanwhile. I’ll be right back.”
“Bestile is gross!”
“Bestile is gross! It’s worse than dry toast! Look! It rhymes!” Ilai says, giggling.
Ofer bursts out laughing and joins Ilai. “Bestile is gross! It’s worse than dry toast!”
A smile spreads across her face as she watches them marching around the room, chanting loudly. She loves them so much. What is she doing? Where is she going with that pot of patties? And then she shakes herself. “I have to go now, my loves. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Ilai is calm now and no longer interested in joining her. He’s jumping on the pale sofa and singing his rhyme.
She holds the pot with both hands and locks the door, leaving behind a heavy smell of frying oil, two joyful children and one husband who doesn’t know a thing.
***
Shaked, his ten-year-old daughter, opens the door. She has wild brown eyes and loose brown hair hanging all the way to her behind.
“Dad!” she calls out when she sees Hagar, “Your girlfriend’s here!”
She looks at her and grins.
“Your girlfriend, huh?” Hagar giggles and walks through the door, holding the pot firmly in both hands. She’s feeling uneasy, shy, and she looks tense.
“You were serious!” he laughs and examines the contents of the pot.
“A promise is a promise,” she hands him the pot.
He fishes inside for a patty, takes a bite and oohs in delight. �
�Heavenly!” he compliments her.
“Leave something for dinner,” she reprimands him. “Just make some white rice to have with it, and maybe a green salad, and you have a meal.”
“You’re one of a kind,” he says and kisses her cheek. Shaked has long lost interest and disappeared from sight, and the two older kids are engrossed in the television. She strokes his cheek. He comes closer. His nose touches hers, rubs it delicately. His warm breath smells of the patty, hers of strong toothpaste. He leans in and kisses her gently.
She feels like she’s floating, convinced her feet are no longer touching the floor. God, how soft his lips are, how sweet, and with a hint of her bestile.
For a moment he pulls away, then moves in again, kisses her sculptured lipstick-covered lips, his kisses quick and tender, and then he gently bites her upper lip and slowly inserts his tongue.
She feels like she’s about to faint. His children are in the living room. Her children are at home, waiting. As is Amnon. “I have to go,” she pants quietly.
“I know,” he lets go and moves slowly away. “I really appreciate what you did for me this evening. For me and my children.”
“With all my love,” she says and immediately regrets her choice of words.
She sinks into thought on her way home, as she drives into the pink Jerusalem sunset. She can still feel his lips. The tops of the hills in the distance are painted with a festive glow. The peaceful drive is reassuring and relaxes her. The radio is playing the soft, nostalgic music it always plays on Friday nights. The streets are just about empty. She knows that she has to choose her way carefully. Some of the religious streets have already been blockaded before the Sabbath, and somehow, she finds it comforting. Another Sabbath awaits. The world keeps turning, despite her churning stomach, despite the storm raging inside her.
***
“What’s got into you recently?” Amnon asks tenderly and moves a wisp of hair behind her ear, as he always does. The way Koby always does. Maybe it’s a man thing. She has no idea. Amnon was her first. And for an instant, she’s not sure if he’s going to be her last. She has no intention of cheating on him, heaven forbid. She loves him, she really does, but there are times when she feels it’s beyond her control.
“I’m fine, Amnon,” she wiggles away.
“You’re different, Gari. Distant. I don’t know, are you sure everything’s okay?”
“Of course. What could be wrong?”
‘I don’t know…pressure at work?”
She nods. “Unfortunately, that’s always true.
“Yes…work is the cornerstone of our humanness…”
“Love and work are the cornerstones of our humanness,” she corrects him, “if you’re going to quote, at least do it right. Freud would be ashamed of you!”
He rolls his eyes. as if that’s what matters now. It’s Saturday morning and Ofer and Ilai are with Grandpa Menachem at the park. She makes coffee and asks Amnon if he’d like a cup. They’re both recovering from yesterday’s dinner. Soon it’ll be time for lunch at Anucha’s and she’s still in her pajamas. She doesn’t feel like going. She’s sick of all this clingy, family togetherness. But on the other hand, she can’t be bothered to cook.
Her bestile were devoured yesterday. She reaped compliments from everyone who tasted them, even from her mother. And still, she was distant, cold.
“You know that you can always talk to me, right?” Amnon says caringly and touches her hand.
“Of course, Ami, of course,” she says, “but really, everything’s just fine.” She kisses his cheek, while deep inside she knows that nothing is fine. Her world has been turned inside out, the cards have been reshuffled and she has no idea how to rearrange them without it hurting so much. The buzz of her phone startles her. She has new messages. Maybe it’s him. Amnon is right there, sipping his coffee and smiling lovingly at her. Poor thing, it’s so pathetic. How can she do this to him?
“I’m going to get dressed,” she announces and takes her phone with her to the bedroom. Did he notice? Probably not.
“It was amazing yesterday,” she reads, “not only the patties.” Winking smiley.
She smiles. “For me too,” she writes. She adds a red heart, but deletes it before sending.
“The kids like you already,” he responds.
“Shaked looks sweet,” she writes back immediately, without thinking.
“She only looks it,” he writes and adds an emoji of a smiling purple devil.
She laughs. Out loud. And then right away she stops herself. Amnon mustn’t hear her. “Too bad I didn’t get to chat with the boys...” she writes.
“Next time,” he answers, “you’re welcome over anytime.”
She’s flattered. She’s welcome to visit anytime? Really? What do they know about her? Do they want their father to have a girlfriend? Is she his girlfriend, as Shaked said yesterday? Did he tell them about her? Does he have any other girlfriends? Her head is full of disturbing questions That have no answer. Maybe she should confront him one day and ask, so that everything’s clear and on the table. But maybe it’s too soon. She’s not really his girlfriend, and she’s not really cheating on Amnon. She’s only fooling around with what may have been.
“What are you all doing today?” she asks, not knowing why. All she knows is that everything about him intrigues her.
“I’m go riding with them,” he tells her. “I took them on the Herzl single, do you know it?”
“No.”
“In the Ben Shemen Forest. It’s a great trail. I’ll have to do it with you soon.”
“I’m game.”
In answer, she receives a big red beating heart. He disconnects straight after that. Did he want to say he loves her, she wonders to herself, or does he scatter hearts around all over the place? Coward, sending her a big heart and disconnecting. What is she supposed to do with a heart like that now? It’s going to bother her all day.
She and huffs in frustration. Now she’ll get dressed.
***
“Today we’ll be working on drops,” he says to the group standing around him, holding their bikes with one hand and chattering eagerly. The whole group welcomes her with open arms, especially Anat and Erez, her bodyguard on the first and only ride she did with them.
“We can expect to have a few drops in the desert,” Koby explains, “and I want you to be prepared.” It’s two-thirty on a Friday afternoon. Amnon is with the kids, he understood perfectly that Hagar has to practice a little with the group before the upcoming trip. “A drop, for those who don’t know,” Koby explains and turns to look at her, “is basically a difference in height in the trail. To get over a drop, we have to jump with the bike.”
“Hold on,” a full woman with a long, thick braid interrupts him, “so what’s the difference between a drop and a bunny hop?”
“A bunny hop is when you jump over an obstacle,” Koby explains patiently, “not necessarily due to a difference in height.”
The woman nods in understanding.
She watches him and feels proud. He appears confident and he undoubtedly loves what he does.
“I’ll demonstrate,” he continues. “I’ve chosen a trail with a few drops, so we can practice. We’ll start riding, but soon we’ll stop to practice. By the way,” he adds before they disperse, “whoever doesn’t feel sure of themselves can just get off the bike at drops. Don’t do anything you aren’t comfortable with. If your body signals you to stop—stop. Do the drop on foot, and continue.” They all nod. She wonders what requires more courage: to stop with everyone watching, or to continue and hope not to overturn.
“Can we get going?” Koby asks and goes to the head of the line, rolling his bike beside him.
“Is it in single?” she asks Anat, who’s standing next to her.
Anat nods with a smile and gets into ready position. She does the sam
e. Her heart is pounding with excitement. She is no longer at the rear, she’s not going to hold the others back, at least she hopes not. Has she really improved? Are the cyclers following her going to be cursing her behind her back, or will they overtake her? Koby said that she’s ready, that she’s a good rider, that she’s great. But maybe he says that to everyone.
She gets into ready position, places her hands on the wide handlebars and takes a deep breath. She’s set.
After about ten minutes of riding, Koby signals the group to stop. They’ve come to a drop. They put down their bikes and gather round.
“Okay,” he begins. His voice is steady and confident. “So how do we actually get over a drop? First of all, it’s important to remember to lower your saddle as much as possible. Stick your butt back, as far as you can,” he demonstrates in the air. “When we go down a drop, the front wheel should be lower than the back wheel. In order to not overturn, we have to distribute our weight differently and to shift it back. Is that clear so far?”
Everyone nods. Even she nods. She studies him curiously. He looks like a different person, with the group. He’s serious, professional, a man who knows what he’s talking about. There’s no sign of the intimacy and tenderness he shows her when they’re alone. But she’s knows it’s the way it should be. She’s also different when she has to instruct her team at work. It’s perfectly natural.
“When the front part of the bike starts going down,” Koby continues and demonstrates with his arm bent, “we have to let our arms stretch as far as possible, but without locking our elbows, while at the same time, we allow our behinds to lift off the saddle and we lower it over the back wheels of the bike. Do this with your feet pressing down on the pedals at all times. I’ll demonstrate it for you, and you’ll see,” he adds, to reassure them.
She’s not feeling reassured. She has no idea how to do it. Perhaps she’ll have to be one of those defeatists who get off the bike when faced with a drop. He said it was okay.
“When we’re over,” he continues, “we return our body to the initial position. Come closer and I’ll demonstrate.”
The riders move over, Koby drags his bike back so he can build up momentum, gets on, and a moment later, he’s jumping over a rock, below which the trail continues. With amazing ease, he lands on the other side of the rock, about twelve inches below the starting point.
Riding Lies Page 6