Three Separations

by I J Shur

  Three Separations

  I. J. Shur

  Copyright © 2017 I. J. Shur

  All rights reserved; No parts of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information retrieval system, without the permission, in writing, of the author.

  Edited by Rotem Biron

  Contact: israelshurbook@gmail.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 1

  Udi opened his eyes. His wife’s snoring reverberated in his ears. He thought about turning his head to look at the clock but decided against it, knowing that if he budged, he might interrupt the remaining moments of her sleep. So he remained there, lying on his back for one more lengthy moment, satisfied to commune with himself before deciding which way to move. His brain began to churn at breakneck speed. He wanted to throw off the blanket and jump out of bed, but he knew that if he did, he’d get yelled at for being inconsiderate. He turned his head carefully in the direction of the clock and was happy to see that it was still fairly early. His wife let out a brief grunting snore and turned her back to him.

  We haven’t made love for over a month. His hand reached out to stroke her back, and he immediately snatched it back. I could just stroke her all the way down to her bottom—but no! He turned his back. She’d find a way to divert him from his morning mission. He knew that. She’s my wife! Anger surged through him, and he shrugged his shoulders helplessly. His jaw tightened. Despite training himself to behave properly in the bedroom, he felt as if his entire life depended on not making a sound.

  Her repeated refusals of his sexual advances had brought him to this point. He hoped that the conversations with himself might succeed in producing the right knock on her apparently locked gates. I miss your body. Don’t forget that I love you. You know I’ll never give up on you. The thought of touching her, being close to her, flesh to flesh, aroused him every time they were in bed together, but in the end, something distracted him and sent his thoughts in the opposite direction, or he would simply close his eyes and escape gratefully into sleep.

  That morning he slowly pulled the blanket down and sat up in bed.

  “Don’t forget to turn off the alarm. The children are still asleep.”

  The familiar sentence was repeated each morning by reflex, as if his day could not start without it. “Good morning, dear” were the words he yearned to hear her say.

  Giving up the fight with a sigh, he rose from the bed, closed the bathroom door behind him, and looked at the face that stared back at him from the mirror. Black stubble decorated his cheeks. He flashed a bitter smile, shaved, and rubbed his hands over his now-smooth cheeks, deeply inhaling the smell of the aftershave he so loved.

  Leaving the bathroom, he headed for the front door, as he always did. A pleasant breeze cooled his face as he opened it. The whispering of the leaves in the nearby tree and the insistent chirping of the two little warblers made his heart swell for a moment, and he smiled ironically at the blue heavens for one long minute before he turned around again and shut the door behind him.

  “Are you making coffee?” she asked.

  The preparation of coffee was representative of the huge differences between them. She preferred it in a clear glass cup, he in a mug, she with a spoonful of sugar, and he with Sweet’N Low. She liked instant coffee, and he enjoyed the old-fashioned, real coffee. He liked it with boiling water but she with lukewarm, his with cream and hers with skimmed milk.

  He prepared two pieces of toast for himself and generously spread them with avocado, sprinkled some sea salt on top, and added a few drops of lemon juice. Just as he was about to take his first bite, his wife reached out and swiped the second piece for herself.

  “Thanks for thinking of me,” she said victoriously.

  Anger swept over him again. When was the last time you offered me breakfast or coffee?

  “You could have said you wanted something, and I’d have made you an extra piece.”

  “You could’ve asked,” she immediately snapped back.

  I’m wrong again! He buried himself in the newspaper.

  “What’s your day like?” Her voice took on its usual monotone, somewhere along the fine line between the obligation to ask and total disinterest.

  “I’m a little tense about a meeting with a new client.” He tried to lure her into asking another question.

  “Good luck!” she replied tersely. “When will you be back?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He washed an apple, filled a bottle with water, collected a document that he’d printed the previous evening, and headed toward the front door.

  “At the beginning of the week, you promised the kids that you would make Shabbat dinner. Can we count on that?” She banged a dish into the dishwasher.

  “I promised, didn’t I? So there’s no reason to ask.” He hid his hurt at her lack of confidence.

  “I’m going shopping this evening, and I wanted to know if I need to buy stuff for Friday’s dinner—or are we leaving it all up to you?”

  “I’ll get the food and I’ll cook,” he said between clenched teeth, knowing that murky waters would yet flow through the r
iver that was this upcoming meal. Should I kiss her? Should I not bother? He turned toward the door.

  “We don’t leave here without a kiss!” she said from behind his back. He kissed her perfunctorily, then turned and went on his way.

  Outside, a small pile of leaves, emboldened by the wind, approached him, arranging themselves in a fan-like shape at his feet. I’m happy for you too! He was careful not to step on them as he opened the car door. The silent womb of the car enfolded him. He could not hear a soul, and nobody could hear him. Now he was in total control. For a long moment, with closed eyes, he tried to silence his thoughts. Shortly, the car engine would start up, the radio announcer would make strident announcements about the latest negotiations between political parties, and the first phone call of the morning would break the serenity.

  In the next moment, I will transform from the ruler of my time to being ruled by it. He thought about the upcoming meeting with Assaf, his psychologist, with relief.

  The ring of his cell phone quickened his pulse. He looked at the screen and answered the call.

  “We’re stuck in traffic.” A female voice emanated from the phone.

  “Good morning to you too,” he shot back. “Call me when you’re close. I’ll wait for you.” He hung up.

  Udi had completed his studies in civil engineering at the Technion in the late 80s. His mentor for his final project had offered him a position as a project manager dealing with domestic property construction. The prospect of joining the workforce immediately after completing his studies, and gaining some useful practical experience, seemed like a good idea. Udi had thought it over for a long time, but in the end, he’d decided against the idea of sitting in an office in front of a computer screen all day. Finally, he thanked his mentor for his kind offer and told him that he’d have to reject it.

  Although he’d never been very good at mathematics, he decided to study engineering, and he was accepted at the Technion. At the end of his first semester, when he was 27 years old, he’d been married to Varda for a year, and he was contemplating leaving his studies.

  Subjects like physics, mathematics, and statistics were very difficult for him. Calculating loads and endless formulas damaged his self-confidence and left him feeling inadequate and fearful. He lost his appetite and had problems falling asleep. At the end of the first semester, right before exams, Udi told Varda that he was quitting school and looking for another subject that he might feel a connection with. Varda recommended he have a conversation with his parents before making a final decision.

  When he met with his parents at a coffee shop in town, Udi was choked with emotion as he told them, in a cracked voice, what was going on. He stared into his father’s eyes, expecting to receive some empathy and support.

  “Do what you think is best. I can’t watch you suffer like this.” Udi’s mother’s eyes brimmed with tears. “If it’s so difficult for you, have a talk with the head of your department and leave.”

  “And then what?” His father cut her off, looking at Udi with a keen gaze. “So what if it’s hard for you? Difficulty is not a reason to stop doing anything. Difficulty develops a competitive spirit. If it’s hard for you, deal with it!”

  “You don’t understand anything,” Udi said weakly. He wanted to say more but was choked with tears.

  His father placed his hand on Udi’s trembling shoulder and said, “Until they actually ask you to leave, don’t go. Finish up your first year, and we’ll talk again when it’s over.”

  Udi became one of the most diligent students in the class, and he finished his degree with excellent grades. The discussion with his father had happened at a very traumatic time, but he had never forgotten it. It was this conversation that burned a phrase into his consciousness: It’s not over till it’s over. When he began his engineering studies, he didn’t really believe he’d complete them. When he was called to receive his diploma, none of it mattered anymore.

  He accepted an offer to be a site manager for various construction sites belonging to a property developer. Over the next two years, he became proficient at managing negotiations between contractors and purchasers. He learned how to provide people with well-priced, good-quality homes. At night, he would meet with potential buyers, and in the early morning hours, he’d meet with the contractors. That way he was able to pick up on all the small defects that may have been missed and keep his customers happy. His actions did not go unnoticed by the owner, and before long, he passed on management of the company to Udi. After two more years of strenuous work, Udi’s request for a raise was rejected and he was fired from his job.

  He decided that it was time for him to open his own company, to find old properties, renovate them, and return them to market while maximizing profits after upgrading them. Years after he was fired, the owner of Udi’s previous company tried to compete with him in every way possible.

  That morning, Udi had made an appointment to meet with a couple who owned an old property. They’d advertised the details in the newspaper and asked for someone who was interested in renovating it.

  Udi called the number on the advert. “I’ll buy the property or—if you prefer—we can do it together. We’ll be partners in the venture.”

  The property location and size made it an attractive proposition. Udi hoped to convince them to sign the contract.

  The couple was late for the appointment. Udi was already on his second coffee, trying to repress his frustrating thoughts. Time is time, he thought. If we set a time for a meeting, everybody ought to do their utmost in order to be on time, even if they need to leave earlier.

  He would never dare to be late for a first appointment with a new client, and if he, God forbid, were ever in such a situation, he would call and apologize. As he slowly fanned the flames of his anger over the lost time that he was wasting, the couple called and the woman apologized.

  “Sorry. We’re caught up in traffic,” she said.

  Udi choked back a sarcastic comment and replied that he was waiting patiently. An hour and a half had passed when the couple finally arrived at the coffee shop, but they would never have known from his face that he was anything other than relaxed. The woman hurried to shake his hand and to apologize for their lateness.

  “Son of a… Terrible traffic!” The husband was more agitated.

  Udi knew that he needed to start talking about a potential business deal only after they were feeling relaxed, but the time he had spent waiting had taken its toll, and he had no patience for strategies.

  “Here’s the coffee. Are you happy to start?” He didn’t wait for their reply and was about to go on to the first point, but a phone call cut him short. He apologized and answered the call.

  “Hello. My name is Rona, and I need a minute of your time.” The voice was strong and energetic.

  Salespeople begging me to buy something from them. They show no respect for your business, they don’t even try to find out what kind of situation you’re in, and they shoot their spiel from the hip. Udi hurried to cut the conversation short and asked her to call him back in an hour.

  The husband hadn’t stopped complaining about the service, the quality of the coffee, how long it had taken them to bring it, and how hot it was. Udi was fed up. “Let’s do this another time,” he said aggressively.

  The husband gestured for Udi to continue, but he didn’t feel that he had their undivided attention.

  “I apologize,” he said. “I need to be somewhere else.”

  The woman sat up straight and said in a pleading tone, “But we’re here now. Can’t we carry on?”

  Udi stood up. “I’ll call you to set a new appointment.”

  The husband stood and said in a quiet but steady voice, “No! Let’s carry on if you don’t mind. We’ve come a long way.”

  Udi knew that he had aroused the husband’s curiosity, but that wasn’t his intention, and he really wanted to leave.
Now I have this man’s attention and I’m keeping it!

  For the next half hour, Udi presented the business proposition. When he finished speaking, he leaned back and said, “That’s it! Any questions? The ball’s in your court now.”

  He looked steadily into the man’s eyes, and then turned his gaze to the woman. She rocked uncomfortably, staring away from him.

  “We’ll think about it and we’ll let you know,” said the husband, who stayed seated, inviting the discussion to continue.

  “Great! Well, you’ve already come this far, so what do you have to think about? I’m here, and I’d be happy to answer any questions you both might have.”

  Udi went to the bathroom to give the couple some time to talk about the offer and to consolidate their position. When he returned, he sat across the table from the couple.

  “Ok. We’ve had a chance to speak,” said the husband. “We’ve agreed. Everything is fine. Our lawyer will be in touch with you.”

  Udi smiled at him. The husband smiled as well, then leaned forward and shook his hand.

  Chapter 2

  An hour later, the phone rang. “You asked me to call back in an hour. Can you talk?”

  Udi had learned that most cold callers don’t even bother phoning back, but the persistent ones, he thought, the more serious ones, those were the ones he wanted to talk to.

  “Yes,” he said. “What’s it about?”

  “My name is Rona,” she said. “I’m a lawyer working for a company that specializes in providing a full range of services to real estate companies. I’ve heard about you from many people in the field, and I’d like to arrange a meeting—give you a presentation maybe?”

  Udi’s patience had been stretched to the very end of its elastic length. Closing the deal had filled him with a feeling of conquest and power. He needed some alone time to compose his thoughts and to relax.

  “I’ll be glad to meet with you,” he politely answered.

  “When?” asked Rona.

  “What suits you?” answered Udi.

  “How about tomorrow? After ten?”

  The sheer number of sales calls was enough to fill up half of his workday. There also did not seem to be a single moment in the day when he was not interacting with somebody, whether in a meeting or while giving a briefing. Every random conversation that was not allotted an appropriate window of time could disrupt his schedule. He had taught himself to be available for these types of conversations as infrequently as possible.