Love Conquers All

by Galia Albin

  Chapter 28

  A day after the funeral, Ditty went to London to gather the kids. The dryer Jonathan had bought on their last day together, the nursery equipment, the food in the freezer, the bedding and Jonathan’s clothes were all given, by Talia’s order, to needy families. As they say, “Charity saves from death...”

  During the first few weeks after the Shiva, Talia seemed to walk around in a thick fog. Larry Koren summoned her for further questioning, and she reported to his office at the appointed time; she felt numb and defeated. Marcelle offered her tea in a blue plastic cup, and she did her best to ignore the warden’s repulsive smile with its missing back teeth. The stench she hadn’t forgotten seeped into the office from under the door. The officer’s blue eyes pierced her like steel rods, imparting something that she was unable, or simply refused, to grasp.

  He repeatedly accused her of lying, it was not possible, he lashed out at her, that her loving, devoted husband conducted his business away from her He was willing to listen to her version, but until she convinced him of her honesty, he would continue to grill her. “What are these pink shoes? Is this some kind of secret code?”

  “You can send one of your investigators to London to check. I remember whom I gave them to.”

  “Pink shoes, sure! Never in my life have I seen pink shoes.”

  “There are many things you have not seen in your life, Mr. Larry Koren from Wadi Rushmiya. I’m surprised you don’t suspect something was hidden in the hair dryer. At any rate, my pink shoes had flat heels.”

  He threw her a look that did not conceal his surprise and irritation. She’d hit on two touchy points: his diminutive height and his origin. “If you get fresh, you’ll spend another night in detention.” He pulled himself together and resumed his arrogant demeanor. And yet her heart told her that he was merely pretending.

  “Hire Jonathan’s lawyer,” Ditty advised her, but Mati and Rina Be’eri were on vacation in Sardinia. When she finally tracked them down in their hotel, Rina told her coldly, “Matti needs his privacy, Talia. This is his annual vacation. He works so hard all year.”

  Fearing that the rumor of her investigation would spread all over the city, Talia was reluctant to employ a new lawyer. There were already vicious rumors circulating that had originated with Aviva, her next door neighbor.

  Talia was not aware of the conspiracy that had hatched behind her back. An important newspaper was paying Aviva handsomely for every tidbit and piece of information relating to her neighbor. Without any moral scruple, the neighbor supplied the names of every person who entered Talia’s house, fattening the scoop for journalists whose beat was “The Schwarz File.”

  Talia and Aviva had been friends, at least that’s what Talia thought. She felt sisterly toward Aviva; after all, she herself was loved and cherished, while Aviva had been abandoned by her husband for the love of a younger woman. Aviva had seemed unfortunate and pathetic, living alone in a posh villa, her children having fled the nest—one to India, the other to the South America. Talia had no idea that spying from her perch at the bedroom window was Aviva’s main interest in life, as well as her source of income, most welcome since her husband had limited her credit card use.

  From time to time, Talia noticed a satisfied smile on the face of a helmeted motorcyclist sneaking out of the driveway next door. Was he the source who supplied the newspapers with photos and bits of gossip that, at best, contained only the tiniest kernel of truth? She had no idea when and by whom those pictures were taken. But photos and descriptions of her were continuously supplied to the newspapers, and this filled her with helpless rage. It was as if someone was aiming a blinding searchlight straight at her, and the invasive beam exposed her vulnerable body to the entire world. At times she felt like running after the vanishing motorcyclist and shouting, “Isn’t it enough that Jonathan was taken away from me; you, too, have to trample my privacy...”

  That morning, she was in the kitchen, feeding the kids, moving nimbly between the highchairs: a spoonful for Udi, a spoonful for Michali. It was a lovely autumn morning. The leaves on the tree in front of the kitchen window were swaying in the breeze, and Talia desperately hoped that Larry would not show up and destroy her rare moment of comfort and tranquility. It was his habit never to announce his arrival beforehand, always keeping her in nerve-wracking suspense.

  The night before, Talia had dreamed of Jonathan. It began with great anguish and had ended with a sense of elation and cleansing. The dream filled her heart with wonder—as if she had beaten Death at tug-of-war.

  Could it be that, for all the excruciating pain and the irreplaceable loss, she was actually beginning to learn how to control her fate?

  From time to time, Milly, her Moroccan cleaning lady, used to say to her, ungrammatically, “I dreamed my father.” Now, for the first time, Talia understood that quaint expression. She, too, had dreamed Jonathan. Or, maybe, she had hallucinated? She saw him sitting in an armchair in their bedroom, looking no different than usual, the expression on his face serene, slightly amused, almost familiar. “Talinka,” he said to her quietly, “You see, you are getting stronger already, just as I told you.”

  ‘I don’t want to be strong, I want you!” she sobbed, in that whining, childish voice she’d not used since Jonathan’s death.

  “But Talia, nobody is asked what they want. It’s time you realized this. You can’t change reality; you have to change yourself...”

  “I don’t want to change. I liked the way I was.”

  “But you’re changing already, you are a different person, can’t you feel it? I’m sending you strength, Talin. I am penetrating you by other means. You’re growing strong, my love...”

  “Jonathan, don’t leave me,” she cried, as she had on that horrible night. “I’m not leaving you. I’m here, with you, but in a different mode.”

  A loud thud was heard as Jenny dropped a pot lid, and Talia roused from her reverie.

  She knew that her heart was the real author of that scene in the bedroom, but it was not really important. She knew she had embarked on a new road that was leading her to an open space, where danger lurked as well as possibilities. Jonathan was inside her; “I’ll teach you everything that I did not have a chance to teach you when I was alive. I will live in you, you will continue my way, you were mine once, now you will become me...” It was Jonathan’s voice speaking, and every word reverberated inside her. She continued to hear his voice even after he had vanished into the darkness; he was absorbed into her. But was he really there with her, or was it just a phantom, a figment of her feverish mind? A product of her imagination, or rather of her belief, of her love....She had better not share these thoughts with anybody, or people will look at her askance, maintain that tragedy had affected her mind, had made her find consolation in weird beliefs. But why should she care what others thought? Another voice sounded in her mind. This is your life, and as long as you live, your love for Jonathan continues to live, because this is the only life worth living.

  The doorbell rang, and there stood police investigator Larry Koren, short but with strikingly handsome features. The mere sight of him emptied Talia’s lungs of air. She continued to feed Michali, as if there was nothing unusual about the presence of a uniformed policeman in her house.

  No, Jonathan was wrong. She was not strong. She felt her throat constrict. Her eyes filled with tears.

  “I don’t feel well. I need air,” she whispered.

  “I heard you. Come on, let’s go.”

  “I told you, I’m not feeling well. Leave me alone.”

  “That’s impossible, Talia. You’ve got to come with me.”

  He tapped his foot on the kitchen floor, and the look in his eye was hungry and cruel. “You’re coming with me, end of discussion. Do you want me to handcuff you? Come on, my black maria is waiting downstairs.”

  This was the thing she most dreaded. In an attempt to prevent the horrible reports and press photos, she acceded to his demand, and he, too, assure
d her that he would “meet her half way,” allowing her to follow him in her own car; he gave his “officer’s word” that nobody had seen him come into her house.

  But now she felt almost insane rage; something had snapped inside her. “I don’t care! I don’t give a damn!” she cried. “I’m not going to the station with you! I’m putting an end to this! I’m getting a lawyer.”

  “Okay, I hear you. But for now you’re coming with me. We can discuss later what we’re going to do in the future.” He pulled her away from Michali’s highchair, which she gripped like a fugitive clinging to the horns of the altar. “Don’t touch me!” she shrieked, as he came at her, twisting his arm around her without, however, pulling her toward him, as if she were a bomb he had to dismantle. He grip hurt her arms. He bent her back a little and led her to the yard where the car was waiting.

  “I’m sorry you’re forcing me to use physical strength.”

  “Murderer, bastard, villain! Take your hands off me!”

  “Don’t get excited, Talia. You know that I can...” he stopped in his tracks.

  Aviva was watching them behind transparent organdy drapes.