***
The coffee is bitter, just the way she likes it. She dips a pale wafer into her cup.
“Yuck!” he says, “It’ll go soft in seconds!”
“That’s the point!” she laughs and stuffs the soggy wafer into her mouth before it can fall apart. Four pigeons land beside them and she quickly throws them some crumbs. “Too bad we didn’t bring our bikes,” she says and shakes the crumbs off her pants. “We could have gone riding together.”
Koby smiles and two tiny dimples appear. “We can also talk,” he says, “we don’t always have to ride.”
“I’m not that used to talking,” she admits, “I have a family of clams.”
“My family talks enough for three families,” he says and she asks him to tell her about his children. He does, and then asks about hers. She tells him about her two and a little about Hanan. There’s not much to say. She loves them, faults and all. The boys certainly, she would sacrifice her life for them if she had to. As for Hanan, well for him, too, actually. Yes, she loves him. What is love? Well, that’s a philosophical question. You could say she’s used to him, or attached to him, if that sounds more plausible.
He says that yes, it does, adding that people throw around big words such as love without thinking about them.
So what? Who’s judging? Who cares? She’s amused by this conversation. She folds her supple legs and pulls them up onto the bench, hugging them with her arms. Her feet are bare. She kicked her shoes off as soon they got there. She’s almost always barefoot at home. She loves the feel of the ground under her.
She picks a few hibiscus leaves from a nearby bush and puts them in her disposable cup. They finished the coffee ages ago.
Koby laughs. “You see how weird you are?” he says, and she smiles, knowing it’s a compliment.
“Did you ever love your wife?” she asks, managing to surprise him.
He straightens up and says he’s not sure. He married when he was young, too young. He had no idea what love was, or much about himself. He was attracted to her, that was for sure, and he confused love with attraction.
“Who do you love, then?” she narrows her eyes and shakes the cup full of leaves.
“Myself,” he answers straight out, “and my children.”
“Lucky you,” she says, “I don’t love myself at all.”
“Too bad,” he says, “you’re missing out on a lot. I learned to love myself the day I started listening to myself, believing in myself, trusting myself. It happened one day, when I realized that there are no rules, no right and wrong. We only have one go at life and I knew that I wanted to take full advantage of it. But don’t be mistaken, the process wasn’t easy.”
“Well, not all of us can just get up and leave,” she says, a hint of criticism creeping into her voice, “people have commitments, responsibilities, we can’t really just do whatever we want.”
“And there lies the main difference between us,” he says argumentatively, looking amused, “I believe we can. We can do as we please, whatever makes us feel good, and you know what? It’s not that we can, but that we must. We owe it to ourselves.”
She puffs out her cheeks and blows the air out noisily.
“Imagine that today is the last day of your life. Wouldn’t you want to take full advantage of it? Wouldn’t you want to enjoy it?”
“What, like go to the amusement park?” she asks scornfully.
“If that’s what you like, then yes!” he answers, “Go to the amusement park every day.”
“I think that after two days I’d start to get bored,” she laughs.
“Then you look for something else,” he says, sounding to her like a preacher from some crazy cult, like the ones that have sprouted up in recent years like mushrooms after the rain. The kind who believe that aliens exist, or who want to cleanse their bodies of toxins, or who do yoga and enemas. Or the ones who insist that the end of the world is nigh.
“And how exactly would I support myself?” she asks.
“You could work at the Luna Park,” he suggests, amused, “or anywhere else that makes you feel good. Do you like your work? Are you happy going to the office every morning?”
“Of course not!” she rolls her eyes, “Who enjoys their job?!”
“I do!” he beams. “Naturally I’ve had to make some compromises and plenty of sacrifices…and obviously my standard of living’s not the same as when I worked in high-tech, but at least I get up every morning with a smile and have a job that I love!”
“I’m sure your children weren’t happy with the drop in their standard of living,” she says, “What do you tell them when they want to do an activity in the afternoon? That you can’t afford it??”
“Yes!” he says, slapping his thigh with his hand, “Exactly! What do you think makes them happy? Activities? Our happiness depends on what we think, not on what we have in our pockets.”
She rolls her eyes and snorts. “That’s not your saying, you know…” she says with a tinge of mockery.
“I really don’t remember who said it,” he admits, “but I adopted it and I totally believe in it.”
“It was Arthur Schopenhauer,” she says with an amused smile, “and the least you can do is give him some credit…” she clears her throat and cites: “Our happiness depends on what we have in our heads, rather than what we have in our pockets.”
He applauds and she bows slightly, on the bench.
“So in a nutshell, you went through a midlife crisis,” she says, “and you decided to turn your life completely around.”
“You can call it that, if you want,” he permits her.
“And at the same opportunity, you decided to change the scenery? Leave your home and move into an apartment?” She knows that her voice sounds cold, but that’s her, and it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest.
“Change the scenery is a strange way to put it,” he says, “but yes, I worked a lot on myself. I reached the conclusion that I wasn’t doing what I want to do with the rest of my life. That I’m not happy and that I deserve to be happy. I realized that I don’t want to be tied or shackled down, that I need freedom. That a person can’t be happy when trapped in a cage, even if it’s gilded.”
“Oh, you and your quotes!” she shoots, “You sound like a walking quotation book!”
“But it’s true!” he laughs, “And it’s not that I lived in a gilded cage, but you get what I mean.”
“And what does it say about your relationship with your kids?” she asks, “Do they also limit you? Are they also a kind of commitment?”
“Sure they’re a commitment,” he says, “but it’s a responsibility I took upon myself when I decided to bring them into the world, and I have no intention of shirking that responsibility. They’re mine and they’ll remain so forever. I love them and they’re a part of me. To my ex-wife, on the other hand, I have no such obligation. And if there is no love—there is no reason whatsoever to stay. So I got up and left.”
“Well, I wish everything was so simple,” she sighs and stretches.
“It’s a matter of perception. It’s a feeling. It’s all in the mind, you know, even riding a bike.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” she laughs.
“Difficulty is all in the mind,” he explains. “You can ignore your burning muscles until your body gradually grows accustomed, and just do it. Ride into the distance. Be free.”
“So it’s no coincidence that you became a riding instructor,” she says, “basically all you wanted to do was escape!”
“Boy, you’re awful,” he laughs “How many more quills do you have? I feel like I’m talking to a porcupine!”
She roars with laughter. Nobody’s ever called her a porcupine before. But it’s an awesome animal. She can certainly relate to it.
“A person needs loads of energy to make
the kind of dramatic changes you made,” she says seriously. “Not too many people do.”
“I agree,” he says. “It’s the kind of change that requires strength and determination, and a lot of self-confidence. It’s not at all easy.”
She sighs again. She doesn’t have the strength, but she also doesn’t want to make dramatic changes. She’d certainly like to be happier, more satisfied with life. She lacks adrenaline, lacks excitement, and yes, perhaps she lacks love too. Or attention. She hates feeling invisible. And she knows that the older the boys get, the worse it will become. As it is, they hardly need her anymore. Maybe one day, when they bring children of their own into the world, they’ll need help. They’ll want her to take care of them. Is she meant now to sit and wait for her grandkids to arrive? That’s pitiful. And what about Hanan? Does she really want to grow old with him? She thinks she does. But what would they talk about? Maybe it’s too soon to think about it. It’ll be years before she retires. And on the other hand, she won’t suddenly walk out at sixty-something. By then she really won’t have the strength. But even now she doesn’t, and she doesn’t want to leave at all. Koby and his ideas! Let him live the way he wants, but don’t preach to others! She’s barely recovered from her mother’s death, the last thing she needs is to leave home!
***
“I’m going to a lecture tomorrow evening that may interest you,” she sends him a message that night, moments before going to bed. “Want to join me?”
He immediately comes online and writes, “Sure!”
She smiles and lies down. What a character.
***
They meet at the entrance to the community center at a quart to eight. Three people are standing there, smoking.
“Great that you came!” she says with a smile.
“I didn’t know you were into lectures,” he winks.
“That’s right,” she smiles, “I’ve attended quite a few recently. I feel there’s so much I don’t know…”
“In what field?” he looks concerned, “I hope you didn’t drag me to a physics lecture!”
She laughs. “Firstly, I didn’t drag you here, you said yes without asking what the lecture’s about, so deal with it. Besides, no way physics,” she points at a large sign at the entrance.
He reads aloud: “The path to happiness in the middle of the race of life. Nice!” he comments, “That’s a lecture I could give!”
“Go for it,” she says, “but not today. Today Doctor Anat Gershon is lecturing. I have no idea who she is, but it sounded interesting, and after our last conversation, I thought you might relate to it.”
“Let’s see if she has anything new to teach me,” he says, and they go inside to the small hall. The first three rows are full, as is the last. There are plenty of available spots in the middle.
They sit and he stretches out, spreading his legs. She stifles a smile. What’s with that weird way of sitting, what is he, a football spectator?! But naturally she doesn’t say anything. They hardly know each other.
Despite her high expectations, the lecture is on the tedious side, and she learns nothing new. After a long day’s work, she’s exhausted and it’s starting to show. She can hardly keep her eyes open.
At the end, she applauds politely, along with everyone else. She looks at him. He’s smiling. He must have something to say, and she can’t wait to hear it.
“Coffee?” he asks when the audience starts to leave the hall.
She hesitates.
“There’s coffee right here,” he points to the end of the room, “it’s not far.”
She smiles with relief. For a moment she thought he was suggesting something else. “Yes,” she replies, “but let’s sit outside.”
They make themselves instant coffee, adding water from a large urn in the corner of the room along with disposable bowls containing dry cookies. They grab a few and go out to look for a bench.
The hairs on her arms stand on edge and she shivers. “It’s gone so cold!” she says.
“You’re in Jerusalem,” he reminds her, “and it is October.”
They sit on a dark bench by the side of the road, a small distance from the bustle of the community center.
“Well?” she sips her coffee and asks, “What do you have to say?”
He laughs, “What do you want me to say? I would have explained it better!”
“Obviously…” she says with a tinge of mockery, “I have no doubt.”
He takes a sip of coffee and asks why she goes to these lectures. What is she looking for?
She takes a minute before replying. “I don’t know,” she dismisses him with a short answer, “it’s complicated.”
“Then explain,” he suggests, “I have time.”
“I have to work tomorrow,” she says, “we can’t all get up when we feel like it, you know…”
“Ouch!” he says, “Again that porcupine…”
“Yes, again the porcupine,” she smiles and looks down. “It’s just, you know…” she tries to choose her words, “I’ve reached the age of looking for meaning in life…”
“And that’s directly related to the talk we had yesterday,” he looks pleased.
“On the one hand,” she crosses her legs, “I don’t feel that I have the strength to change what I have, and on the other, this can’t be all there is.”
“No,” he says with absolute confidence, “it’s not. There’s much more beneath the surface. I don’t know if what you need is strength, daring certainly. And a spade. And by pure chance, I have them both.”
***
She achieves full release. It’s quick, sharp, the way she likes it. She doesn’t have time to waste. The kids will be home soon. It’s been a long time since they could do it at night. The kids are too big, and even a slight creak of the bed will get them caught in the act. And then what? They’ll tell them it’s natural and normal? They’ll ask them how they think they came into the world? Who wants to find themselves in such an embarrassing situation?
She’s pretty sure her two sons enjoy a richer sex life than she does, but no one discusses it. Hanan gave them the talk once, when they were thirteen. He showed them a condom and told them where they could buy them. And then there was silence. It’s better that way. She knows that Ben keeps condoms in his nightstand, and she’s fine with it. That’s how it should be. If he didn’t have them, maybe, she’d have reason for concern. And Uri? She didn’t look. He’s had a girlfriend for over a year. She’s sure they have sex, that’s how it is these days. She herself didn’t dare to do anything before she was twenty. Maybe it wasn’t a matter of daring, she just didn’t have anyone to do it with. She was always buddies with the boys, but no more than that. She had her first orgasm at twenty, and it wasn’t with Hanan. It was with some idiot that she dated for six months and then he left her. She met Hanan afterward.
“Shit,” he interrupts her thoughts and jumps up, “shit.”
“So change the sheets,” she mutters and gets up, ignoring the yellow semen stain seeping quickly into the sheet and hurries off to their en-suite bathroom. “It’s Friday. You don’t have an excuse.”
“Come on Orly, you know I hate changing them,” he complains and wipes himself. “Can I also get in?” he asks.
“No,” she refuses, “give me ten minutes.”
“When does Ben finish?” he asks and glances at his watch.
“At two-ten,” she shouts through the curtain of water.
“Then get a move on!’ he urges her. His voice sounds tense.
“I’ll be right out,” she closes her eyes and lathers her body well, fingering her breasts, looking for a lump that may have unexpectedly developed since yesterday.
She steps out the shower lost in thoughts about happiness, the essence of life, and bike riding.
***
They meet up on Sunday at
a restaurant near her office. She receives coupons every month, and she never uses them all. She has an hour’s break no more, so why not have lunch together? If he has no other plans, of course. And it turns out he doesn’t. He’ll be happy to come.
“You’re so sweet for inviting me,” he says and sits down at the table for two with his legs splayed out.
“You’re welcome,” she says and reminds him, “I do have coupons, you know.” She doesn’t want him to think she’s spending money on him. Who is he? A weird riding instructor she’s curious about, that’s all.
“What are we ordering?” he asks, letting her navigate.
She looks at the menu. “I feel like a stir-fry,” she says, “but feel free to order whatever you feel like…”
“Are you vegetarian?” he asks.
“I’m leaning that way,” she laughs.
He asks what that means and she explains that in the past two years she’s almost completely stopped eating meat, and she thinks she can now say that she’s vegetarian.
He waves a dismissive hand and says that these days, whoever isn’t a strict vegan doesn’t count. Vegetarian isn’t what it used to be.
She laughs. “That’s true, but I’d never manage without cheese and eggs.”
“I’m always in favor of a good cut of steak,” he winks but orders chicken schnitzel. Maybe he’s afraid the coupons won’t cover steak.
She’s relieved. The coupons aren’t enough for steak.
“So, tell me about your magical shovel,” she says while they wait for the food, resting her head in her hands.
“My shovel?” he leans toward her. “It’s a trade secret.”
She rolls her eyes, and he caves right in.
“I just believe in freedom,” he explains, “I believe that everyone should do only what’s good for them…. You know, I heard about a study, that someone—a nurse I think—interviewed people before they died and asked them what they would have done differently in life. You know what most of them answered?”
Riding Lies Page 26