by I J Shur
Rona’s question was still hanging in the air.
“I go out with my friends on Fridays,” he said. “We usually meet somewhere at nine. At ten, I’ll meet you. I have a property that isn’t occupied at the moment. It’s located on the edge of Oleander Square. Do you know it?”
Rona nodded.
“I don’t know if I’ll have the courage to show up,” he said. “But from the way things look now, you’ll be there.”
“My darling,” she said. “You’d better be there! I don’t want to take a chance like that only to get there and find that you’ve chickened out.”
Udi admired her tenacity and may have even been a bit jealous. “I hope that I have the balls to show up,” he said hesitatingly. What’s this power that she has? Is she bewitching me?
“Have a beautiful weekend,” he said as he got out of her car.
Chapter 9
Udi’s workweek went by quickly and uneventfully. Once every two weeks, on Mondays, Udi would meet Assaf, a psychologist and an organizational consultant, a meeting that he anticipated greatly for the relief it always gave him.
Once, at the beginning of their relationship, Assaf had explained his own history: He’d begun his career as an organizational consultant for government organizations, but as time went on, he became more and more drawn to couples’ therapy and family therapy and had become somewhat of an expert in the field. He left a large family business, which he had managed for many successful years, to pursue counseling. Guidance and counseling fascinated him. His direct approach, and the setting of goals that were borrowed from the business world, made his sessions with patients fascinating and productive.
Assaf received Udi with a wide smile and made coffee for both of them. “Don’t worry,” he said to Udi, who seemed a bit contemplative. “We don’t have a breakthrough in each and every session, you know. There may even be some things that are happening that you don’t share with me, and that’s okay. Just live with it for a while, and let me know about it when you’re ready.”
This guy is amazing! thought Udi. How he reads me.
They talked about the previous week, about Udi’s relationships with his children, about the tension with Varda, and about his confused feelings about his father’s condition. Udi wasn’t ready to bring up Rona. They parted with a hug. Assaf thought that it was appropriate to end their meetings with a hug, and it became a regular thing. They planned on meeting again in two weeks’ time.
Udi’s appointments, with enough time scheduled between them, were neatly listed in the day planner that sat on the dashboard of his car. He usually allotted two hours to each meeting. That allowed him to have enough time to get to the next one on time and find the person he was meeting with (whom he had often never met before). It allowed him some time to wait in case the other person was late, for small talk, for the meeting itself, and for wrapping things up.
Udi felt that it wasn’t good to leave too little time for a meeting; not enough can be accomplished during short meetings, and in the end, you have to schedule another one in order to finish up the business from the first one. Udi had learned that for business meetings in which the desired result was a sale, and in which there was a need to gain the other person’s trust, it was important to allow others time to talk about themselves until they started to repeat information. By then it was necessary to politely cut the person short and get to the point.
In his experience, when you asked people what they most wanted to talk about with a good conversation partner, it would always become clear that people wanted to talk about themselves—the person’s background and social standing made no difference. Everybody wants somebody who will listen. The more a person talks about himself or herself, the more this conversation partner learns, and their relationship deepens. Thus, when having a business conversation, Udi was sure to find out details that could become important tools.
Udi made sure he never scheduled more than four or five meetings a day. He divided the remaining time between his various properties and a focused meeting in his office to summarize the day, sending off summaries of the proceedings and tracking the progress of the topics being dealt with. His days were so planned so tightly that if a meeting were canceled and one or two hours opened up, he felt as if he’d just won the lottery.
So this time, when two consecutive meetings were canceled, he found himself going to visit Victor Orkavi, his old friend, at a small ranch hidden in the orchards of the Sharon Valley. Udi first met Victor in the Sinai when he had been the army intelligence officer of his division and Victor had been the communications officer. The many hours that they’d spent in each other’s company, and the experiences they’d shared, had tied them together to the extent that even death would have to think twice before separating them.
Victor kept two Arabian horses at his ranch. The mother was a purebred Egyptian Arabian horse, as white as snow, and her daughter was a brown filly, a little smaller but of perfect proportions. The filly’s round, muscular flanks and her straight back showed that no man had ridden her until she had matured.
Victor was always waiting with a pot of coffee, the wonderfully spicy smell of coriander wafting from it and wrapping itself around Udi’s senses. Small glass coffee cups were rinsed in the time-honored way: using a thumb to swish a little water around in them.
Chapter 10
Victor and Udi walked into the barn. The horses looked at them and then turned their faces to the corner so that their flanks faced the men, as if to say, “If you get too close to us, we’re going to kick you back to your coffee.” Victor confidently strode toward them and walked between them as if the word “fear” did not exist in his vocabulary. He held onto the bridles around their heads, hugging, stroking, and kissing the horses, talking to them and leading them to the center of the yard. He offered the head of the white mother to Udi. He then brushed the horse’s skin, removing the remnants of dried sweat. Afterward, he held on to the hoof pick and attended to cleaning the horse’s feet. One by one, he lifted her feet and cleaned out all of the dirt and mud and small stones that might hurt later on when they galloped toward the horizon. When he lifted the hind legs, he made sure to stretch them to the rear so that if the horse decided to kick, she’d have to move her leg forward first.
The horse nuzzled its wet nose into Udi’s back, widening its nostrils and sniffing noisily. Udi petted her forehead and her cheeks, gaining her trust before mounting her. He took a small blanket from the barn fence, placed it on the horse’s back, and straightened it. He didn’t want her to feel any discomfort. After that, he took a wide, American-style saddle and placed it on her back, moving it closer to her prominent withers, and prepared to tighten the girth. The horse did not like the pressure of the girth and filled her stomach with air. With small, soft taps, he got her to slowly exhale, and when she did, he hurried to tighten the girth. He placed the bit into the animal’s mouth, threw the reins over her back, placed his left foot in the stirrup, and, spreading his legs wide, mounted her. In one moment Udi’s total perspective changed. He had been on the ground, and then he looked at everything from above. What a different perspective this is! It’s so important to change both the view and your point of view.
Despite the horse’s desire to burst forward, Udi held her back, knowing that if he did not set some boundaries at the beginning of the ride, he might find himself holding her in check for the next two hours, until his muscles ached. Victor’s horse was so hot, that instead of going directly to the trail, she danced sideways in tiny steps, and before a half hour had passed, she was dripping with sweat. A white foam covered her neck and bubbled from her mouth. Although Udi rode the mother, the calmer one, the daughter’s discomfort caused the mother to tense; she shook her head and pulled on the bit.
After an hour had passed, they arrived at their usual rest area on the banks of the Alexander River. Victor took a small knapsack from the saddle, and they sat down
on a long wooden bench. He took an old coffee thermos from the bag. Its black lid was stained with so many layers of coffee that it had lost its original color. He also removed a rupta of gat leaves, tied with a rubber band, and finally, a small cloth bag tied with a white thread.
Victor poured coffee for Udi and himself and then he selected the smallest and brightest leaves from the top of each branch in the rupta. He crushed them in his fingers, rolled them into a ball, and stuck them deep into his mouth. His right cheek appeared to be pregnant, as if he had thrust a ping-pong ball between his jaw and his cheek. He went through the leaf-preparing ritual again, and then thrust his hand toward Udi, who imitated his friend’s actions.
Udi had never understood the softened stare, the glazed eyes staring into infinity while Victor chewed the leaves. The flavor of the leaves was neutral at best. A small muscle jumped in Victor’s temple as he chewed, a testament to the years of chewing. He opened the cloth sack, removed a small nylon packet, and dissected a cigarette, spreading the tobacco onto a piece of newspaper. He added some of the dried leaves from the small packet, placed the mixture onto the emptied cigarette paper, rolled it up, and tightened it with circular motions. After that, he cut off the filter and inserted a small piece of rolled up cardboard that he had ripped from the cigarette pack. He looked with satisfaction at the joint and then lit it, taking a long drag and filling his lungs with smoke, holding it in for a lengthy moment. He repeated his actions twice, and then offered some to Udi.
“No thanks,” Udi replied. “How are things at home?” He was sad to hear Victor’s sigh.
“My wife is still sleeping in our daughter’s bedroom, and I’ve been alone in my bed for over five years already. She doesn’t want me to leave home and she doesn’t want to leave either, but she spends most of her time on the sofa like she’s…a piece of furniture. It’s like having an extra vase in the living room.”
“So you aren’t even getting a little hug once in a while, a little bit of warmth?”
“Are you sure that you want to hear about this?” Victor asked.
Udi nodded.
“Every Friday I take my car and drive it down near the old bus station. I always have a few bucks in my pocket, you know, and so I manage to find someone on some street corner somewhere and remind myself that I’m a man—a little bit of a wet rag but still functioning.”
“I didn’t realize the situation was so bad… And do you at least go somewhere to do it, some fleabag motel, so that you can show a little affection?” Udi sipped his coffee.
Victor shrugged. “There’s a Ghanaian woman named Jemima who I know. Whenever she kicks her husband out of the house because he’s drunk and cursing her, she calls me and I come over. She usually has some scotch or vodka around. It goes well with the soup that I eat at her place. The good thing about her is that there’s a lot of her. She’s huge! So sometimes it’s hard to find the right ‘direction,’ especially after a few shots, but she always makes me feel good.” Victor cupped his chin in his hand. “She strokes my head and calls me her hero.”
Udi knew there was no point in asking Victor all sorts of questions that would just end up making him feel bad. He was sad that his friend was having such a rough time. For a moment, he thought about Rona. Why don’t I have a little romance on the side? Am I open to it? Do I want to have an affair?
“How about you?” Victor interrupted Udi’s thoughts. “Do you have somebody?”
“I don’t really know,” said Udi. “I mean, no, I don’t have anyone.” He hurried to correct his vague reply. “But there is someone who has crept into my heart and shattered my world.”
“Tell me more!” Victor’s eyes opened in surprise. “Don’t forget that you’re sitting with a Yemenite man who didn’t graduate from high school.”
Udi smiled wryly. “I met someone, we spoke a couple of times, and that’s it, but I find myself thinking about her… Let’s go back,” he said.
They got back on the horses, and at a canter, they made their way to the stable. A little over half a mile from the feeding trough, they slowed down the pace to a trot.
The horses shook their bodies until the droplets of sweat vaporized and were carried away by the cool evening air.
“Let’s meet more often,” Udi said to Victor.
“If you had more time for me, I’d sit with you all day long.” Victor smiled. “We always start a conversation, and by the time we see each other again, we forget what we were talking about.”
Udi pondered aloud. “We don’t have any continuity. I’d like to hear next week about what’s going on with you, and if you insist, I’ll let you know what’s going on with me too. Something about the silence of the surroundings and the pace of the riding takes my thoughts to places they don’t usually go.”
“The coffee and the horses are on me,” said Victor. “Just bring your white ass over here whenever you can.”
Chapter 11
Fridays were his favorite days. The evening hours felt like the beginning of his weekend, and at night came the weekly meetings with his friends in a little smoke-filled club. At nine o’clock, his friend Moshe arrived, and they grabbed a place in the center of the club. Their backs were to the wall, and they had a wide-angle view that enabled them to follow everything that was going on.
There was an old wooden piano in the corner of the club, and on the stool next to the piano, one could usually find bearded Daniel on Friday nights. He was a local boy who lived a few towns away. He was usually surrounded by a crowd of women, long past their prime. They came to the club each Friday, heavily made up, the open necks of their shirts generously showing off cleavage and inviting onlookers to take a peek at what was once a masterpiece of nature.
Daniel and his women traded glances, heavy with nostalgia, and sang their hearts out. It moved Udi to see how they remembered all the words of the golden oldies they sang—patriotic songs and old rock-and-roll classics. As time went on, they also sang some more modern stuff, but they always went back to the old classic love songs and ballads.
Moshe was a real estate appraiser. Udi thought of him as a nice guy who got married very young to a woman from a well-to-do family. He saw how he had become sucked into a powerful family that owned a lot of properties that had been in the family for generations. This family of farmers did not accept the educated young man. Since his marriage, he was seen as a foreign element inside their closed group. Very quickly he found himself isolated within the large family, and once that happened, he began spending his evenings at local clubs. Udi knew that if anyone needed to get out of the house and spend a few hours in the company of a good friend, Moshe was always willing and able.
A young waitress with a spotty face, bad body odor, and perky tits and wearing a black apron approached the men, whipped out a small notepad, and asked what everyone wanted to drink. Udi asked for a pint of draft beer, and Moshe, as usual, went for a bottle of Budweiser. Udi ordered a platter of chicken wings and fries.
The beer soon arrived, topped with a white foam. Immediately afterward, a plate arrived with perfectly done fries and crunchy and juicy chicken wings. Udi and Moshe toasted each other, bringing the glass and the bottle together with a ringing sound.
Udi’s phone, in vibrate mode, rattled on the table. The name “Rona” flashed across the screen. Her text message said, I hope you’re close by. I am not waiting for you for too long. It’s dark here and not the coolest place to hang out.
He responded, In my rosiest dreams I didn’t dare imagine that you’d actually show up. I’ll be there in twelve minutes.
Udi flashed an apologetic glance at Moshe. “I got a call from home…”
He threw some money onto the table. In a few moments, he’d be in his car racing toward her. What will I do when we meet? Will we talk? Hug? Go upstairs to the apartment? Sit on the edge of the sofa and feel excited about our meeting? She’s so decisive; she’s tak
ing such a chance. Does she know what she wants? Does she know what she’s doing to me? How could I have left Moshe at the club by himself? How could I have dismissed him with a white lie? Is that how an affair begins? How many lies will I need to make up on this path that I stroll down like a blind man?
Udi parked a safe distance from Rona, who sat, waiting, in her car. He got out of his car, took a hurried look around, and quickly walked in the direction of the apartment. Rona followed. With trembling hands, he fumbled with the key until he found the lock, and then opened the door wide. He pushed Rona inside and locked the door.
Udi’s body shook. He approached her, and she wrapped her arms around him. Udi pressed her to his chest, hard, his arms enveloping her. He buried his nose in her thicket of hair. Her body heat and intoxicating smell made him tremble for several moments.
With cautious fingers, he slowly opened the top button of her shirt.
“Also the next one,” she whispered.
He took off her shirt and her bra, and then took off his own shirt.
He pressed his chest against her breasts, his excitement knowing no bounds. Rona looked into his eyes, and the edges of her lips curled upward and trembled slightly. He heard waves crashing in his ears. Warm currents surged through him, and he was exhilarated by the smell of her body.
Udi remembered the cries of Joshua to the Canaanite kings—“ Sun, stand still over Gibeon, and you, moon, over the Valley of Aijalon.” And all that he desired at that moment was to freeze time, like Joshua, and make it stand still until morning.