Riding Lies

by Eshkar Erblich-Brifman

  She shakes her head, amused.

  “Almost all of them said they regret not living their lives the way they wanted, instead of living by other people’s plans, instead of allowing themselves to be dictated to.”

  “You don’t say…” she answers nonchalantly. That makes sense. No one really lives how they want to. There are always constraints. Life sends you in unexpected directions. Did she expect to lose her mother at such a young age? Could she have imagined that at forty-five she’d find herself so alone in the world, overwhelmed with pain and drowning in questions? Did she ever imagine the day would come that she’d be hunting for imaginary lumps in her breasts on a daily basis? Could she have predicted that she, like her mother, would carry that damn gene and that the disease might erupt at any moment? All at once, her green eyes are flooded with tears. She blinks and hides them quickly.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, leaning a little more over the table. She can feel his sour breath.

  “Yes, sure,” she shakes herself, feeling silly. She has to hold it in, she can’t fall apart in the middle of the day! And with an almost complete stranger, too.

  “What’s the matter??” he insists on knowing, but the server interrupts the tender moment by placing a plate of schnitzel before him.

  ***

  They ride in silence, in single file. They’re at the Ayalon Park. The arid fall colors make her heart ache. They’re always so yellow and tired. It’s a dusty and desolate land without a dull moment. Only the pine trees manage to stay cautiously optimistic, with their evergreen needles. It’ll be winter soon, she comforts herself. Everything will turn green again and she’ll be able to breathe.

  Someone doesn’t feel well and wants to stop. They stop carefully, so as not to collide. Koby goes over to her and offers her water. The woman gets off her bike and sits on the ground. Her face is red and she’s breathing heavily from the effort. She doesn’t recognize her. It must be her first time, she thinks dismissively. Women with her build shouldn’t be here. This is a place for real people, not Barbie dolls. Barbies get tired quickly. It’s a fact.

  Koby asks if she wants to go back. To everyone’s relief, she says no, that she just wants to rest a little, if possible, and Koby says of course it is, and she should take her time. She looks at her with distaste. What a loser. She’s probably never even given birth. She can’t be more than twenty.

  After the girl recovers slightly and her flushed face returns to normal, they continue.

  She pedals at a steady, fast pace. The sudden gusts of wind slap at her, and from the corner of her eye she notices that the sun is red and setting slowly toward the hills. It’s Friday. What will they have for dinner? As usual, she didn’t have time to prepare anything. Ben already informed her that he’s going to friends. Uri is home and so is Hanan. Maybe she’ll make toasted sandwiches. She may have time to make a quick lasagna, but she doesn’t have mushrooms. Perhaps there’s eggplant. What else can she throw in? Cheese there is, she’s just not sure it’s fresh enough. She wants to pamper Ben a little. He’s studying so hard. Too bad Hanan never thinks of helping her with all the tiresome cooking. He never goes into the kitchen. It suits him to say that he’s terrible at it. He used to make coffee in the mornings, but that was years ago…when they bought a percolator. It was cutting edge back then. Only people who visited the States had one, and she wanted one too. The smell of black coffee suddenly fills her nostrils, bringing back memories of paper filters and the bubbling sound of the water boiling; of his hand brushing hers as he holds out a cup.

  “I guess you aren’t coming with us to the café,” he asks when they finish the trail.

  She’s sweating and all she wants is to shower. “You guess right,” she answers with a smile, “but we can meet for coffee without this angry mob…”

  “It’s not that angry when you get to know it,” he replies and adds in a whisper, “but naturally I prefer having you to myself.”

  “There’s a lecture tomorrow,” she says while lifting her bike onto the carrier, “do you feel like coming along?”

  “Sure!” he says immediately, “But you owe me a positive experience this time.”

  She laughs, “I don’t really control the content, you know. I can only take a more-or-less educated guess from the lecture’s title.”

  “So what’s the subject this time?” he asks, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

  “Harmony and balance in modern life,” she says, tilting her head slightly, watching his reaction.

  “Great,” he confirms, “it sounds particularly bad, but I’ll go with the flow.”

  “Should I pick you up?” she asks and he says if she feels like it, he’d like that. She nods and says she has to go, before they shut the roads in the religious neighborhoods for the Sabbath. She doesn’t feel like making unnecessary detours.

  ***

  She drives through the narrow, winding roads, with the last red spot in the sky just before the sun sets for company.

  ***

  “You don’t need anyone to teach you about harmony and balance,” he says. “You don’t need anyone to teach you what the road to happiness is. You can find it on your own, Orly. All you need to do is give yourself freedom, let go of your thoughts a little, release all your inhibitions. Live in the moment…”

  “So many clichés,” she snorts, “but what do they actually mean?”

  “When was the last time you had an orgasm?” he asks her calmly.

  She almost bashes into the car in front of her before slamming on the breaks. What kind of question is that? “What does that have to do with anything?” she asks sharply.

  “Plenty,” he says and continues questioning her. “When did you last have wild sex? Feel true release?”

  She cringes. She’s not comfortable talking about it, certainly not with Koby. “There is no connection between sex and happiness,” she says coldly, “you’re mixing two completely different things here.”

  “Let me prove to you that there is,” he insists. “Suppose, for instance, you could do whatever you want,” he begins.

  “Okay,” she says and tries to concentrate on the busy road. She’ll soon be at his place, and what then?

  “Let’s assume that Hanan understands that in order to fulfill yourself, he has to let you experience things, make your own decisions, be completely independent, without constantly worrying about who you’re hurting and what you’re doing wrong.”

  “Okay,” she says again, trying to control her racing heart. Where is he going with this, and should she stop him?

  “I believe,” he continues, “that if Hanan truly loved you, he would understand that he has to set you free and allow you to be who you are.”

  “And who am I?” she asks, glaring at him.

  “You’re a lot more than a married woman, a mother of children, an accountant, a bike rider.”

  “I don’t understand what you want, Koby,” she says as she stops by a red light. “I really don’t get it.”

  “Wait,” he asks, “give me a few more minutes.”

  “Fine,” she says impatiently.

  “Everyone wants to be happy, right?” he asks the obvious and she doesn’t even bother to answer.

  “Well, I claim that in order to be happy, a person needs to be free,” he continues. “Part of that freedom is the ability to achieve full satisfaction, feel excitement, have experiences, and not repeat the same monotonous routine you’ve been caught in for years. No one can expect a person who’s stuck in the same boring routine to be happy. Without new stimuli, without curiosity, you become dormant, lifeless.”

  “Well, I guess I agree with that,” she says hesitantly, “but you’re talking about a hypothetical situation, in which no one else has to be taken into consideration, and that, of course, is not possible in the real world.”

  “But why not?” he insist
s. “Why in fact not? It’s only a matter of perspective! It’s a mindset, a perception of reality!”

  “Oh, come on!” she feels her body jerking. “Because it doesn’t work that way! Because there’s a way to behave! There are conventions! People can’t just do what they want!”

  “Ah!” he cries out in victory. “You put your finger right on it! Conventions, conventions. Aren’t you tired of living according to conventions? Who determines these conventions according to which you live your life?”

  She parks the car at the entrance to his apartment. “I live in this world,” she says slowly and calmly, “I can’t do only what I want!”

  “Then you’re choosing to be miserable,” he says calmly.

  “Wow, you’re annoying!” she hits the steering wheel. “That’s such an irresponsible statement to make!”

  “Quite to the contrary!” he says and leans toward her. “Who are you responsible for, Orly? Your children, Hanan, but firstly for yourself. You choose to put yourself last so why are you surprised that you aren’t happy? You put yourself in that position!”

  She narrows her eyes in anger. Something sparks in her. She thrives on debates like these, and it’s been years since she debated like this with anyone. Koby challenges her with his ideas and notions.

  “What you’re trying to say,” she says coolly, “is that if I cheat on Hanan I’ll be happy. Forgive me, but that’s crap.”

  “That’s not at all what I’m saying,” he objects, “you’re interpreting what I’m saying all wrong. You’re hearing what you want to hear.”

  “Please, then, explain it to me,” she urges, “but without all the bells and whistles. Give it to me straight. What do you think I should do if not cheat on Hanan?”

  “The point’s not to cheat,” he explains patiently, “the point is to experience, to feel excitement, to find a new way of looking at things, to be curious. It doesn’t have to be sex, but it can be sex. And the fact that the first word that pops into your mind is cheating indicates that you’re closed and unreceptive. You’re probably not ready for such a change in perspective.”

  “Hogwash!” she turns off the engine and unfastens her seatbelt but remains seated. “You talk such nonsense!”

  He bursts out laughing and as a result, so does she.

  “Hanan is not the issue,” he says, “and nor is cheating. You’re the issue. You’re in the limelight, Orly. The stage is yours. The world is spread before you. Do with it as you please. You don’t want to wake up tomorrow to discover that you’ve missed your own life, right?”

  “I don’t want to wake up tomorrow dead,” she laughs.

  “Precisely.”

  “And who knows it can happen better than I,” she adds bitterly.

  “Because of your mother?” he asks tenderly and puts his hand on her knee.

  She doesn’t answer. If she tells him about the gene, he’ll only pity her more. She doesn’t want or need his pity.

  “I understand what you’re saying,” she says eventually, choosing her words carefully, “but I made my choice. I made a commitment. There are areas in which I can’t try new things. I can ride a bike, I can try pottery, and if I want, I can take up knitting or even hip hop, but I can’t sleep with other men only for the sake of experience.”

  “Too bad you’re limiting yourself in that way,” he says with a note of criticism in his voice.

  “I and every other moral human being!” she adds sarcastically.

  “It’s not a matter of morality,” he shakes his head in frustration, “you aren’t looking at it correctly…. Wait, I have a good example.” He takes a deep breath and continues, “Say you go to a restaurant and order a stir-fry, okay?”

  “Okay,” she smiles.

  “The next day you return to the same restaurant and out of the blue, you feel like sushi. So what does that say, you’re cheating on the stir-fry? That you can’t taste other things? That if you eat sushi now, the stir-fry will feel rejected and you’ll never be able to eat it again? Why not be open and free to taste everything? Why limit yourself? Your mindset is fixed.”

  She runs her fingers through her cropped hair. He’s nuts, Koby, that’s for sure. “Hanan is not a stir-fry,” she says sharply, “he’s a human being. With feelings, somewhere beneath the surface…” she laughs tiredly.

  “Listen,” he says, “we don’t have to finish this discussion tonight. Don’t feel obliged to prove anything to me. Let’s save it for the next time, what do you say?”

  She smiles somberly. “Tomorrow afternoon?” she suggests, “Will you wait for me outside the office at twelve-thirty?”

  “Agreed,” he says and kisses her gently on the back of her neck. He unfastens his seatbelt and opens the door, but before he gets out, he turns to her. “Orly?”

  “What?” she asks.

  “Tomorrow, try to order sushi, okay? It’ll add variety to your life.”

  She bursts out laughing and he gets out of the car, closes the door behind him and blows her a kiss.

  What a loony, she thinks to herself and starts the engine.

  ***

  Ben broke up with his girlfriend. Hanan says it’s her loss. Clearly, it’s her loss, but that’s no consolation. She tried to talk to him, but he just got mad. Maybe they’ll get back together. You never know at this age. You can’t know anything at any age.

  She tries to cheer him up and makes pancakes for dinner. Her thoughts are far away, at the strange lunch she shared with Koby. She didn’t order sushi, but she didn’t dare to order a stir-fry after their previous conversation. She changed her order to a halloumi cheese salad. It was tasty, but not as good as the stir-fry.

  She’s really growing to like him. He intrigues her, and he’s different, like her. Arguments with him are challenging, they force her to use her rusty mind a little. It’s nice. and different. And new. New is good, that’s what he keeps telling her. Add variety, try new things, live life to its fullest. Maybe tomorrow she’ll get sick. Who knows, with this damned disease. It could be waiting around the corner to ambush her. She automatically flips a pancake, slides it onto a plate, and pours more batter into the hot pan, then waits for the bubbles to appear. As if that’s what’ll help. Pancakes. But what else can she do?

  She thinks she’s attracted to him. She has no other explanation for the butterflies that fill her stomach every time she sees him. And he wants her, she can tell, but she’s afraid to take the risk. He, unlike her, has nothing to lose. He’s divorced and he can do whatever he likes. And he does. She knows she’s not the only one in the picture. He’s a butterfly, flittering from flower to flower. But what does she care? Let him do as he pleases. She’s not his mother. It’s too late to educate him, his mother or father must have screwed up somewhere along the line. What kind of trauma in his past made him who he is? It doesn’t really matter.

  She slides another pancake onto the pile and pours more batter into the pan. Ben emerges from his room and says he’s not at all hungry.

  She sighs. You can’t please them at this age. “Then you can have them later,” she says, trying to keep her cool.

  Maybe she does need to allow herself new experiences. Maybe there really won’t be opportunities later on. It’s not that she opens the door to find countless opportunities just lying there, at her feet. She’s not that kind of person. She’s always been closed, shut inside herself.

  Hanan comes into the kitchen and takes a steaming pancake from the pile.

  “At least take a plate,” she grimaces.

  “Yes, Mom,” he rolls his eyes and gets a plate out the cabinet. “Is there maple syrup?”

  “In the fridge,” she replies absentmindedly, as she stares at the glass bowl with the never-ending batter.

  ***

  All at once, winter has spread across Jerusalem. Despite the cold evenings, she didn’t expect it to
arrive so early, so stormy and wild. Heavy rains prevent the group from having their weekly ride, and although she tries to join one a different group on another day, the rides are canceled one after the other.

  “Come over to my place for hot chocolate,” he writes to her one afternoon and she replies with a smile that it can’t replace riding.

  Another evening, he writes: “This rain is never going to stop and I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  She bites her lip and invites him to have lunch with her tomorrow, at her company’s expense.

  The streets are drenched, the drainage overflowing. It seems like the end of the word has arrived, or it’s well on its way.

  The biking paths remain muddy for many days after the storm and the first group ride is held in the city. Minimum mud is minimum risk for slipping.

  She wears a black waterproof coat that she borrowed from Uri. It is no longer raining but you never do know.

  When she arrives home, her face is burning and red, and it stays that way for a good few days.

  Winter soon settles down and the rain eases, with scattered showers here and there and long interruptions of sun. The pleasant routine she’s created for herself starts taking shape again, with riding lessons on Friday afternoons, lunch breaks together, chatting on WhatsApp into the night, and every so often, a lecture. In contrast, Hanan is occupied with work, his aging parents, his boss who is making his life miserable, and his favorite basketball games. Ben is busy with his studies and the new girlfriend he met after breaking up with the previous one. Uri is counting the days until his army service begins. And she is in the middle, skipping between what is and what could have been, she’s not really sure. Is that what she wants for herself? Boundless freedom? She thinks not. Freedom is tiring. Free sailing seems almost unbearable to her. She’s fine in her little pigeon hole, with her thoughts about her mother, with checking her breasts every day, with the feverish thoughts in her mind. She can live this way. And she doesn’t worry, almost never. Perhaps only about one thing that hangs like a black cloud over her life, a permanent shadow above her, and she is standing beneath it in the dark, waiting for the flood.