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Fields of Exile

Page 22

by Nora Gold


  “Hear, hear,” says Hetty.

  “Of course,” says James. “We’re all coming together to learn.”

  Shortly afterwards the meeting adjourns. Chris, Janice, and Lola quickly cluster, whispering, but Judith tells herself it means nothing. She shrugs on her coat, careful not to say anything to Suzy in front of the others — no thumbs-up, wink, or expression of gratitude. Instead she chats with Brenda, James, and Hetty, and says goodbye to them cheerfully in the parking lot. She’s happy. Suzy came through. She said what was necessary. She won’t let Anti-oppression Day turn into a hate rally against Israel.

  — 8 —

  That night Judith dreams that a woman she doesn’t know is massaging her shoulders and neck, and rubbing warm oil into her back, and then, surprising her, into her bum, into the crack in her bum. She awakens incredibly horny and all she can think about is warm fingers probing her all over her body, and different scented oils being rubbed into every crevice and hole. She wishes Bobby were here now to do these things to her.

  She eats breakfast and tries to concentrate on theories of knowledge for her final paper for Weick. But the only knowledge she can relate to right now is the knowledge of the body. She calls Bobby at work and says in a throaty imitation of Mae West, “Hey, honey — wanna come over sometime?”

  He laughs. “I’d love to, but I’m going into a meeting. But we’ll see each other tonight for Shabbat, and tomorrow night’s the Jewish film festival.”

  “Oh, yeah. What are we seeing? Something light, I hope.”

  “Amen.”

  “I’m glad we’re in the same mood. But what’s the movie called?”

  “Amen.”

  “You mean the movie’s called Amen?”

  “Yeah. It’s Costa-Gavras’s film about the Holocaust.”

  “Goody,” she says. “Now there’s a fun Saturday night date for two bright, sexy young Jews. Let’s go watch a Holocaust film and get so depressed we both want to slit our wrists.”

  Bobby chuckles over the phone. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I’m happy to stay in instead.”

  “Did you already buy the tickets?”

  “No, we were going to go early and line up.”

  “Then fuck it,” she says. “Fuck the film. Better yet, fuck me. Come over tonight, stay in bed with me all weekend, and fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”

  “Okay,” he laughs. “I won’t say no to that. But what’s gotten into you?”

  “Nothing. That’s the problem. I need something to get into me. Deep, deep into me.”

  There is silence now at the other end. Then Bobby, sounding distant, says he has to go: Dennis just signalled him from the doorway; the meeting is starting.

  “À ce soir,” she whispers. “Mon chéri.”

  For the rest of the day she works hard on her paper for Weick, squeezing in her Shabbat cooking, making a less elaborate meal than usual. By sundown her paper is done. Two down, since she finished Suzy’s paper last week. Now all she has left for this term is her part of the project for Greg. It’s been interesting but sobering: not one social work school in Canada includes antisemitism when teaching about oppression. Still, she’s relieved that she’ll be all done in three days, and sings as she sets the table and tidies the kitchen. While tidying, she discovers a bag of Hershey’s kisses that she bought last month from a war vet on Remembrance Day. It was a fundraiser, with the money going toward prostheses for war vets. She eats one kiss after another, thinking each one will be the last, until Bobby walks in.

  He throws his jacket onto a chair, embraces her, and kisses her hard. “Mmm, chocolate,” he murmurs, tasting her mouth. They rip off their clothes, and still standing, grab each other’s bums, move together in rhythm, and to the sound of his panting and her moans, come quickly. Afterwards, laughing, they half-dress and she pours them each a glass of red wine. She wishes she had one of those negligées you see in old movies. She’s naked except for a long T-shirt. Bobby likes this just as much as a negligée, though, and slides his hand underneath her T-shirt, but she wriggles away. Then they light the Shabbat candles and recite the blessings, and as they eat, she tells him about last night’s SWAC meeting and Suzy’s intervention at the end. Bobby sometimes grimaces when she starts talking about Suzy, but tonight he says, “Not bad for a lefty.”

  Then he updates her about the big case he’s working on with Dennis: assisting a multinational corporation interested in Canada’s oil fields. So far it’s been going very well, and Dennis seems pleased with him. In fact, today he said, “If this keeps up, Bobby, I can see making you a permanent member of our team. You could be a great asset to us.”

  “That’s fantastic,” she says.

  “Permanent status on Dennis’s team would be a huge step forward for me,” says Bobby. “With the new bonus structure the firm just implemented, this could mean an extra thirty, maybe forty, thousand a year.”

  “I hope this works out,” she says, doing her best to be enthusiastic and supportive, even though she feels talking about money is vulgar. She says she’s looking forward to meeting Dennis at Suzy’s party next week.

  “I wonder,” Bobby says thoughtfully, “what you’ll think of him. He can be pretty strange.”

  “I’m sure I’ll like him if he’s married to Suzy.” But then she falls silent.

  “What is it?” asks Bobby.

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me.”

  Frowning, she studies his face briefly. “Do you think I’m a lesbian?” she asks.

  “What?” he laughs. “You? A lesbian?!”

  “No, seriously.” She tells him about last night’s dream. “It’s weird. I’ve never dreamed about a woman touching me before.”

  “You’re not a lesbian.”

  “Or bi. Maybe I’m bi.”

  “Right. You’re bi like I’m bi.”

  “Well, are you?” she asks.

  “Shut up.” He looks at her affectionately. “Here’s the ultimate test,” he says. “Stand up.” When she does, he reaches under her T-shirt and strokes her nipple. Her eyes close and she moans. “This,” he says, “is not the response of a lesbian. If you were a lesbian, you wouldn’t be making that little sound of yours.”

  He pulls her T-shirt over her head, and with her leaning back against the dining room table, they again make love.

  — 9 —

  Three days later, on Monday December 9, Judith attends her first meeting of Friends-of-Peace since returning to Toronto. She has no interest in Toronto’s left-wing Zionist scene, but agreed to come this once at the urging of her old friend Mendl. It feels strange sitting in Mendl’s living room again, with almost all the same people as eleven years ago when, before making aliya, she was part of this group. They were all fifteen years older than her, so she never belonged socially, but she did ideologically, admiring them as the pioneers, the inspiring Socialist-Zionists a generation ahead of her. Yet now she looks at them — all these “Zionists” living in galut. What are they doing here? Why aren’t they in Israel where they belong?

  Then she answers her own question, looking from one face to another. Micky and Shira returned to Toronto “temporarily” twenty years ago because each believed this was what the other wanted. Only ten years later, when it was already too late — when they had three children, a house, a mortgage, and two good jobs: in short, “a life” here — did they have their first honest conversation about this since leaving Israel, and discover their mistake. Tragic, thinks Judith. Like the mistake in de Maupassant’s “The Necklace.”

  Next she contemplates Efraim. He postponed his aliya because his mother was dying. Yet here it is eleven years later and his mother’s alive and kicking and could be for eleven more.

  Lily, sitting in the armchair: just as she was about to make aliya, she fell in love with Henry and married him. Henry, though, doesn’t like Israel, so she’s never been back since. Lily stayed here for love. In fact, all three of them in a way gave up Israel for love. And love
is a good thing. But still, to live away from The Land. The Land that throbs with your very own heartbeat. What love — what in the whole world — could possibly make up for that?

  After the meeting, she and Mendl chat. She tells him what’s been happening at Dunhill. and he encourages her to give him a call. “We’ll come up with something,” he says. “We’ll make a plan.” She’s touched. This is vintage Mendl. As if there’s nothing in the world too big to strategize over, or fight back against. When they part he says, “Chizki v’imtzi.” Be strong and courageous.

  — 10 —

  The following evening, Judith stands in front of Suzy’s house. It is a big old brick structure with a peaked gable, and in the darkness it reminds her of Wuthering Heights. Nervously, she rings the bell. But when the door opens and Suzy greets her warmly, she feels at home. She hands Suzy the heavy cut-glass bowl she’s carrying. She follows close behind Suzy as she takes it into the kitchen, sets it down on the counter, and pulls back the tinfoil on top.

  “This is beautiful!” Suzy exclaims.

  “What is it?” asks a red-haired freckled boy strolling into the kitchen. This must be Todd, thinks Judith. The boy stands on his tiptoes, peers into the bowl, and says, “Woooow!”

  Judith laughs with pride. She wanted to please and she worked hard this afternoon to make this dessert. But it was worth it. The creamy chocolate mousse with the pretty dark chocolate curls on top never fails to impress.

  “This is gorgeous!” says Suzy. “You made this yourself?” She nods. “Well, thank you very much! Should I put it in the fridge till we serve it?”

  “Good idea,” says Judith. She watches Suzy manoeuvre things around in the crowded fridge until she finds a spot for the mousse. “I’m so relieved it survived the drive from Toronto,” adds Judith. “I was afraid it would turn into mush on the way.”

  “It’s perfect.”

  Judith, watching Suzy, sees a flash of movement behind her in the doorway, and then in walks Phoebe. Phoebe! What’s Phoebe doing here? Next in walks Darra. Darra? Now Judith realizes, with a sinking feeling in her stomach, that she is not, after all, alone here with Suzy and her family. Suzy must have invited others besides her to come early and help. Next Janice walks into the kitchen carrying a large platter, and behind her is someone else whose face, initially obscured by Janice, gradually emerges into view … Elizabeth. Judith tries to hide her disappointment and returns everyone’s greetings. In the dining room she watches them bustling about, putting drinks on tables, flowers in vases, and the right serving utensil on each dish: a long spoon for the eggplant parmesan, a spatula for the quiche. Others are arranging on platters, as attractively as possible, all the smaller items people have brought: carrot sticks, hummus, alfalfa sprouts, cashews. Mike is here, too, hauling folding chairs, several under each arm, into the living room from somewhere downstairs.

  Judith stands in the middle of all this commotion, feeling lost. Everybody but her seems to know exactly what to do. She looks around Suzy’s home. It’s a solid old house furnished in the old-fashioned way: thick living room curtains and heavy good-quality furniture in dark wood, including a glass-doored cabinet displaying fine china. They are obviously well off.

  They are also obviously Christian: in the corner there’s a huge Christmas tree with shiny coloured balls and ornaments hanging from every branch, silver tinsel draped all over everything, and on the very top a triumphant angel. What angel is this? she wonders. It’s white, so maybe it’s the angel Gabriel. Gabriel who guards over us. Now she wishes she were at a Chanukah party instead of a Christmas, or “end-of-term,” party, or whatever this is. Though she did enjoy celebrating Chanukah this year with Bobby, lighting Chanukah candles in front of the living room window, singing Chanukah blessings and songs, and eating potato latkes with sour cream and applesauce, or jam-filled donuts with powdered sugar on top. Oh well, she thinks. Let’s see if I can also enjoy tonight.

  She asks a couple of the people bustling around her, “How can I help?” and Janice replies by thrusting a bottle of wine at her and asking her to open it. Judith takes the wine into the kitchen and rummages through the drawers, looking for a corkscrew. She feels awkward going through someone else’s things, but Suzy, whom she would normally ask, is nowhere to be seen. Darra says she’s gone upstairs. Judith hears a loud thumping coming from there, like someone is repeatedly kicking the floor. Maybe Natalie is throwing a tantrum.

  “Whoa!” Tyler says to her, and whistles, looking her up and down. Judith flushes. She already noticed she is overdressed. Everyone else is wearing almost the same clothes they wear to school, just one step up. She feels acutely self-conscious in her low-cut red velvet gown, long gold necklace, and black high heels. She hadn’t known how to dress for tonight, and now she is completely out of place.

  “Lady in red,” says Tyler with a leer.

  Blushing, she rolls her eyes, and he leaves the kitchen carrying three chairs under each arm. She wishes Bobby were here with her — he had an urgent meeting of his legal committee tonight — or at least someone from her gang. But Aliza is apparently still sick. Judith called her twice to see how she was feeling and ask if she was coming, but Aliza didn’t call back. Pam is away on holiday — she got a cheap last-minute flight that left this morning for Mexico — and Cindy had to stay home with Mikey because Tom is working nights now on a two-week contract. The kitchen is crowded and full of activity. People are searching for things, opening cupboards and slamming them shut, grabbing items off shelves, hurling dirty spoons into the sink, and stuffing empty containers and cellophane from flowers into an overflowing garbage bin.

  “Only twenty-five minutes till everyone arrives,” pants Phoebe, perspiration dripping down her face. Suzy enters the kitchen looking flushed and distraught.

  “Is something wrong?” Judith asks her.

  “You know kids,” Suzy tells Judith and Phoebe. “They never want bedtime when there’s a party.”

  “Was that Natalie I heard upstairs?” Judith asks, and then hopes she hasn’t made a faux pas. Maybe other people don’t know about Natalie. Maybe this is something Suzy told only to her, and in confidence. But Suzy seems unfazed.

  “No, she’s sleeping at Dennis’s sister’s tonight. We thought that would be easiest. What you heard was Matthew. He hates going to sleep when there’s excitement downstairs.”

  Judith nods but thinks, They have sent Natalie away. Hidden her out of sight like Quasimodo. Suddenly she feels woozy. She studies the glass she is holding. A few minutes ago Darra shoved into her hand this glass of sweet red stuff, and being thirsty, she immediately drank more than half of it.

  “Is this spiked?” she asks Suzy, holding up her glass.

  Phoebe laughs. “Of course! It wouldn’t be Christmas without a little extra cheer, now, would it?”

  “Go light on that stuff,” says Suzy, smiling. “It’s Phoebe’s killer punch.”

  “Punch that packs a punch.” Phoebe grins. “Try saying that ten times in a row,” and she leaves the kitchen carrying a tray of plastic wineglasses. Everyone is busy in the dining room now, leaving Judith and Suzy alone in the kitchen, working on a cheese tray. Judith feels happier now. This is how she pictured it, just her and Suzy, the two of them chatting and joking around, while their hands work expertly in perfectly coordinated rhythm. They are laying out some Camembert, Jarlsberg, and Danish blue, along with salmon mousse, grapes, thin round tea crackers, stuffed pimento olives, and tiny sweet gherkins. The finished platter is an elegant mix of colours, shapes, and textures. Almost like a painting, she thinks. Then Suzy says, “For the final touch,” and pops a flower into each corner of the silver tray.

  “Nasturtiums,” she says. “They’re edible.”

  “Really?” asks Judith. When Suzy nods, she picks up the one unused flower. It has delicate petals, yellow with tiny red flames in them, and she tries to imagine putting it into her mouth. Eating a flower feels somehow like a cross-species act. Something that must be forbidden
somewhere, like sexual intercourse between human and beast. With Suzy watching, she flicks out her tongue and licks the soft petal. Its taste is subtle, or maybe it’s not even actually a taste, just a smell, like the faint sweetness of violets. There is nothing terrible about it, though. Nothing weird or disturbingly pungent or sexual, like the taste of sperm. So she eats a petal of it. It’s nice. Like eating a tender, slightly perfumed, prettier form of lettuce. “Not bad,” she says, and Suzy smiles.

  Now they start slicing the Christmas cake Suzy made. Suzy doesn’t call it a Christmas cake; she calls it a fruit cake — perhaps, thinks Judith, out of respect for her, or multiculturalism, or both. But she knows a Christmas cake when she sees one: it’s got those little candied fruits in it, and smashed-up green and red maraschino cherries. It’s pretty, in a dark, dense sort of way, and multicoloured even if not multicultural.

  “How’s it going?” asks a voice, and an energetic fresh-faced man in his early forties strides into the kitchen.

  “Okay,” says Suzy without looking up, continuing her careful slicing. “Just finishing the cake.” When the last piece is done she turns, knife in hand, toward the man, pointing at him and then at Judith with the knife. “Judith, my husband, Dennis. Dennis, this is Judith. Remember that student I told you about, who I’m hoping will be my TA next term? Bobby Kornblum in your office is her boyfriend …?”

  Dennis is holding a bottle of wine and a corkscrew, and he puts these on the counter so he can stretch out his hand toward Judith. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says with warmth. “Suzy thinks you’re terrific. Obviously so does Bobby. Very nice to meet you at last.”

  His handshake is warm and strong. “Same here,” she says, then blushes, feeling confused. His eyes are friendly, but unusually penetrating. A shimmering blue.

 

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