She’s clasping the towel tight around her body but she still feels naked. “You’re stuck in old ways. That’s how you were raised, but no one said that it’s the only right way or that there is only one right way,” she says in a small voice, trying to summon up courage. “Who decided that you can’t have it both ways? In theory, anything is possible. It depends only on the couple’s openness, no?”
Amnon wraps his lower body in a towel and steps out of the shower stall, dripping water. “You can’t be serious, Hagar,” he mutters angrily, “I have no idea what’s happened to you. I don’t know you anymore.”
“It’s still me, Amnon,” she rests her hand on his arm, “the same woman you married a million years ago. I’ve just grown a little and developed…I’ve rediscovered myself. I learned that my desires and needs also have a place in this world. I’m not only a mother and not only a wife and not only the head of a development team.”
“Maybe you’re having a midlife crisis,” he looks at her, his eyes distant, and he pulls his arm away, “though it is a little early for that.”
“Don’t mock me!” she shouts, “don’t patronize me and don’t behave like a brute and ruin everything I’ve built for myself!”
“Tell me, do you even hear what you’re saying?” he screams, “I’m ruining what you built?! You’re ruining our marriage! You’re ruining our family!”
She holds her hand to her mouth and bursts immediately into tears. His words are like a punch to the stomach. She curls over, withdrawing into herself, and sits down on the bed.
He debates whether to go over and comfort her, but he’s rooted to the spot.
“What do you lack, Amnon?” she asks through her sobs. “Look at me and tell me what I don’t give you…this home, the kids…what do you want that you don’t already have?”
Tears are now pouring down his cheeks, too. His lips quiver. He goes across to her, bends over and says, “Gari…isn’t it obvious? You. I would want to have you…”
Her sobs increase, shaking her body. His words burn her flesh. What is she doing to him? What is she doing to them? And how can she ever stop the merry-go-round she’s spinning on? Does she even want to get off? Can she turn the clock back?
She hangs her thin arms around his shoulders and embraces him warmly, as she hasn’t done for a long time, a true embrace that contains both what was said—and what was not.
He responds and hugs her back. They hold each other close, wrapped only in towels. She leans toward him and kisses him softly. She then drops her towel and removes his. They lie on the bed, holding each other, wet from the tears that are still falling. Her husband…the father of her children…
He enters her quietly, performing a very familiar dance he learned years ago. It offers no intrigue or surprise, but it has an abundance of security and love.
They don’t reach great heights, she doesn’t take immense pleasure, nor experience indescribable ecstasy. No, her heart beats normally and she feels no excitement, only tenderness and compassion. She is home.
Part Two - Anat
She can’t stop kneading the dough, knowing that she’s not supposed to work it so much, but she loves how it feels. She finds it comforting. It’s Friday afternoon. There will be challahs by evening. And she’ll make fish, and potatoes, and salads. Maybe a cake, too. They’ll sit around the table and play the happy family. Again.
She thinks that she hates him, perhaps she has for years now, but she’s not sure. And she doesn’t want to ruin their children’s lives. She has a responsibility. No one wants divorced parents. In a few minutes, Ido will be home, dressed in uniform, with his rifle and his huge backpack stuffed with laundry, which she will lovingly do tomorrow. Dror just went to pick him up from the train station. She hasn’t seen him for two weeks now and it’s hitting her with full force. She misses him so badly.
She’ll make his favorite cake, with chocolate frosting, she decides, and leaves the dough to rest. Neta is going out to a party tonight, so they’ll eat early. Ido will certainly also be going out, if he doesn’t collapse from exhaustion. Only Nadav doesn’t have plans, thank God. He’ll be there to keep her company. Maybe they’ll watch a movie together, make popcorn, or just sit and chat, as they always do.
She hears the key in the door. She quickly wipes her hands on a floral kitchen towel and runs to hug her son.
“Idodo!” she calls out and throws her arms around his neck. He’s taller than her by at least a head and a half. He overtook her ages ago. She stands on tiptoe and kisses both his cheeks. “You look exhausted!” she notes.
He puts his rifle down and sits on the chair beside her. She hurriedly pours him a glass of water. Dror tosses the keys on the console in the entrance and pours himself a glass of water.
“Were there traffic jams?” she asks Ido with concern, who in the meantime has emptied the glass and is now wiping the corners of his mouth with his hand.
“Yes,” he says.
Dror finishes drinking and walks out of the kitchen. No doubt he’s heading for the computer.
“You must be starving,” she says and takes two pots out of the fridge to warm up for him. “We’re having a big dinner tonight…” she adds apologetically as she fills a big bowl with white rice and meat balls in tomato sauce. She covers it with a plate and puts it in the microwave.
“It’s okay, Mom,” he chuckles and rubs his face wearily, “you don’t need to go all out.”
“Sure I do!” she laughs, “how many boys do you think I have serving in the army?”
“At least we’re doing it in turns,” he says with a smile, “I don’t think you’d be able to deal with three kids in the army at the same time…”
She laughs and sits down near him. “You see? I planned the gaps between you perfectly!”
“All on your own?” he grins, “I thought Dad was involved too!”
She waves her hand dismissively and says nothing.
“Ido!” Nadav emerges from his room, “I didn’t touch your room!” he adds proudly.
“Is that the first thing you have to say to him after two weeks?” she scolds him gently.
“Give me some skin,” Ido says and holds his hand out.
Nadav spreads his fingers and hits the palm of Ido’s hand with all his strength.
“Champ!” Ido pats him on the stomach and gets up to wash his hands before devouring the rice and meatballs.
“Where’s the prima donna?” he asks between bites.
“Oh, don’t call her that,” she begs him, “she’s going through a difficult time now, you know. That’s adolescence for you. You weren’t an angel either at fifteen…”
“I was an angel from the moment I was born.” he insists. “Admit that I was the easiest kid in the family!”
“I admit it,” she laughs, “otherwise I wouldn’t have had another two…”
“Again, you’re talking as if only you were involved,” he corrects her.
She looks up at him and sighs, but doesn’t say a word. They can hear jazz playing in the next room. “Dad, lower the volume, it’s between two and four, the neighbors are sleeping!” Ido shouts out.
Neta opens the door to her room and walks barefoot toward the kitchen. Her footsteps echo down the hallway. “I’m fed up with his stupid music!” she grumbles and opens the snack cabinet.
“Your brother’s home, in case you didn’t notice,” she remarks sarcastically.”
“Hi bro,” Neta says and Ido waves hello over the bowl of meatballs. “Guys, I’m starting to cook again,” she announces and gets up, “otherwise we won’t have anything to eat this evening.”
“I’m going to sleep for an hour,” Ido yawns. “I’m dead.”
“Don’t die, just sleep,” she asks of him, “and take your weapon to your room!”
“Ye, ye…” he mutters as he drags himself away.
> At six she goes to shower, only to discover that the water is lukewarm. She showers quickly and notes to herself that she has to talk to Neta. She can’t spend half an hour in the shower and not leave hot water for anyone else! When she turns off the stream, she hears Dror playing the piano. It’s Brahms again. She hates it when he plays. She also hates it when he lounges at the computer. Basically, she hates it when he’s home. Too bad he bothers to come home every evening. It’s not clear why, maybe it’s just a habit? A convenient one, at that. There’s someone to do his laundry and take care of meals and keep the house clean. Those are pretty good conditions, by all accounts. She quickly throws on comfy sweats and a t-shirt and returns to the kitchen to set the table. Maybe she’ll ask Nadav to do it. It wouldn’t hurt him to help a little around the house. She feels sorry for Ido, and she given up on Neta.
At seven they sit down at the table. The Sabbath candles are already lit and their sparkling light adds solemnity and sanctity to the dining table. Dror asks Ido if he wants to say Kiddush and Ido willingly agrees. They all take a sip from the wine and Ido tears chunks off the challah. She brings the food to the table and the children pass their plates to her. She knows what each one likes. Nadav won’t eat the fish, Neta certainly won’t touch the pea salad, Ido hates carrots and only Dror eats everything, but never stops complaining.
“How’s the fish?” she asks and licks her fingers.
“Okay,” Dror says and adds, “but you know I’m not crazy about it.”
“It came out perfect, Mom,” Ido says, “don’t listen to Dad.”
“Feel free to take over the cooking, if you aren’t crazy about my fish,” she suggests venomously.
“You know I don’t have the time,” he says and piles his plate high with another serving.
“I, as we know, am drowning in free time…” she mutters and stabs at the cabbage salad with her fork.
“One also needs to be mentally available,” he says, always the wise guy, “not only physically.”
“Instead of driving us crazy with Brahms, you could make Friday dinner once in a while,” she stings.
“Maybe,” he weighs the suggestion, “my cooking will undoubtedly be more precise…but that’s the difference between us: I follow recipes. You just make things up in your head…”
“Yes, that really is the only difference between us,” she mumbles and stuffs a steaming, hot chunk of potato in her mouth.
“Dad, don’t exaggerate,” Neta interjects. “Mom’s food is great.”
“Thanks, honey,” she blows her a kiss.
“For everyday food it’s wonderful,” Dror agrees, “I have no complaints. What I meant to say, is that it’s pretty simple food, not sophisticated. You can’t exactly call it gourmet. But for this family it really is great food. Thanks for the meal,” he smiles.
She looks at him. A piece of parsley is caught in his front teeth. She really can’t stand him. He is so pretentious. And annoying. So cold. How did she ever marry him? Was he ever any different? Has she changed?
“When are you going out, Neta?” she asks, changing the subject.
Neta shrugs, “I don’t know, nine, ten…”
“Do you need a ride?” she offers, “Dad’s free.”
Dror stares at her disapprovingly. “How come I’m always the one who’s free? I don’t get it—do I have a yellow taxicab light on my forehead?!”
Nadav bursts into laughter.
“Ugh! You’re disgusting!” Neta, who’s sitting beside him, recoils. “You spat on me!”
“Oh, stop it both of you!” she snips the event in the bud, before it can escalate, “Can’t we ever sit down properly for Friday dinner?”
“Define ‘properly,’” Neta demands.
“Neta, you’re becoming a smartass, like your father,” she snaps at her. Dror’s eyes glaze over and she knows that he’s now totally self-absorbed, and nobody will be able to reach him now. He’s entered his own world.
Is this the life until death-do-us-part we can expect for who knows how many years? For now the children’s quarrelling still breathes some kind of life into their dissipated wasteland, but soon the day will come when all three of them leave home and she’ll be stuck alone with Dror. And with Brahms too, most likely.
***
She sits sorting out scraps of old fabrics and magazines to use for arts and crafts with her preschoolers. She organizes the pictures by color, to make it easier for the children. They’ll be preparing a collage for Family Day. A green pile, a yellow pile, a red pile. She asked Nadav to help her, hoping for quality time with him, but he didn’t feel like it. He’d rather play on the computer before his father comes home and takes over. Neta is buried in her room. Ido is in the army. Dror is at work.
Brown, black, pink. She invests hours and hours of work in all the activities she plans for the preschoolers. She loves her job. She loves the preschool, and the kids. They add color to her life and shower her with warmth and love. And runny noses and lice, too, of course, but that comes with the job.
The beginnings are always difficult, as are the ends, but now they’re finally in a good place. Almost a third of the school year has passed, the new children have adjusted well, the older children have calmed down, and she can now begin to create, teach and enjoy her work.
Even Noga, the new assistant, has adjusted. They had their differences of opinion at first, especially in the first two weeks. At one point, she even considered firing her. She finds her a little arrogant, and she can be argumentative and unaccepting, but somehow, she managed to let go a little and realize that the preschool doesn’t belong to her. Tal and Hava, both in their fourth year of working with her, announced that if the situation with Noga didn’t improve soon, they would leave. Luckily things somehow got better.
A new, purple pile. It’s a little small—maybe it doesn’t merit its own pile. Soon she’ll have to start preparing dinner. She doesn’t feel like getting up. She doesn’t feel like Dror coming home and sitting across from her all evening without saying a word, an empty, glazed look in his eyes. She has a ghost for a husband, but at least he provides for them. If it weren’t for the money, if she didn’t have to worry about the children, she would probably have ended the marriage by now. But Nadav wants three after-school activities and Neta wants new shoes and Ido—Ido doesn’t want anything, but before they know it, they’re going to have to finance his studies, at a university or college. At least, that’s what she hopes. And food costs so much, and utilities, and municipal taxes. No way can she pay for it all on her own. And child support is a joke, or so she’s heard. It doesn’t cover a thing.
The brown pile is almost overflowing. It’s time to put the little pieces into plastic bags and put them in her huge tote bag, for tomorrow. She’ll go make dinner. In a minute she’ll ask the children what they feel like this evening.
The next day, Noga arrives at work with a solid, muscular man dressed in black cycling pants that accentuate every bulge and bump. He’s propped his dusty sunglasses on his head. His long, wavy hair is carelessly gathered at the back of his neck. Noga, on the other hand, is dressed tidily in regular clothes and looks fresh, as if she’s just stepped out of the shower.
“Would you like a drink?” Noga asks and he says no, that he thinks he’ll make a move and thanks her for the ride.
Two children who arrived early huddle around him curiously.
“Wait a second,” she smiles and touches his elbow, “let me at least introduce you to the girls.”
He smiles back, looking a little embarrassed.
“This is Anat, she’s the teacher here,” Noga says.
She straightens up, still staring at him, then holds out her hand to shake. “Very pleased to meet you,” she says.
“Nice to meet you too,” he says and introduces himself, “Koby.”
“Koby is my riding instructor,” N
oga tells her, childish pride in her voice.
“Riding?” Anat looks surprised, “What do you ride?”
Noga laughs and Koby answers, “Bicycles, of course. What else can you ride?”
Anat suggests, “A horse…a motorbike…even a camel!” and everyone laughs.
“Do you give private lessons?” Anat asks, not sure she understands.
“I do this and that,” Koby replies, using the combination of words he believes and lives by. “I teach in a group and privately, whatever the person prefers. Some people do both. Do you ride?” he adds.
Anat giggles and says no, no way.
“I highly recommend it. Why don’t you give it a shot?” he smiles.
She stares at him. He has a nice smile. “I’m not really into it,” she admits.
“You’re just biased,” he winks, “I’m sure you haven’t tried.”
“Not since I was ten,” she laughs, “and even then, I didn’t like it.”
“Join us for one lesson and I’m sure you’ll change your mind.”
“He’s a real pro, Anat,” Noga says, rubbing his wrist. “I’d say he’s even the best, and you have no idea what riding can give you—you wouldn’t believe how much it’s opened me up and how much energy it gives…to the body and the soul. I recommend it wholeheartedly!”
Anat smiles politely, curious. A fair-haired girl arrives and runs over to give her a big hug. She bends down and kisses her on the head. “I’m so glad to see you!” she says, and asks her to hang her pink floral backpack on the rack and her coat on the coatrack.
“I don’t have the build for riding,” she says to Koby and points at her full hips.
“There’s no such thing,” he says confidently, “it’s a myth. And besides, you have a great body,” he winks.
She feels her face flush.
“So what do you say?” he asks, “Do you want to give it a shot?”
Riding Lies Page 13