Really? How is this is happening so quickly? she mumbles, stunned, and Tanya hesitates, I’ll tell you the truth, we offered him to a different family some way ahead of you in the queue, and they made the journey but didn’t bond with him and they turned him down, once there’s been a refusal it’s harder to find someone who’s willing, so I thought of you, with you the time factor is critical because of your husband’s age.
What does that mean, they didn’t bond with him? she asks, thoroughly alarmed, and Tanya says, I don’t know exactly, the chemistry wasn’t there, if you ask me they’re making a mistake, but perhaps their mistake is to your advantage, so let me know tomorrow, goodnight, and Dina’s close to hyperventilating, wait a moment, Tanya, tell me about the boy, how old is he, what’s his name, what’s known about his background?
He’s two years old, Tanya replies impatiently, I’m sending you via email all the details known to us, a medical file and a picture. Don’t be too scared by the medical file, they sometimes insert bogus illnesses because it’s illegal to take a healthy child out of there, and Dina asks, so how do we know his real state of health? and Tanya says, I’ll explain to you tomorrow, we know these codes, I promise you the boy is all right, more or less, so don’t miss this chance, if you refuse it will take a long time and in the meantime the law may change to your disadvantage, and Dina stands up from the bed in a whirl, her heart pounding ferociously, sending shock-waves around it, all of her body is a giant heart, and the whole building is swaying and tossing in time to its pulsations. This is the moment of truth, this is the beginning, it’s starting now, at midnight, as the heavens crack open above her head and she goes out on to her translucent balcony, the cold is intense but she doesn’t turn on the heater. To shiver in the cold is what she wants, to hear her teeth chattering, she wants to watch as the fields of the sky are blasted by electricity, she wants electricity to strike her too, she’s pleading for a sign, for a signal, since this is a great moment and she’s staggering under its weight, it’s come too early, before her preparations are completed, more frightening than she expected, since this is what encounter with destiny looks like, although the truth is such encounters take place every moment of a human life, and here we’re speaking of a frontal encounter, of known intensity. Is this the possibility of choice, is it the lack of support, the magnitude of the responsibility, the magnitude of the gamble, the magnitude of the distance, to travel to Siberia this week, in the middle of December, to meet a little boy of two years old, can you be his mother, and she turns on the computer, make it so I know, she mumbles, so I’ll see the picture and know this is my child, so I’ll look into his eyes and know this is my beloved son in whom I am well pleased. Her hands tremble over the keys and she stares at the letters, as a ferocious light floods the balcony, followed immediately by the roll of thunder and to her dismay the computer screen goes blank before her eyes, the light of the street-lamp is extinguished too, it seems the last lightning bolt knocked out all the circuits. Most residents of the street are unperturbed, fast asleep in their warm beds, while for her this is unbearable, she’s waiting for the child, she believes when she sees the picture she’ll know, she’s expecting a dissolution of doubts but this is slow in coming, and perhaps this is the way it’s meant to be, saying yes without knowing anything, without seeing anything.
The street-lamp comes back on and with it the computer, my boy my boy my boy, she mumbles, what a long journey you’ve had to make to reach my mail-box, here it comes, arriving at last, just open the file and you’ll meet him, and here he is, filling the screen is a little boy standing with a book in his hands, his hair blond and sparse, his face long, eyes dull and set close together, looking at her without smiling, his forehead high and his lips tightly closed, he’s serious and gloomy, he’s a stranger. He’s not like Nitzan, as she hoped he would be, and he doesn’t look like the lost twin who lives in her imagination, not like her or Gideon. He isn’t sweet, isn’t captivating, he isn’t trying to please, he’s not asking to be taken, it seems he’s resigned to the betrayals he’s suffered, apparently he’s saying, even without you I can sort out my life, he isn’t making it easier for her, not giving her a sign.
Again she’ll study him from head to toe, he’s wearing red girly sandals and white socks, light coloured trousers, almost tailored, like those of a miniature man, and on his chest is a striped shirt with short sleeves, too big for him, in drab green and white. A bitter smile stretches her lips when she remembers her brother’s shirt, is this the sign she has been waiting for? Here he is, her handsome brother in the striped shirt, running into their mother’s arms on the lawn and his laughter rolling, while she stands to the side, observing their love with hard eyes, how frozen is his stare, did she stare like that at her mother and her brother? Does he know how to smile, has he ever smiled?
She never saw a child like this, he isn’t a child at all, he’s a miniature man, a homunculus, sceptical and severe. He’s the one studying her, he’s looking for a sign and she squirms under his scrutiny, since that’s what a moment of truth is like, only when you stand up to it will you understand what a mistake you’re making, what challenges await you. Only then will you understand the distance between reality and your dream of warm and tender co-existence, I know you, you don’t have the strength for this, and she detaches herself from the picture and opens the second file, the documents laden with expressions most of which she doesn’t understand, a meticulous record of countless tests and diagnoses, immunisations and hospital treatments, and when she tries to interpret these through internet searches the results are even more frightening and she returns at once to the picture, which after the brief separation already looks familiar to her. Who are you, young man? All these details say nothing at all about you, on such and such a date you were immunised and on such and such a date you were examined, but who are you? And my fate is in your hands as much as your fate is in mine, and she looks at the book he’s holding in his little hands, on the cover is an illustration of a majestic white cat, one forepaw black and the other brown, exactly like their cat, how could she have failed to notice this before? Is this a sign? Is it possible to be satisfied with such little signs when the task is so huge?
In the glare of the lightning flash it seems to her the child is paler, and she puts a cautious finger to his cheek, the thunder’s coming soon, she whispers, but don’t be afraid, Mummy will look after you, because it seems a change has been taking place since the beginning of the moment of truth, a change she wasn’t expecting and is still finding hard to understand. No, it isn’t for the purpose of getting from him the tenderness and warmth that she deserves to receive from her daughter that she’s taking him in, but the opposite; it’s actually by virtue of the abundance that she has received and is giving, that she’ll be capable of bringing up this boy, because it’s there, stored up inside her, as she promised her daughter, even if it doesn’t come back. This isn’t the sun but memory of the sun, no one can take it from her, and suddenly the deed takes on a different face, the hard face of the boy, which suits him better this night, with the rain drumming on the roofs, and she opens the window and pokes her head out of it, to the cold rain that’s lashing her neck and tugging at her arms.
Her teeth chatter as she gropes her way to the darkroom, where Gideon has slept since she came back home, her hands smarting as she creeps like an alley-cat towards his bed. It seems to her the tips of her fingers are encased in ice, is this the Siberian cold that has suddenly arrived, along with the child? What’s up? he murmurs, his arms enfolding her with sleepy warmth, as if he’s forgotten they’re not supposed to be touching, barely on speaking terms, and she’s emboldened by his embrace and lays her damp head on his chest. Gidi, listen, they’ve found us a child, we need to go there, come and see his picture on my computer, but to her dismay he pushes her away and sits up, what? What are you talking about? I’m not interested in seeing a picture of any kid, I’m not going anywhere!
But you promised, you p
romised! she cries, pulling his arm and he rebuffs her brusquely. Calm down, you want to wake Nitzan? I didn’t promise you anything, for months I’ve been telling you over and over again this isn’t what I want, and you’ve ignored it the way you ignore everything you don’t like to hear, and she’s not giving up that easily, you promised you’d come with me, they won’t let me see him if I go by myself, by law you have to be with me.
I didn’t really promise, he mumbles, I didn’t think it was going to happen, I thought you’d get over it and I wanted to gain time, and she whispers hoarsely, you wanted to gain time? You didn’t really promise? It seems to her that her bones are cracking under the impact of this fusillade, and she stares at her arms, externally there’s no movement but under her skin everything is falling apart. How will she stand on her feet and get out of here, how will she hold out her arms to the child, like a snake she’ll crawl on her belly across the snowy steppes to faraway Siberia, and perhaps she’s already there, she’s so cold, she never felt cold like this, spreading from the centre of her body, from her severed umbilical cord, with scissors they cut her from her mother’s body, with scissors they cut Nitzan from her, they cut the boy in the picture from the mother who rejected him, a pair of sharp scissors is roaming the streets, detaching partners from each other, decreeing isolation. Gideon, she whispers, I’m begging you for just one thing, come with me on this journey, do what’s necessary under the law and then you’re free, you have no obligations towards this little boy.
Are you insane? I’m not going to Siberia in the middle of winter, even Stalin took pity on geriatrics like me and didn’t send them to Siberia in the winter, maybe in the spring if there’s no other choice, and she clutches her throat, gasping, we have no choice, no options, they’ve offered us a certain child now, if we refuse we lose him, we’ve already lost one child and I’m not going to let that happen again, and all the time it seems to her he’s listening to their conversation, peering at them with his lifeless eyes, and she must go back to his picture to take care of him, so he won’t lose hope, and she moves away from the bed and steadies herself against the wall, standing on the threshold and staring at the shadow of her husband’s impervious body, sharp scissors cut her from him, and thus it is decreed, tomorrow morning I’m ordering two tickets, her voice as cold as her fingers, if I have to drag you there forcibly, we’re going.
But in the morning reality arrives and kicks her with its heaviest boots, we’re going, are we? The pressures exerted by the institute don’t inspire confidence, the bogus ailments and the genuine ailments, what is really wrong with him, just how sick is he? Why did they refuse to take him? The missing documents, the delayed translations, the savings plan prematurely aborted, she needs to buy tickets and doesn’t yet know if she’s going, if he will join her. When she woke up this morning he was no longer there, and nor was Nitzan, independent and laconic the pair of them, behaving as if she hasn’t come home, only the kid was waiting for her patiently, looking at her with his penetrating eyes.
He stares straight at her, and takes her still further away from the dream, she has to remember again what she learned in the night, according to the law of love it is all one-sided, she will learn to love him as men and women over the generations have learned to love those allocated to them, for she has no choice, he’s already there, living in her computer, he has no other home. Inside the computer he is changing and developing, in the morning light his eyes are brighter, but their expression is more severe, she’s never seen such a serious child, as if the face of an adult full of years and disappointments has been transplanted on to the body of an infant.
Who are you? Your name wasn’t translated for some reason and appears only in Russian, this month two years ago you were born, three days from now will be your birthday, on the very day we’re supposed to be seeing you for the first time. Will we bond together? Will you accept a mummy and a daddy, or just a mummy if the truth be told, and a big sister, and a cat, this isn’t perfection but it’s not at all bad, I hoped things would be different but that’s no reason to throw in the towel, you should go with the flow, Nitzan says, even if the river is frozen, even if you’re liable to drown, anything’s preferable to retreat just now. And here’s Tanya from the institute, in touch again, I’m waiting for your final answer, you’ll have to present yourselves at the adoption centre three days from now and then go on to the children’s home to see the boy, and Dina finds herself trying to play for time, it’s hard to get everything sorted at such short notice, we need a few days to make arrangements for our daughter, and I’ll have to talk to my employer.
It’s Russia, Dina, not Israel, Tanya rebukes her, over there a day means a day and an hour is an hour, you’ll need to leave here tomorrow evening to be there on time, and she feels a surge of panic, tomorrow evening? We haven’t even got enough warm clothes, she imagines them stepping off the plane and turning on the spot into pillars of ice, and who will look after Nitzan, and who knows if he’ll even get on the plane, if he’ll use the ticket she’s about to order for him. It’s a short journey, Tanya tries to reassure her, you arrive, see the little boy a few times and then decide, if your decision is positive you have to go the court once more after about a month, I’ve explained the procedure to you.
Yes, it’s clear, Dina mumbles, who would have thought it would happen so quickly, in her imagination she still had time to talk Gideon round, in her imagination they sit side by side before the picture of the winsome child with the sweet smile of entreaty and hope, in her imagination they’re preparing for the journey in the early summer, Gideon happy at the thought of the new landscapes awaiting his camera, the adventure in store for them, and she confident in their love which will flourish like the love of the child, but it didn’t happen like this and she doesn’t even have time for regrets. She’ll buy the tickets and pack a case for the pair of them, if he refuses to come she’ll go without him, she has no choice, if she believes in herself she’ll believe in the boy, and if she believes in the boy nothing can stand in her way, and again she approaches the computer, who are you, little man? Suspicious, deflated, domesticated, and yet at the same time solid, upright, sturdy, what have you been through since you came into the world, what awaits you, what awaits us, together? Exhausted, she slumps over the keyboard, again her strength is draining away, again her heart is fluttering between her ribs, one moment she’s all-capable and the next she longs to go to bed and stay there for ever, but before doing this she’ll contact her brother: Avner? Listen, we have to travel to Siberia tomorrow, I don’t even know if Gideon will agree to come with me, the kid is wearing your stripy shirt and I have nothing to wear, have you got any warm clothes? Coats, hats, gloves? Can you come?
To Siberia? he’ll ask and she’ll say no, here, I need your help, and Avner, just about to leave his house, will retrace his steps, listening to her with a dry throat. Don’t worry, Dini, I’ll go to Siberia with you if Gideon won’t. I’m not letting you travel alone, and I’m not letting you bring the kid up alone, I believe in what you’re doing, I believe in love, that’s what I’ve discovered recently, I know it sounds absurd. Don’t worry, Dini, you’ve got me, you’ve got my kids, all of us together will make a family for the newcomer, and while trying to reassure her he’s rummaging in the full wardrobe that Talia left him, moving the hangers along the rails until he finds a pair of heavy-duty ski parkas, and on his way to her house with his hands full, he’s intrigued by the thought of his sister and her husband wandering around snowbound Siberia in the clothes of the dead man and his lover, short and stocky Gideon will be covered from the thighs upwards by Rafael Allon’s black parka, with Dina the winter bride in resplendent white, a baby in her arms.
On the very cusp of their deaths people cease to be mortal, with the departure of their souls they will be turned into gods, mystical heavenly knowledge will enfold them, they will drop the past from their hands and cling to the future, no more accusations and injustices, fears and regrets and sins, but th
e abstract future with its host of possibilities will reveal itself before their eyes like scores of colourful carpets set out for display all at once. From the high towers of their ending they look down, everyone who dies has a tower of his own on the hills of destiny, everyone who dies has his secret future and the future of his loved ones to the end of all generations, and she too, Hemda Horowitz, daughter of Ya’akov and Rivka, who never succeeded in drawing from her life the fullness of their qualities and their exploits, who dipped her fingers in the honeycomb only to have them come back to her dry, who was content with hints, with exegeses, with repressed longings and inexplicable joys, surely deserves now, in her last hours, the consolations and the blessings denied her all her life, yes, for the first time in her life she attains absolute knowledge, and with its power she will accompany her only daughter on her fateful journey, give her a parting gift, and over distances beyond measure she holds out a transparent hand and touches her forehead. Let me draw out all your fears, my dear daughter, I am with you, though we will never meet again, I will be with you, and since we will never meet again, I shall be where I am, a clear winter day on a snowbound slope, in the whispering vestiges of the night, on a baby’s cheek, the shadow of a bird among the pine needles, there you will catch a glimpse of me, and Dina who is resting her forehead on the window of the plane will suddenly feel the miraculous touch of the clouds surrounding her, and it seems to her this is the touch she has longed for all her life, chilling and yet consoling, enfolding but not oppressive. She’s held in the arms of the clouds like a bride led to the canopy between her father and her mother, and a sense of utter calm overwhelms her, secret and mysterious, and she gives no thought to the momentous encounter awaiting her or to her husband who’s sitting beside her with a sour look on his face, a can of beer in his hand, drinking in hostile silence. Until the last moment he didn’t let her know he was coming with her, he went out to work this morning without saying a word to her, he didn’t reply to her messages, only an hour before the time of departure he came back, stood before her pale and tense. I’ll ask you one more time to abandon this madness, he said, you’re dragging us towards disaster, and she bent down in silence over her suitcase and fastened the strap holding it together. These are the last words you’ll ever hear from me, he said, I’m going with you only as an escort. I don’t intend to speak to you ever again, I’m not interested in seeing the kid, and when we get back I’m moving out, and she dragged the suitcase to the door, thank you for escorting me, she said to him quietly.
The Remains of Love Page 40