Husband and Wife

by Zeruya Shalev

  And when you looked at the clouds, she goes on, did you ever think about the sky? What do you mean, the sky, I say in surprise, and she asks, does the sky love the clouds, and I stammer, I have no idea, I never thought about it. What does the sky do when the clouds pass over it one after the other, she asks, some of them vanishing without a trace, others changing shape, and I say, nothing, what can it do, it just watches, and she nods happily, right, and don’t you think you have something to learn from the sky? I can already feel a bone of mockery tickling my throat, listening to her as she declares quietly but importantly, as if she is announcing some great tidings, that’s how we should be, Na’ama, like the sky watching the clouds pass by, without trying to cling to them, without trying to stop them. But it couldn’t stop them even it wanted to, I object, and she says, right, just as we can’t cling to our mates or our friends or even our children. Her dark look rests on the sleeping baby, on the furniture crowding the living room, on the floor covered with curls of dust, we have to be as free as a drop of mercury that falls on the floor and never gets mixed with the dust, have you ever seen a drop of mercury on the floor, she asks, and I say in a whisper, yes I have, I wish I hadn’t.

  What will happen if you let go, she asks, what are you afraid of, and I mutter, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Losing control, being left with nothing, take your pick, and she nods scornfully, yes, that’s how people think in the West, but the great Tibetan teachers believe that if a person lets go of everything he gains true freedom, and then compassion will dawn within him like the sun rising above your head this morning. It didn’t actually rise, I flaunt my disappointment from this morning, but she looks at me sternly, you saw night turn to day didn’t you, and I remember the dark, cool blue that greeted me when I stepped out onto the porch, actually I prefer the night, the sun is too aggressive for me, I say. She looks at me seriously, almost imploringly, quickly, she urges me, before everyone wakes up, you have to listen to me, and it’s true, I think, everyone is still asleep, her baby, my daughter, Udi, a spell has been cast on the house, it’s not so early anymore, almost seven o’clock, but still it seems as if the whole city is sleeping and only we are awake, and again I ask her, what do you need so urgently with me, it’s him you came to heal, and she says, and if I saw someone lying on the pavement and groaning in pain, wouldn’t I go up to him? And alarmed by the comparison, I say, don’t exaggerate, and she answers me sternly, I’m not exaggerating, Na’ama, I saw your husband and I see you, I can help you both, but Ehud, in the last analysis, is capable of helping himself more than you imagine, while you don’t even try to take care of yourself. Why, did you see by his pulse that I’m going to die, I giggle nervously, and she cuts me short unsmilingly, listen to me, Na’ama, but I’m in no hurry to obey, I always thought that Tibetan medicine was all kinds of ancient remedies from the Himalayas, and medicinal herbs, and acupuncture, I protest, and she suppresses her anger, almost insulted, and says, I have a bagful of medicines here, we’ll come to that later, first I want to talk to you, listen to me and you won’t be sorry, quickly before everyone wakes up and the day begins.

  Listen, she brings her lips close to my ear and says in a confidential, prayerful whisper, there are different aspects of consciousness, our ordinary consciousness is like the flame of a candle on the threshold of an open door, exposed to harm from every wind, falling victim to external habits and conditioning, creating waves of negative feelings and wallowing in them, but on the other hand we have latent within us the true nature of consciousness, think again of the sky and the clouds, the sky is our true nature, and the clouds are the confusion of our ordinary consciousness, they don’t belong to the sky, they never leave traces on it, and I listen to her mesmerized, all around us are closed doors, everyone behind them seems to have given up the ghost, but it doesn’t even sadden me, the idea that we will be left alone in the world, she and I, it gives rise in me to a sweet serenity, because all at once her words have connected me to an ancient calm so deep that death seems small beside it.

  Look at this house, she says, and I look around me, taking in the shabby armchairs, the bookshelves, the gray walls spotted with our fingerprints. How long have you lived here, she asks, and I say, nearly ten years, we came to live here before Noga was born, and she says, but it’s not your real home, and I say in astonishment, what do you mean, of course it’s my home, I have no other home, and she says, but this house could burn down in five minutes, it could collapse in an earthquake, your real home is inside your mind, only there are you safe, only there are you mistress of your own happiness.

  And then the quiet between us is broken by the familiar squeak of the door and Noga bursts out of her room as if the house is on fire, looks around with a swollen, apple-cheeked face, and asks, what’s happened, and I get up and put my arms around her and say, nothing’s happened, I’m talking to Daddy’s doctor. She examines Zohara suspiciously, but immediately she smiles, a hopeful, innocent smile, you’re his doctor? she asks, I’m glad he has a doctor, and then with all her eager, uninhibited impetuousness, will Daddy get better? I blink imploringly at Zohara, just don’t let her start telling the child that her father hasn’t yet plumbed the depths of his illness, but she smiles at her and says reassuringly, don’t worry, of course he’ll get better, health is right there inside him, he only has to find it.

  Noga stretches in relief, sits on my lap, warm and heavy, stuffed with sleep, and Zohara comes up to her, as long as you’re here, I’d like to check a few things, and she says in alarm, why, is Daddy’s illness infectious? And Zohara says, no, no, don’t worry, I just want to see how it’s affecting you, and she examines her with the movements that have already become familiar to me, pressing and letting go, her lips moving as if in prayer, and Noga holds out her limbs tensely, until the deliberate movements turn into a gentle stroking of her hair, you’re fine, dear, don’t worry, everything will be all right, and Noga breathes a loud sigh of relief, as frank and externalized as her previous tension, everything I try to hide is exposed in her with such rashness that she sometimes seems to me like a caricature of myself, and I urge her to hurry up and get dressed, it’s already a quarter to eight, and when she shuts the bathroom door behind her I am alarmed to see Zohara looking at me in concern. She isn’t in a good state, she whispers to me, she’s too tense, she’s weak, not focused, she can’t function properly in school or with other children, and I feel my head spinning on my neck, the bad news has reached me at last, and it’s worse than I thought, and I whisper, what can we do? And I immediately add, I told you his illness was destroying us, and you talk to me about opportunities.

  I haven’t changed my mind, she whispers, and I’m not sure that before the illness the child was in such great shape either, there are deep-seated problems here, which the illness brings out, and perhaps it’s for the good, but you have to get strong for her sake, when she feels the change in you her condition will improve, and I’m already prepared to change on the spot I’m in such a panic, tell me what to do and I’ll do it, just tell me what to do, and she announces, I’ve told you enough for today, think about everything we’ve said, but this isn’t enough for me, what will become of us, I have to change immediately, I have to change before Noga comes out of the bathroom, I’m ready to turn into a toad if it’ll help her, my eyes are fixed on the bathroom door, the window is broken from an old quarrel, bandaged with masking tape as in a time of war. So what shall I do, I whisper, maybe I won’t go to work and I’ll spend all day looking at the clouds, but the sky is blazing, no cloud would dare to come near it, it’s impossible to even look at it with your eyes open, and she gets up and puts her hand on my shoulder, calm down, she says, try to relax, try to find a way to the serenity inside you, don’t be afraid of changes, they shape us, like the sea shapes the rocks, try because you have no alternative, and now Noga comes out, her eyelids swollen, and I’m sure that she was crying in the bathroom, tensely I watch her clumsy movements, dragging her bag, draped in a huge shirt, an
d I say to her, as I say every morning, Nogi change your shirt, you can’t go out like that, it looks ridiculous, and she says, of course I can, and she explains to the doctor, I only wear my father’s shirts, he likes me to wear them. Taken aback by this preposterous explanation I survey her with disapproval, a huge walking shirt, white legs in sneakers peeping out below it and a fan of yellow curls above it, what’s the wonder that she has no friends, that everyone avoids her, and again the familiar anxiety creeping up my spine, but Zohara’s fingers climb up after it, there’s a chase taking place on my back, and I freeze, listening to the fingers massaging my spine vertebra by vertebra. Don’t forget, she whispers to me, without anger, without blame, without negative feelings, only infinite calm, like the sky, and I can’t control myself any longer, I turn around and embrace her, lean on her with all the heavy weight of my body, with all the odors of the night that have not yet been washed away, not ashamed of anything, wanting only to cling to her strong, compassionate slenderness, and she puts her arms around me, planted in the earth like a tree trunk, dark and firm, I’m not alone anymore, she’ll help me, she’ll watch over me, her hands stroke my hair, look how she came out of the sunrise to save me, how she brought light into my dark life, everything was crooked and now it will be made straight. Enclosed in her arms I whisper, just say that it isn’t too late, and she whispers, it’s never too late, there is always hope, even the day before death it’s not too late, and I’m ready to be consoled even by this, and now footsteps approach us, clumsy shoes intrude on our embrace, Noga’s hands clutch our waists, hot and sticky, Zohara goes on murmuring, without anger, without blame, it’s never too late, there’s always hope, and I hug Noga like in the kindergarten, when the parents were called to join the children’s circle, and Udi would remain in his chair and I would rush in to cover up his indifference, feeling his eyes digging into my back, moving uncomfortably to the childish rhythm, in the forest in the forest in the forest we’ll dance we’ll dance. I turn my head and see him standing there, leaning against the wall, pale and haggard, we didn’t hear him coming out of his room, contemplating our tight little circle, which comes apart immediately, and the three of us look at him in embarrassment, how typical of him to survey us like that, not to join in the rare harmony but to disrupt it in a second, but I repeat to myself, without anger, without blame, hurrying to pour the cornflakes into the bowl, come and eat, Nogi, but she says, I’m not hungry, fawns on him with exaggerated movements, almost knocking him down, Daddy, the doctor says you’re going to get better, and he puts out a limp hand and rumples her hair, I’m glad to hear it.

  I hurry to the bedroom to get dressed, snatching a dress with a silly flower print, all my pretty, thin clothes have been pushed to the margins of the closet, you have to make a real effort to pull them out, and only a few big, loose dresses offer themselves, ashamed, and I’m ready in a minute, dragging Noga behind me, come, I’ll take you so you won’t be late, and at the door I glance back at them, she’s bending over the still quiet baby, her hair falling into the basket, black and frizzy, her dress clinging to her body, and he lowers his eyes, avoiding mine, and I say, thank you, thank you, Zohara, see you soon, I can’t find the words to express the love swelling in me for her, and she smiles, call me this evening, not forgetting the pact between us, but when we go downstairs I suddenly feel an uneasy sense of exclusion, as if they, there behind me, he and she and the baby, are the real inhabitants of the house, and we, Noga and I, are a couple of nervous, unwelcome guests, at whose departure the householders breathe a sigh of relief.

  Eleven

  On the way to the shelter I forget to count the traffic lights compulsively, I suddenly forget to be afraid, as I have been every morning over the past few weeks, afraid of the director Hava, of the wails rising from the rooms, of my inability to help. A new spirit accompanies me from traffic light to traffic light, driving the old car forward, as in the first days of falling in love, when love still wraps the body in a coat of oiled chain mail, repelling all arrows. I am not alone this morning, she is here next to me, protecting me with her body, as brown and hard as a tree trunk, with her calm voice, with her utter serenity. In the side mirror I see a radiant scrap of sky following me, and I know, this is the sign, reminding me to be like it, remote and full of compassion, no one can really hurt me, just as no one can hurt the sky.

  When I walk quickly to the shelter gates it seems to me that eyes are watching me and I look round, violent men sometimes hide here, lying in wait for a girlfriend sheltering in the shelter, threatening to kill her if she gives up the baby, and even parents have been known to lie in wait for a daughter who has disappeared after bringing disgrace down on their heads, but there is nobody spying from the bushes, only a young girl crossing the road not far from me. I look immediately at the middle of her body to see if an embarrassing secret is signaling there, I can’t see anything but this doesn’t mean a thing, the body knows how to deny, to collaborate enthusiastically with the mind. I had better ignore her, perhaps she just lives somewhere round here, but she doesn’t take her eyes off me and I make a mistake and send her a little smile, I know it’s a mistake, because everyone who comes here has to make her own way to us, and I’m in a hurry to get to a staff meeting, but the sky covers me with its compassion, and now she approaches me with careful steps, yes, she’s pregnant, judging by the care with which her foot meets the pavement, the tearful smile, the smile of an unwanted pregnancy, the complete opposite of the complacent smile of a wanted pregnancy, and I glance at my watch, it’s already half past eight, the meeting is starting now and Hava is looking sternly at my empty chair, but I look at the girl coming toward me and my heart goes out to her, she’s older than most of our girls, in her middle twenties at least, well dressed, in a short black dress and matching high-heeled sandals, red hair cropped short, almost shaved, bright red lipstick, exactly the same color as her hair, on her fleshy lips, what on earth is she doing here, this is no place for her, she’s coming from somewhere else entirely, and I go up to her as naturally as if we have an appointment, meeting her halfway, can I help you?

  You’re from there, right? she asks urgently, indicating our gate with soft doe eyes, and I say, yes, I work at the shelter, and she says breathlessly, I’ve been hanging round here for two days already, trying to make up my mind whether to go in or not, I’m afraid that if I go in you won’t let me out again, and I protest, nonsense, nobody is forced to stay here, this isn’t a prison. And what happens to the babies? Her voice is tight with tension, and I say, in most cases they’re given up for adoption, but that’s not compulsory either, and she says, so if anyone wants to bring up her baby herself she’s allowed to do it, you don’t force her to give it up? And I am so used to these questions, but today everything seems new to me, like the questions I was asked early this morning, what do you like to do, what’s your favorite color, do you prefer heat or cold, and I say, if you want to raise the child, and we gain the impression that you can handle it, then there’s no problem, we’ll even help you.

  What do you mean you gain the impression, she recoils, her pretty face falls, and if you gain the impression that I can’t, then the baby will be taken away from me? And I explain, we just recommend, the judge decides, according to the good of the baby, but this only happens in extreme cases, and she says, then I’d rather not go in at all, this way I’m free, what gives you the right to decide for me, and I say, it depends what your circumstances are, most of the girls here have no choice, they haven’t got anywhere to go during their pregnancy, and no possibility of raising the baby, clearly if you want to bring up your baby and are capable of doing so, it’s better for all concerned, we won’t stand in your way, on the contrary, and I glance at my watch, I have to go inside, the meeting will soon be over and I’m still standing here, Hava won’t pass over it in silence.

  Why don’t you go home, I suggest, calm down, think it over, we’re always here, it’s your decision, but she clings to me, wait, don’t go, grabs
hold of the hem of my dress, I have to decide today, I can’t drag it out any longer, you have to help me, and I say, then let’s talk about it inside, and she hesitates, I’m afraid they won’t let me out, and the truth is that I too feel more comfortable sitting out here on the pavement in the shade far from Hava’s watchful eyes, and she sits down next to me, I’m already in my seventh month, she chokes on her tears, I can’t believe that this is happening to me, my whole life is ruined.

  Do you know who the father is, I ask, and she sobs, of course I do, we’ve been having an affair for a year, but he’s married with children, he’s much older than I am, I work in his architect’s office. When I found out I could still have an abortion but I hoped he would leave home and move in to live with me, he drove me crazy, changing his mind every other day, making promises and choosing a name for the baby one day and completely ignoring me the next, and in the meantime it was too late for an abortion and I still believed that if I faced him with a fait accompli he would come round, but a few days ago he announced that he didn’t want the child or any further connection with me and that was final, and I don’t know what to do. My parents are religious and I can’t allow them to find out, it would kill them, my mother’s very sick anyway, and I can hardly hide my stomach anymore, and I hate him, I can’t understand how he could have done this to me, ruined my life and deserted me, how am I going to bring up a child by myself, I’m barely twenty-two, I’m too young to be a single parent, and I haven’t even got a profession yet, I’ve only started studying this year, and I haven’t got any money, and there’s nobody to help me.