by Dana Arama
It was already almost a quarter to eleven. I was attentive to any sound, listening for his return. I got into the shower. Although the humidity was not heavy, I did not feel as fresh as before. I put on shorts and a tight T-shirt. I just combed my hair and left it wet. I dabbed on a little perfume and convinced myself that there was no reason to be shut in my room. After all, I was not running away from anyone. I wondered if we would talk in the evening and if he would tell me whom he had met.
He opened the door just as I went into the living room.
"Wow. You look different.” His eyes stayed fixed on me as I went down the stairs.
I felt naked for a moment. No more than a minute passed and I took my old shawl, which hung in the entrance closet, and put it round my shoulders. "Shabbat Shalom to you, too. How was your meal?”
"Oh, the usual story - 'You have to go back to the farm and help.'"
"And why don’t you return to the farm to help?” I walked into the kitchen and got a glass to pour myself some more white wine. I had left the half-full glass in my room. "Want to join me for a glass of wine?"
"Yes. Why not?" Again, he ran his hand through his hair. I learned later that he made this gesture before making a decision.
"Shall we sit outside?"
"No problem. I just have to take my jeans off first.” He turned toward the suite and unbuttoned his pants while on the way there. I wondered if that was because of his roughhewn attitude or my informal clothing that encouraged him to feel comfortable too. I felt it would take a little while to get used to each other, including the embarrassing moments.
When he returned to the patio, he was wearing cargo pants that reached his knees and a shirt with its sleeves cut off. He seemed very relaxed. "Where's the light switch for the yard?"
I pointed to it. "On this wall."
He lit up the yard and turned off the overhead light and the one in the house. The courtyard looked magical.
"You're right. It really is so much more pleasant.”
"It’s safer. You’re not lit up. On the other hand, the yard’s no longer dark. Fewer places to hide.”
I laughed out loud. "I never thought about that. Why did it occur to you?" As soon as I said those words, I regretted them. Here, stupid! Too much wine and you open an opportunity for him to start talking. He took advantage of it.
"Why did it occur to me?" He gave me a hard stare. "Because I’ve read up on your case on the Internet, Gabi. Even after I filtered out all the unnecessary gossip, the situation’s not simple." He took a sip of wine. His eyes darted around the yard, his big hand stroked his short hair. He really did not know where to start. "Today, I met up with a friend and we talked about you.”
"Why did you need to consult someone else about me?" Puzzlement was very evident in my voice. "If you read up on the case, then it’s all clear, isn’t it?”
"This isn’t about avoiding some journalists or paparazzi. This is about the Russian mafia. They’re dangerous!”
"Who’s this friend? Perhaps it would have been appropriate to ask me beforehand?" I felt the blood rush to my cheeks.
"Apart from him, I haven’t mentioned this job to anyone. I thought it sensible to consult him because he was a policeman. Besides, it would have been easier on me if you weren’t avoiding the subject. I’ve a feeling that maybe you hired my services because you’re under threat again.”
"Not at all! There’s no threat and there’s no need to protect me. All I want is to learn to defend myself in any situation.”
"So this is what I learned from my friend today…” He sipped his wine and looked at me. "… Just so there are no misunderstandings, there’s something you should know.” His expression gave me a silent warning. It made me alert. "The Russian mafia doesn’t stop wringing people just like that." He snapped his fingers.
"What does this have to do with me? I was not wrung then and they aren’t wringing me today.”
"They don’t hesitate to use violence, even violence against women.”
I drew the shawl tighter around my shoulders. There was not even a light breeze that could have caused the chill that went through me. It was the same chill I had felt when I read the testimony of the girl with the scarred face.
Guy kept staring out at the yard. "Despite your denial, I'll start training you in hand to hand combat immediately, and fitness training also. I think we should start tomorrow morning. There are some defense exercises I can teach you without mattresses. Sunday morning, we’ll go to buy them.”
"Yes, Boss." I smiled at him even though amusement was the last emotion I was feeling. I recognized in him the inspiring firmness that the soldier hanging from the helicopter had. "Just remember, you said defense and attack exercises.”
He smiled at me. "Bring your enthusiasm to the training. It's not going to be easy. I don’t make it easy.”
The alcohol I had drunk since the afternoon gave me a barely recognizable, but good, numbness. For Guy, it lowered his defenses and expanded his smiles. Whenever it did, I discovered a man with whom it was nice to pass the evening.
Chapter 8
In the morning, I woke up to a new world. Voices came from the kitchen, but the quiet surroundings testified it was Saturday morning. It took me a moment to remember that I was not alone in the house. The alarm clock, which had not woken anyone up for years, showed that it was almost noon. My headache was lighter, maybe because this time I had combined eating food with drinking wine.
A refreshing shower helped me start my first meeting of the day with Guy. He was standing in the kitchen, wearing only baggy cut-off pants, cutting a vegetable salad into small, equal blocks. It looked like a painting in progress. As I watched him from the back, I understood why sloppy pants suited him. His long legs and buttocks were solid, so loose pants covered him without causing him to look ridiculous. I noticed the end of a scar on the back of his thigh. Perhaps it was this injury he was talking about. It seemed strange that I hadn’t noticed even a hint of a limp in his walk. Without his shirt on, I saw his back muscles flex with every cutting movement he made.
"Good morning," I said before I sat down at the counter. "Will you share your salad with me?"
He stared at me with a smile. "Morning? It's almost afternoon! The salad’s especially for you. You can’t start training on an empty stomach. Apart from this, there are just a few other ingredients to add."
He left the knife on the chopping board and went to his room, then came back wearing the shirt from last night. I felt more comfortable. It was ridiculous, to think of this man as one who’s partial nakedness caused me to blush in my own home, but it was my reality.
"Look, today I gave you the only discount that you’ll get from me. Because you drank wine last night and went to sleep pretty late, I let you sleep in until now. Starting the day after tomorrow, we begin work early. Tomorrow, we go shopping.”
"Shopping? We talked about shopping?” I remembered nothing.
"For mattresses for your training sessions.” He took eggs and butter from the refrigerator and a cupboard whose existence I did not remember. "How do you want your eggs?"
My eyes stared at his big hand holding the handle of the pan. My son’s shattered hand was so different from his. Robbie had not finished growing. My eyes filled with tears immediately.
"Gabriella, the eggs - how do you prefer them?"
His voice brought me back to my kitchen, and to him. "Scrambled is good. Thank you." I needed no more than that moment to remind me of my commitment to the task at hand. "You're right. We’ll eat and get to work."
"Not right away. You want to eat here or outside?"
"Here’s great. I think it’s too hot out now."
I watched him take out cutlery and plates, quickly adding glasses of fruit juice. Finally, he put the salad bowl on the counter and my kitchen began to smell like anywhere else - safe and true. Even the eggs were cooked just enough. Guy also produced a tray of cheese from the fridge.
"You have to start eati
ng well. Tomorrow we’ll start with carbs before training. Cereal will do. After training, we’ll eat again, protein this time. You don’t have excess fat to lose, so pretty quickly you’ll burn muscle instead of building it. We don’t want that.”
"Yes, sir.” I smiled at him and started to eat.
It was one of those moments when I could see Robbie’s serious, but sincere, caring, and understanding gaze in his eyes. I wanted to savor the moment when my child was in view. His presence made me feel like I was on a roller coaster ride. His body reminded me of Sergey, and in his eyes, I recognized Robbie. This is just another difficulty on the way to your goal, I convinced myself. A difficulty that you will overcome and will make you stronger when you stand in front of him at the moment of truth.
I ate a little and played with what was left of my food. When he realized that I could eat no more, he said, "I’ll go prepare the training area. So - you’ll get dressed and come down?”
For a moment, I became confused about the days. “Wait, isn’t it Saturday today?”
"It’s Saturday - so what? I don’t think the guys from the Russian mafia observe the Sabbath. We’ve no time to waste.”
"But I don’t see them standing in line waiting to attack me." I realized that it was a hopeless attempt to delay the start of my training.
"I'm going to set up, and you’ll come. Is that clear?" He was not joking at all.
"Will an hour be enough for you?" I tried to dispel the power he imposed on me.
"I’ll be ready for you in half an hour, but an hour’s okay," he agreed. "We’ll meet at the pool. No excuses."
It was after one o’clock when I entered the room. The floor was cleared, awaiting the mattresses. The treadmill had been moved nearer the bike. The place was no longer mine.
"We'll start, as in all sports training, with a warm-up and stretches, and then we’ll do Krav Maga, the basics. Okay?"
We were standing in front of the pool. The water seemed cool and tempting, but I was not going to change into a bathing suit under his gaze.
"You want to start with a workout in the water?" Apparently, he also thought of it.
"Didn’t you say there are attack exercises that can be taught without a mattress?”
“Attack? Gabi, are you planning on breaking into Alcatraz?” He suddenly seemed very amused. "Let's start with a warm up and move on to defense exercises. Each exercise will lead ultimately to attack practices."
"Yes. That’s what I meant.”
"If you don’t want to swim first, go on the treadmill for twenty minutes. We’ll monitor your pulse and decide if you’re up to another twenty minutes on the bike and then we’ll get to work.”
While I worked on warming up my body, he stood by me and gave me insights. "To reach a point where you can bring yourself to consciously harm someone, you have to prepare yourself. You either feel in danger, or you’re trained in it.” He seemed to have heard this more than once.
"But they say that women are cruel... they’re capable of anything -" I started to hyperventilate.
"What I said is true, especially for women. Generations have taught them to be nice and kind. Many of them find it difficult to reach a point where they can consciously cause pain to another person." He paused and added, "In your case, we know that you feel in danger, so -”
"I already told you, that isn’t true." I interrupted. After less than ten minutes, my pulse was sky high.
He just smiled. "It’s good, actually. Not the fact that you’re in danger, of course, but that you feel threatened. Or at least, should feel that way. To some extent, that leaves you with high adrenaline. But you won’t go on like this for long, so at the same time we’ll prepare you to deal with confronting an attacker immediately. This is when it’s most important to shock the attacker." He paused. I nodded. It seemed to me that he was judging how well his words were sinking in.
"And that's all?" I asked. Just the very beginning? That was not enough! I felt a stab of pain. I wanted to be able to stand in front of someone and kill him. For this, I was sweating it out on the treadmill. For this, I was ready to work hard. For this, I agreed to open up my world and let Guy in.
He looked at his watch. "Drink some water and we’ll check your pulse. I’m not sure you should continue on the bike."
“Listen,” I said, seeking clarity. “I'm not training so I can run away. If I wanted to run from a potential attacker, I’d probably just stay home." I opened the small refrigerator and pulled out a blue plastic bottle. I took a sip of cool water from it, but inside, I was burning up. I wanted to yell at him: Don’t you understand your role here? You're here to help me hurt someone who’s quite like you! Instead, I held out my hand obediently and let him check my pulse.
"I don’t think you should underestimate it.” I heard a new sound in his voice. Maybe it was a caution, perhaps insight. "You can injure him and escape. If you practice long enough, you can be very dangerous, too.”
"In other words, I won’t be an easy victim for an attacker?" Or vice versa, I silently added. I'll be attacking a victim who is not easy.
"And that's not a little.” He smiled in an attempt to calm me. "Don’t forget that these are violent people. You'll have to make do with the ability to stun someone and get away before he can react.”
"Okay, I guess that's good enough." I drank more water. "Let's get on with what we came here for." I knew I overdid exposing my expectations, and I had to calm him down.
"First of all, take off all your jewelry. They’re expensive pieces and it’d be a shame if they broke.”
The tension created by our conversation dissipated. I tried to remove the chain from my neck, but without success. It was my favorite necklace, the first piece of jewelry Dan ever gave me - a fine chain with the letter G dotted with diamonds. This piece suited everyday fashion and I only took it off because of special circumstances. My training qualified as such.
He came up to me, pulled my hair back, and his large hands gently unclasped the delicate chain. "Here, it's open," he said, handing it to me over my shoulder. I could still feel the warmth of his body near my back when he asked, “Do you need help with the bracelets?” I turned to him without answering. I gave him my hand and he unclasped my bracelets one by one, and put them on the shelf. I left my wedding ring on my finger. It was a reminder of my situation, one I wanted to keep throughout my training. "Maybe I should tie my hair back?" I said. All I wanted was a moment in which I could concentrate on the target, remind myself of it.
"Well, are you ready?" We stood face to face for a moment. “You look worried…”
"Maybe because there are no mattresses to fall on…” I replied, looking down at the floor.
"There’s also an advantage to training on this kind of surface. You have to be ready in any situation. Your starting point in these first exercises will be with one foot forward, as if you were walking along the street. Maybe you’ll also have to defend yourself there." He moved into assault position. “Left foot forward pointing inward. Right foot inward as well, heel up a little and hands clenched at the level of your eyebrows. Beautiful. Now put your elbows in.”
I tried to mimic the position of his legs, but he was not satisfied. Next moment, he was standing next to me, his hands on my hips and pulling me into the right position. This vague contact gave me an electric shock and awoke my body in a way that I didn’t want. It’s the adrenaline in my blood, I tried to tell myself. I felt it because of the way I’m standing.
I applied my full concentration on trying to repeat his actions. "I don’t usually walk down the street with my fists up, ready to protect my face."
"Not yet. With practice, your hands will jump to the right place without thinking." Without smiling, he continued speaking. “Turn your fist on the hinge and add your shoulders. Any rotational movement adds energy. Together with the rotational movement of the pelvis, you get energy bursting out. Remember that movement." He walked over to the corner of the room and came back with two worn o
ut pads. “I brought some old training pads from my house. They’ll do for now. Tomorrow, we'll buy new ones.” They were clasped in his hands, waiting for my punches. “Come on, heel rotations, add the pelvis and shoulder. The whole body becomes involved in the fist.”
I clenched my hand and started to hit.
"Not good. Stop.” He threw down the training pads and approached me. "Open your hand," he said. I did. He took it in his. "Take your fingers and close them like this: fold your thumb on them and ensure a straight joint. The knuckle bones of the middle and index fingers will be used as your sights.”
His rough touch lingered on my skin long after he finished explaining. He returned and picked up the training pads and I started punching again as he had described. I hit without stopping. At first slowly and carefully, and then, when I got used to the movement, I gained speed. There was something liberating in it. I kept it up until my muscles began to tire.
"Strong... now with your left hand... stop... left, right… yes... don’t lock your elbow,” he shouted. His voice gave me new strength. What did the job better than anything was when he said, "Imagine the pad is someone you hate." The fifteen minutes in which I imagined Sergey’s face on the pads took more energy out of me than I thought it could.
"You worked well," he said to me in an approving tone. He threw the pads aside and added, "Drink some more water and we’ll continue."
I went to the equipment cupboard and took out a towel. I was sure that my face looked awful, all red and sweaty. On the top shelf lay three unused swimsuits.
"Old training pads? Have you been training for a long time?" I went back to stand by him. I was already feeling exhausted - a subtle signal from my body that I had a lot of catching up to do after all those months spent indulging in sleep and alcohol.
"When I was a kid, I had ADHD,” Guy replied. “We didn’t have sophisticated solutions in the moshav. They sent me to relax in a karate class. It saved me. Without a doubt, karate gave me a way of life and helped me to focus myself on my goals." He looked at me quizzically. "How do you feel? Need a break? Would you like it if we continued in the afternoon?"