I quickly roll down the blinds, obliterating the stubborn slits of light, and fall into bed, where a damp black pit is waiting for me, only in its depths can I rest, spread out my aching limbs, all I want is to stay here all day, without having to worry about anyone, that’s all I want, this is my playground, only here am I safe, outside the playground is a busy, dangerous road, Mommy and Daddy don’t allow me to go out because there is no one to watch over me, there is no one to look after me now, a terrifying monster crouches over me, holds my wrists down to the bed, crushes my body beneath it, its revolting breath in my mouth. What will become of me now, I’ve never been alone, I was always with him, against him, for him, opposite him, underneath him, on top of him, behind him, I always tested myself in relation to him, and now that he is out of it the whole picture wobbles, in a minute it will smash to pieces before my eyes, and all my life will not be enough to pick up the pieces, like my father’s precious barometer, when I crawled all over the floor on my wedding day, under the bed, chasing the little balls of silver mercury. I should have canceled the wedding, it was a sign, I should have married someone who wouldn’t have left me in the middle of my life, when I’m not young enough anymore to start a new family and not old enough to die.
I try to remember other men but I can’t, vague shadows loom up in front of me, I never dared to really look at anyone else, all my life I never dared to open more than one eye, the other was inflamed with fear, glued together with yellow pus. What was I so afraid to see, the radiance of the world or its gloom, giving up friends, boyfriends, another child, and for a moment I feel sure that if only I had another child now everything would be different, there would have been three of us, Noga and I and the little boy, three is a family, and two is cold comfort, and already I can sense the child who was never born at my side, his limbs soft and chubby, with all his babyish strength he clambers over me, strokes my hair, nestles against my breast, and I shift in bed, it seems to me that we are lying on the beach and the sand is warm and soft, covering my entire body, and Udi rises from the sea, shaking his salty hair over me and laughing, look what I brought you, he holds out his hands, but the sun dazzles my eyes and I can’t see what he has in his hands. What is it, I ask, completely blind, and he says, can’t you see, can’t you see how much I love you, and I shout, the baby, take care that the baby doesn’t run into the sea, he doesn’t know the meaning of fear, and Udi laughs, what baby, there’s no baby here, only you and me, because I’ll love you forever, never believe me if I say I don’t, and I moan with joy, rolling in the sand like a huge cat, I don’t care that I’m blind, as long as I’ll be loved forever. How glad I am to hear it, I whisper to him with my mouth full of sand, because I just dreamed that you stopped loving me, you have no idea how much I cried, the sea overflowed with my tears, and he laughs dismissively, his laughter rings in my ears. Stop laughing, it’s not so funny, I say, but he doesn’t stop, the ringing goes on from behind the closed door, and I wake up abruptly, it’s already twelve o’clock, and the telephone doesn’t stop ringing, I forgot to call the shelter, they must be looking for me, better not to answer, but perhaps it’s Udi, perhaps I’ve conjured him up with my dream, how could you believe that I’ve stopped loving you, he’ll laugh, and I pick up the phone, listen expectantly, and an unfamiliar voice screeches in my ear, Na’ama, your daughter’s sick, come at once and take her home. Who is this, what’s wrong with her, I almost bite the receiver, and she screeches, I’m talking from the secretary’s office, she has a fever of nearly a hundred and four, I gave her aspirin but the fever won’t come down, we’ve been trying to contact you for an hour, and I throw on a faded housedress and run just as I am, without combing my hair or washing my face, wet from the sweat of the sea, and drive with my eyes half-closed through the sun-struck streets.
Here she is, sunk in an armchair in the secretary’s office, her cheeks red and her eyes glittering as if she is lovesick, her overgrown body suddenly shrunken, and I put my arms around her, kiss her burning forehead, I gave her another aspirin but it didn’t help, the secretary reports in agitation, like leeching a dead man, she smirks, her lips painted dark red, almost black. Has someone examined her, I ask, isn’t there a nurse here? You’re out of luck, this isn’t the nurse’s day, she answers and looks at me suspiciously, we looked for you everywhere, at work they said you hadn’t turned up and at home nobody answered the phone, and I mutter, I had some errands to do, but her gossipy, made-up face examines me skeptically, my wild hair, shabby dress, swollen eyes, and I shrink under her gaze, it’s so obvious that I was abandoned last night, that I’m a woman without a man, a woman without justification, anyone can humiliate me.
Come along, Nogi, let’s go home, I whisper in a promising voice, as if home is a sheltered and healing place, and she raises her glittering eyes to me and begins to cry, I can’t walk, I can’t stand up, and the secretary says, she behaved like a heroine up to now, but as soon as Mommy comes we want to cry, right, sweetie? We like to worry Mommy, don’t we? I bend down and try to pick her up, all I want now is to get out of here, her arms wrap round my neck with frightening weakness, like the hooves of a trapped animal, her body is hot and heavy, and I hold on to her and advance at a snail’s pace, my spine feels as if it’s disintegrating under the load, ground to dust by her weight, and I sob, Udi, look what’s happened, help me, I’m going to fall, I can’t go on.
Along the sides of the corridor children stand watching us silently, making way for us with frightening reverence, what do they think, that she’s dead? That she won’t ever come back? There’s no end to this corridor, no end to this loneliness, only me and my sick child, and our weighty tragedy, crouching like an animal, this sorrow obliterates every human feature, once I cared what I looked like, how I sounded, now I groan aloud, snot weeps from my nostrils, all I care about is getting to the car, laying the sick body on the backseat, but I’m not going to make it, my feet are crushed under our common weight, in a minute I’ll collapse in the middle of the corridor, a pile of limbs that have lost their vitality, and then I hear short steps coming quickly toward me, a bald child is running next to me and shouting, wait, let me help you, I haven’t even got the strength to turn my neck, he’s not a child, just a short man, and I remember, the history teacher. He grabs hold of her legs, the lower half of her body is in his hands now, he pulls her like a wheelbarrow, the small relief only emphasizes the pain that has accumulated in my body, and I hang on to her arms, hurrying to keep up with him so that the lower part of her body won’t be torn from the upper part due to the lack of coordination between our steps. When we reach the car I’m breathless and choking with the effort, and he slips deftly into the backseat and drags her in after him, and to my surprise he remains there, her legs on his lap, and I lay her head on the seat, feeling her forehead again, she’s breathing heavily, her eyes are closed as if she has lost all interest in her surroundings. Thank you, I say to him and wait for him to get out of the car, his presence makes me feel awkward, but he insists, how will you carry her up to the house alone, and I say again, thank you, I didn’t think of it, and on the way I wonder, how does he know that there are stairs, how does he know that there’s nobody to help me, and he seems to sense my surprise and says quietly, Noga told me this morning, and I ask aggressively, told you what, and he says, that her father left home, and when I hear these words coming from the mouth of a total stranger, their validity is brought home to me, as if I have just heard them over the radio, at the top of the news, Noga’s father has left home.
This is how he used to carry her upstairs when she was a baby, she always slept in the car, and she would clasp his neck with sleepy pride, while we mounted the stairs in silence, so that she wouldn’t wake up, and we would have a little time to ourselves, hushing one another, he would lay her on the bed and I would remove her shoes, and we would quickly close the door before we put on the light in one of the rooms, and if she didn’t start crying immediately we would breathe a sigh of relief, slaves
granted an unexpected respite, and then we would pour ourselves a glass of wine or beer and go out to the porch, or sit embracing on the sofa, secretly missing her, but now she is in these short bald arms, he appears to weigh no more than she does but I can’t be choosy today, climbing up behind them to catch her if he drops her, his legs stagger on the steps but he keeps climbing, his face pink with effort. I direct him quickly to Noga’s room, a somber guide of very short tours, and there he deposits his feverish load on the bed, wipes the sweat from his brow, on his finger is a wedding ring that looks brand-new, as if he got married only yesterday, and I bend over Noga, we’re home, I whisper, and she groans, my head hurts, I want to sleep.
Go to sleep, I kiss her flushed cheek, you’ll feel better when you wake up, and I take off her shoes and cover her with a thin blanket, it’s only the flu, I try to reassure myself, what else can it be, and he follows me out of the room, takes a glass in the kitchen and fills it with water from the tap, I forgot to offer but he takes care of himself, I can’t get rid of the impression that he’s been here before, his eyes look round without curiosity, round clear child’s eyes, and I invite him to sit down, I feel uncomfortable standing opposite him, especially since he’s shorter than me and I have to look down at him, and he says, I have to go, I have a class in a minute, but nevertheless he lingers, something is keeping him, he feels sorry for me, I suddenly realize, he simply feels sorry for me, I’m someone people feel sorry for, and I haven’t even got the strength to pretend that I’m not really like that. He’s already on his way to the door with his short steps, he takes hold of the handle and whispers, confidentially, Noga is a special child, and I say wearily, as if I have received a compliment, thank you, and then I rouse myself and say, in what way, and he waxes poetical, she has a lot of treasure in the depths of her soul, like a magnificent ship drowned at sea, we must help her bring it up to the surface, and I ask, and if there’s nobody to help her, and he says, it will all be lost.
So is that what you’re trying to do, I stare at him with a sour smile, and he says, no, not really, I just talk to her sometimes at recess when I see that she’s alone, I try to draw her out, I feel sorry for her, she’s so withdrawn, she seems to be guarding something all the time, and I say, maybe it’s her treasures that she’s guarding, so they won’t be taken away from her, but his words are only increasing my anxiety and I want him to leave, with his exaggerated concern, let him worry about his new wife, not my daughter, and I say, thank you for your help, and he nods, if you need anything get in touch, Noga has my number, and I say of course, even though I have no intention of getting in touch with him, I feel uncomfortable with him, it seems to me that he knows Noga better than I do and this makes me feel uneasy and guilty, but when he goes downstairs I feel abandoned again, left alone with the little girl whose father has left home, what kind of a mother am I, who can’t keep a father at home, who chases him away, and doesn’t even know where he’s gone? I have no way of summoning him to sit at his sick daughter’s bedside, to feel her forehead, to peer into her throat, to consult with me about what to do, and I return defeated to her room, her golden curls fill the pillow, cover her dear face, sleep, my love, I murmur, sleep soundly and wake up well, but suddenly she sits up and points at the door with a trembling finger, as if she’s seen a ghost, who’s that, she shouts and laughs wildly, who’s there, and I put my arms around her, there’s nobody there, Nogi, what do you see, and she falls back on the pillow, mumbling broken syllables, as if she’s reverted to her infancy, before she learned to talk.
She’s delirious from the fever, I say to myself, I have to bring her fever down, and I push two more aspirin into her mouth and hold a glass of water to her lips and she swallows obediently, my head’s splitting, she mumbles, I can’t see anything, and suddenly I realize that this isn’t just flu, what are the symptoms of meningitis, I try to remember, something about the neck, try to bend your head, I whisper, feeling the nape of her neck, and she cries, I can’t, I can’t move my head, and I’m out of my mind with worry, I rush to the telephone, repeating Zohara’s number like a prayer, she’s the only one I trust, the only one who can help us.
Answer already, I beg, strangling the receiver, and in the end she answers, in a muffled voice, as if I’ve woken her up, not the fresh crisp voice I know, and I shout, Zohara, Noga’s sick, please come and examine her, and she hesitates, her voice is weak and strange, almost inaudible. It’s a little difficult for me now, she says evasively, but I won’t let go, wild weeping breaks from my throat and floods the receiver, Zohara, I’m afraid it’s something serious, just come and tell me what to do, and she is silent, what’s the matter with her, she always came so eagerly, as if she was only waiting for an invitation, and now she says reluctantly, I’ll try to come, as if the way from her house to ours has grown long and full of danger. At a loss I go back to Noga, the aspirin has had hardly any effect, and I put a wet towel on her forehead, soon the doctor will come, I whisper, and she wails, I want Daddy, call Daddy, and I feel my heart freezing in sorrow, a jagged iceberg is sliding down my spine, Daddy’s on a tour, I say to her, I can’t get hold of him, he’ll probably call later, and she groans, her breath full of broken, swollen sounds.
I cuddle up next to her in the bed, shaking with sorrow, how could I have thought that it had passed over quietly, that she’d gone to school and everything was all right, that I could devote myself to my imjury, my loss, what do I matter, nothing matters anymore, I’m ready to spend the rest of my life alone as long as she gets well, that’s all I ask for. The heat of her body next to mine is so intense that it seems to me that I too am feverish, under the thin blanket I press myself against her with my anxiety, my vows, abandoning myself to the flames of her fire as if I am being burned at the stake, the two of us will die here together, deserted, abandoned, we have no life without him, that should have been clear to me from the beginning, for that was how we lived, as if we had no life without him, we’ll burn together until we go out in silence, like bonfires dying down with the departure of the revelers, and I nestle into her arms as if she is my mother and I am her daughter, she the sun and I the moon, ready to go to sleep and never wake up again, but suddenly quick footsteps ring out in the house. He came back, I exult, he heard her cries and came back, he’s not capable of really leaving, like us he has no life without the other two, we are all the sick limbs of one body, but then the slender figure enters the room, she always surprises me, even when I am expecting her.
How is she, she asks, her voice still reserved, and I get out of bed and whisper, she has a high fever and a severe headache, her neck’s stiff, she’s in a bad way, I sum up and add in a broken voice, everything’s in a bad way, Udi left home, she can’t take it, I can’t take it, he simply got up and went, he didn’t even say where he was going, all because of that damn illness, I sob, abandoning the last shreds of self-respect, all I want is to collapse in her arms, nestle there like her baby, and she examines me with a concentrated, unsurprised look, it’s natural for you to feel like this, she whispers, but it’s possible to feel differently too. How differently, I suppose this is an opportunity too, I demand aggressively, and she says, obviously it’s an opportunity, there is a relief in loss, imagine coming home one day and finding that you have been robbed of everything, everything, you have nothing left, there’s no point in even trying to recover what you once had. In one instant the agitated consciousness disappears, the paralyzing thoughts, and you sense a profound calm, almost a moment of grace. Suddenly you realize that the struggle is over, because it’s pointless, that you have to let go, because you have no alternative, you lose everything but win a profound peace. Look around you, Na’ama, she whispers, the walls of the house are collapsing, but this makes it possible for you to see the landscape that has been hidden from you all these years, and I listen to her in mounting despair, how can she parrot her silly, automatic parables now, what have they to do with me.
Come and see what’s wrong with Noga first, I
urge her, I can’t believe that I once drank in her words so thirstily, and she goes up to the panting bed, her look opaque, without all the spiritual enthusiasm I once liked so much, her hands gravely feeling the delirious body, try to bend over, she whispers to her, bow your head without bending your legs, and Noga screams, leave me alone, you’re hurting me, and Zohara lets go of her instantly, I can’t examine her properly in these conditions, she says, it could definitely be meningitis according to the stiff neck, but I can’t do the tests, you must take her to the hospital or the clinic, and I stare at her in disappointment, my faith in her was so great, I was sure that all she had to do was touch Noga with her fingers to make her well, where are her magic powers, her fragrant incense, her reassuring promises, without them she is an ordinary person, dark, parched, helpless.
I’m sorry, she whispers, and flees the room, with me behind her, still expecting the customary pronouncements, her sharp chin is so close to me that I feel it is about to wound me, the birth of a man is the birth of his sorrow, she says slowly, softly, I have to come close to hear her, there’s an ancient Tibetan story about a woman whose only son sickened and died, and she wandered the roads, carrying his dead body in her arms, and asking everyone she met to help her bring him back to life. In the end she met a wise man who told her that the only one in the world who could perform this miracle was the Buddha. So she went to the Buddha, laid the body at his feet and told him her story. The Buddha listened to her and said, there is only one way to cure your suffering, go down to the city and bring me a mustard seed from a house that death has never visited. The woman immediately ran to the city and went from house to house, but she didn’t find a single house that had not been visited by death. After she had been to all the houses in the town she understood that she would not be able to comply with the Buddha’s demand. So what did she do, I ask anxiously, and Zohara says, she said farewell to the body of her son and returned to the Buddha, and asked him to instruct her in the truth, she understood that life is an ocean of suffering for us all, and that the only way to escape is to take the road that leads to freedom.
Husband and Wife Page 23
