Liar

by Ayelet Gundar-Goshen

  Sprawled on the pavement, Avishai Milner saw the boy run off with his shoulder bag and couldn’t believe it. “Thief! Crook! Thief!!!” He managed to see him dash towards the southern part of the city before he was swallowed up in the throng of passers-by. He stood up and tried to run after him, but the boy had completely disappeared. He cried “Thief!” one more time, then stopped. Someone might hear. A crowd of people might gather. And in Avishai Milner’s situation, there was nothing more dangerous than a crowd of people.

  Only after long minutes of running southward, when he was completely convinced there was no one else around, did Lavi halt his flight and hail a taxi. The driver asked where to, and as he gave him the address Lavi checked on his mobile whether there had been any news reports of a robbery in broad daylight. Of course there hadn’t been. The news doesn’t report on bag-snatching unless an old lady is injured or a gun has been pulled. He jumped out of the taxi, left the change for the driver and burst into the alley at a run. Nofar was still there, sitting on the steps, her head buried in her hands. He restrained the urge to kiss her and settled for handing her the bag in a gesture of victory. “Here. I brought you this.” She raised her head and looked from Lavi to the bag, from the bag to Lavi. And once again, the boy discovered that there was nothing in the world as deeply blue as her eyes.

  To hide the way he trembled at her closeness, Lavi quickly turned the bag over and emptied out its contents. A wallet. Three passport pictures. Two pens. A granola bar. A mobile phone. He checked the last recording: Avishai Milner singing a new tune he had written. The previous recordings were similar: melodies, lyrics. Lavi foraged around in the bag looking for another phone, urging his fingers to find secret compartments, hidden zippers. To no avail.

  “Maybe he moved it to his trouser pocket,” he said in a worried voice. Because what other explanation could there be for the missing recording?

  Unless there had been no recording from the beginning. Nofar raised that possibility in a whisper, but something in the tone of her voice indicated that she had been turning the idea over in her mind for several minutes. “Maybe there was no recording at all. Maybe he just said there was.” She gave a precise account of that moment under the tree. How Avishai Milner had suddenly shifted from pleading to threatening. And how, despite everything, she had still felt his fear vibrating under every word he said. As if he were play-acting, wearing a frightening mask. From moment to moment, the knowledge solidified in her mind. “There was no recording. He said that so I would be scared and confess.”

  Lavi breathed a sigh of relief. If that was true, everything was all right. Everything was truly wonderful. Here he was in the alley with Nofar, like they had been in the past, and she was sitting beside him, talking to him, knowing that he was willing even to snatch bags for her if she asked him to, and this wonderful girl was in no danger from that terrible person. But a quick glance at Nofar’s face made it clear to Lavi that, for some reason, it wasn’t enough. Although the threat of the recording had been removed, her eyes still looked haunted. Maybe because, unlike Lavi, she wasn’t entirely sure who the terrible person in the alley was. Was it that man who had fallen to his knees in front of her, who had lied to her in the hope it would finally prove his innocence, or was it her? And no matter how grateful she was to Lavi, who had put himself at such risk for her, she couldn’t help wondering what would have happened if he hadn’t returned with the phone.

  Nofar didn’t feel her body begin to tremble, she only heard the sound of her teeth chattering, and the sound seemed to be coming from someone else’s body. For another minute she thought about Avishai Milner kneeling before her, pleading for his life, and the next minute she stood up and ran, leaving Lavi to wallow in his misery alone in the shade of the orange tree.

  48

  EARLY ON SUNDAY EVENINGS, the city’s residents go to the park to run. Nofar stood out from the crowd. Not only because of her jeans and the backpack on her shoulder: it was something in her face. Runners have a goal – the fifth kilometre or the fortieth minute, whereas people running away from something don’t care where they’re going as long as it’s far away. Nofar was running like a person fleeing. No wonder, then, that people turned to see whether someone was chasing her. But the person she was running from was the one running right there, in the park, wearing jeans and carrying a backpack whose weight she didn’t even feel. She had been running from the moment she left the alley, along the bustling street, over the bridge, then through the park, and despite the pain in her sides, she kept running because that pain could not compare to the pain of Avishai Milner’s pleas beating against her eardrums.

  Finally she stopped and gulped down huge breaths of air. The park smelt fresh and green, but inside her was the charred odour that had come down from the roof with her the night before. Still panting, she took Avishai Milner’s phone out of the pocket of her jeans. Maybe she should get rid of it, she thought suddenly, after all, anyone using sufficiently modern techniques to search for it could locate it and find her. But she knew very well that no one would find her. No one would look for her. And though that knowledge should have reassured her, for some reason it only frightened her more.

  With a trembling finger, she wandered through the contents of the stolen phone. Why did moms always ask the same questions: are you coming for dinner tonight? Why don’t you call? Should I bake that cake you like? There was a message from his grandmother too, terribly long and full of typos. Be strong, my boy, we’re all behind you, all you need is hope and faithh and we’ll wait until the storm passes. Granspa sends his regards, when are you conimg to visit. There was a message from Ronen the psychiatrist about the prescription for Clonex left in the clinic for him, and a message from Adido asking if he felt like babysitting Gali. And another message from Adido with a picture of Gali, and another one saying that even if he didn’t feel like babysitting his niece, she still wanted him to call. She was worried about him, she hoped he was able to sleep and he was eating something, sorry she sounded like Mom.

  Nofar stopped looking at the phone. Reading his messages didn’t make her feel better. But a moment later she reached out again, almost against her will. The girl in that picture had to be Adido, she had a nice smile, and there was Gali again, Avishai Milner was swinging her in the air, you could see she was a bit heavy for him but he made the effort. There were also pictures taken at the Dead Sea, everyone’s face covered in mud, she could barely recognize him but she recognized Gali easily. Most of the pictures were of Avishai Milner hugging his dog. He had a small brown dog with folded ears.

  49

  HE WAITED IN THE ALLEY until the sun set and everything lost its shape and colour. The sounds of cars and people came from the street. His mother had already called three times. Laundry was hanging on the floor above him, the socks dripping on his head, and he didn’t move. The alley cats rubbed lightly against his legs and went on their way. Lavi Maimon remained sitting.

  She’ll come back. She has to come back. Now that she knows what he’s ready to do for her, she’ll surely forgive him for that picture of Maya. But the hours passed. His limbs ached from sitting so long. He heard the sound of her steps in every passing noise. She’d be there any minute now and thank him for the bag he snatched from Avishai Milner in order to protect her. How did you manage to get it? I ran as fast as I could. You can run that fast? That fast, for you. And when you finally caught up with him, how did you get hold of the bag? I did some hand-to-hand combat moves on him. He almost beat me, but I fought like a lion, he had an iron bar in his hand, or a large knife, or a gun, and I had nothing, the whole street stopped to look at us, and the falafel guy called the police, but they were afraid to step in, they saw us reach the fountain, trying to drown each other, the water was red with his blood, but in that blood I remembered – what did you remember? – the apricots of your laughter – I don’t understand – but I do, and I want you to know that it was only because of your apricots. When he escaped to the roof of the talle
st building, I ran up the stairs after him to the twentieth floor, and there, on the roof, we kept fighting, right on the edge, and I wasn’t afraid I’d fall, it wasn’t falling I was afraid of, I was only afraid that I’d return to the alley and you wouldn’t be there.

  A figure moved in the darkness. Lavi leapt up with joy. A homeless guy appeared in the passageway between the buildings and urinated in the bushes. Lavi watched him as he stumbled on his way, muttering incoherently. The alley reeked of disappointment and urine. He kept hearing the sound of her steps in the night noises, but it was actually the sounds of her absence.

  He trudged up the stairs to his apartment, every step up a step down. He opened the door. His father was sitting in front of the news, arguing loudly with the analyst on the screen. His mother was putting on her make-up in preparation for her Pilates class. Where were you, she asked. What a load of crap! his father thundered at the analyst. Why didn’t you answer your phone, his mother asked, national irresponsibility! his father griped. You’re not planning to answer me? I have nothing to say. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, because I’m in a hurry now, his mother said. Lavi went to his room and closed the door. Fifty owls were hanging from the ceiling.

  The knock on the door came two hours later. From where he was sitting on the couch his father roared, “Who is it?” and Lavi, who heard the knock and the roar, ran out of his room faster than any of the soldiers in the elite combat unit had ever run. A delivery boy who had come to the wrong door. A member of the boy scouts asking for donations to help the hearing-impaired. A package of women’s clothes ordered from China. As long as the door was closed, all options were open. He stood there for another moment before he grasped the handle.

  When he opened the door, all fifty of the owls took off at once. In the neon light of the corridor he could see that she had been crying. Her face was red and swollen, but to Lavi she looked like a wonderful grapefruit. Avishai Milner’s phone was in her hands. There was something in the way she stood that made Lavi hesitate.

  “A bunch of nothings!” Arieh Maimon shouted, pressing the remote with a strong hand, and the news analysts on one channel were instantly replaced by news analysts on another. Like their predecessors, these too spoke with total confidence, and Lavi tried to adopt some of that confidence for himself as he took her hand and said, “Come in!”

  He pulled her to his room, skipping over the formal introduction – Dad, this is Nofar. Nofar, this is my dad – perhaps because he didn’t exactly know how to introduce her, what she was for him, what he was for her. Dad, this is Nofar. She was the reason I stole a bag from someone in the middle of the street, I would have killed him if she’d asked me to. She’s the reason I screwed up on the maths exam, because I multiplied everything by her. But I can tell you exactly where every freckle on her face is located, and that’s just as important as solving an equation with two unknowns. And I can tell you that the thing she’s doing with her hands, running them through her hair and then pulling it out, is something she’s never done before.

  As Lavi was still pulling Nofar to his room, Arieh Maimon turned to look at the girl. What could he say, she was definitely cute. Plump and pleasant. A bit swollen from crying, but the Lieutenant-Colonel had already seen enough crying clerks in the army to know that he had to subtract the miserable expression on their faces from the final calculation. The door closed and Arieh Maimon turned back to the analysts on the screen. To their utter surprise, he winked affectionately at them.

  On the other side of the door, the girl and the boy were face to face. Where were you, in the park, what were you doing in the park, running away, so why did you come back, to show you his phone, look at the pictures, and you’re saying that this changes things, I’m not saying anything, but I hoped you’d say something, what should I say, tell me to stop, stop, you’ll pull out all your hair, I’m not talking about my hair.

  She was quiet for a moment, and then she told him about the roof. At first he could really see her there, with the lighter and the notebook, could see the street stretched out below, and goose pimples rose on his skin. She didn’t notice that, told him about what her mom said she should do. Talking about her mother, she was very embarrassed, as if more than anything else she was ashamed for her mother. Lavi, who knew exactly what being ashamed for your mother meant, wanted to touch her, but he wasn’t sure it was allowed. He saw her fingers reaching out for her hair again and again. When had that habit been born? Before burning the notebook or after? He didn’t know. He’d been without her for too many days. And if Avishai Milner hadn’t appeared in the alley that day, she wouldn’t be speaking to him now either. When you think about it, he owed him everything.

  That movement again, the fingers reaching for her scalp, and this time Lavi couldn’t restrain himself, he reached out to stop her. Nofar was surprised to discover how much she remembered his hands, despite all the days that had passed. Here were his fingers, so familiar, which only a few weeks ago had cupped her breasts for the first time, but they had been very warm then and now they were almost frozen. Here was his scent, which she had inhaled from his neck during those long nights and had inhaled from her memory since they’d been apart. Maybe the smell of him would help her finally forget the scorched odour that had been with her since she came down from the roof.

  But the smell of the fire was still there. She began to think it would be part of her for ever. Avishai Milner would stick to her the way leftover rice sticks to the bottom of a pot. You can’t remove it. His face, when he fell to his knees in the alley. The desperate way he spoke. Lavi saw Nofar’s eyes fill with tears. They were sitting on his bed, both silent, and in that silence he told her that he couldn’t help her now. That he had no intention of making her confess for real. Because if there’s no secret, there’s no blackmail, and without the blackmail he was afraid he wouldn’t know how to speak to her. That thought gave him chills. And it’s no wonder he reacted that way: love is a very delicate thing, the truth can trample it like a hippopotamus running wild.

  And yet, when he saw her crying like that, sobbing on his shoulder (the girl’s sobbing could be heard clearly in the living room, and Lieutenant-Colonel Arieh Maimon interpreted it his way, and swelled with pride), and yet, when he saw her crying like that, Lavi’s entire body trembled. “I have to tell them,” she said, “but I can’t.” Her body was wracked with sobs once again, and this time she put her head in her hands, pulling at a clump of her hair as if she were about to wrench it out. Lavi couldn’t bear to see her sobbing any longer. The ends of her hair were wound around her long fingers, her entire body shook on the bed. And before he realized what he was doing, he heard himself say, “You have to tell them tomorrow. Or I’ll tell them myself.”

  50

  AREH’LE WANTED THEM to go to his wife’s grave to tell her they were moving in together. It wasn’t to ask permission, he said, only to tell her, so she wouldn’t have to hear it from someone else. Raymonde wore her nicest clothes, the way she had when she went to meet Victor’s mother for the first time, put on her eye make-up and her lipstick, and even wound Rivka’s pashmina scarf around her neck. Areh’le didn’t speak much on the way to the cemetery, and Raymonde thought he must be thinking about his wife. “She’d be happy to know you’re from Theresienstadt too,” he said suddenly, “she always said that the greatest victory over them is that we continue to love. And look, you and I are continuing.” Raymonde said nothing, Rivka’s light scarf as heavy as a rope around her neck.

  When they reached the cemetery, the clouds dispersed and the sun tanned the white headstones. Areh’le told her that it had rained constantly on the day of the funeral, and even though, sometimes, rain at funerals adds a kind of sad festivity – even the skies are weeping – on that day it didn’t seem as if the skies were weeping, it seemed as if someone had flushed a toilet and flooded everything all at once. When Esther was lowered into the grave, everyone stood there in rain-soaked shoes, and Areh’le knew that was what they’d remember
about her funeral, not her death but their freezing feet, because no matter how sad and terrible death is, there’s nothing more alive than a damp foot inside a wet sock.

  Raymonde let the sun warm her. She wanted Areh’le to stop talking about wet feet and about Esther, so she suggested that they take a little stroll on the boulevard. They walked with the sort of silence that follows a visit to a cemetery, and sat down in a park. Filipino carers were pushing wheelchairs, not a pleasant sight. Look at that, Rivka, Areh’le said, in this city they separate the old people from the young ones with a wall of people from another country. They bring them especially from the Philippines because the young people here don’t like to look at the faces of old people like us. It reminds them of what’s in store for them. And old people like us don’t like to look at the faces of young people because it reminds us of what we will never have again. Only really small children, the ones too young to understand how young they are, only they still smile with their smooth faces at our wrinkled ones.

  Raymonde covered her head with Rivka’s scarf. She looked like Jacqueline Kennedy now. They stopped near a murky pond with goldfish in it. The sun hid behind the clouds once again, and Areh’le took off his jacket and put it around her shoulders. “Those little children, when they taste their first kiss, you and I will be tasting the dust of the grave. But listen Rivka, the children know that childhood is eternity, and we know that childhood is fleeting, and we are both completely right, because time lies to all of us.”