Husband and Wife

by Zeruya Shalev

  Wisdom after the event can’t help, he says, and I hasten to reply, but we’re always both after the event and before it, surely, and he says nothing, leaning heavily against the doorpost as if he needs its support. What brings you to us, I ask, already prepared to take all his problems aboard, like a dirt truck that has emptied its contents and is looking for a new load, and he sighs, great foolishness, or bad luck, sometimes it’s hard to tell them apart, and I look at him sympathetically, it’s the same with me, great foolishness, or bad luck, which have left me abandoned in the middle of my life. To my regret he doesn’t sit down on the empty chair opposite me, or unburden himself either, beyond this brief, generalized reply, but nevertheless he doesn’t leave, thoughtfully surveying my room, the expression of anticipation on my face, he seems as surprised to find himself in a place like this as I am to see him here, and then he opens his mouth and it seems that he is about to say something to me, something that will change my life, but then the sound of the familiar crying bursts out of one of the rooms, rolling down the stairs and making its way to my ears, and he pales as if his life is in danger, and makes off at a run, without even saying good-bye to me, and I stand astounded at the window and watch him rushing out of the gate and running with broad strides until he reaches a silver car, where he stops and turns back to look at the shelter with an expression of undisguised horror on his handsome face, as if the entire building, with all its rooms, is about to collapse on his head.

  Unable to restrain myself any longer, I burst into Hava’s office without knocking, close the door behind me and lean my back on it, panting, and she slowly removes her reading glasses and says deliberately, Na’ama, what’s wrong now, you look upset, and I realize that there’s no point in trying to hide anything, it would be a waste of effort, and smiling like an adolescent girl I ask, who was that? And she sighs, you don’t want to know, you have enough problems already, and I say, you’re absolutely wrong, I have to know. It’s the new girl’s father, the one who was waiting for you all the time, she says, and I say in surprise, Yael’s father, he doesn’t look as if he could be Yael’s father, and she waves her hand crossly, not her father, her baby’s father, and since the father is known we have to get his signature on the consent to give the baby up for adoption, are you satisfied now?

  Not in the least, I say, not even bothering to close the door behind me, how can I be satisfied when he’s lost to me twice over, and I return disappointed to my office, trying to remember everything Yael told me about him, the only thing I remember clearly is that he refused to leave his wife, the only man who had no problem leaving his wife lately was my husband, and there’s no way to sweeten the pill, including all of Hava’s theories. Maybe I should send her to tell this man that he has to do his wife this favor, that it’s the most wonderful thing he can do for her, but even if it happens it’s Yael’s life that will be changed, not mine, it seems that nobody’s going to change my life, it’s in my hands now, for good or for ill, but nevertheless during the few minutes he stood leaning against my doorpost something passed between us, I can’t have been mistaken, my sorrow kissed his, it happened halfway between the door and the desk, and we both saw it. We both had that brand on our foreheads, the brand of the sorrow that fell on us so suddenly, taking us by surprise although we’d been waiting for it all our lives, because in the secret of our hearts we no longer believed that it would come, we hoped that we would succeed in ransoming it with a thousand little cares, and this surprise connected us so strongly that I can still sense the vapor of his embarrassed breath in the room, and again I go to the window, reconstructing his look, the silver flash of his car driving away, and the pain of the missed opportunity bites my neck, and when I turn my face back to the room she’s standing there, her stomach almost hiding her face, which is already growing ugly with the prenatal swelling, and she whispers, he was here, wasn’t he?

  Yes, I say, he came to see Hava, you know that we need his consent for adoption, and she sinks into the chair opposite me with a sigh, flushed with insult, so why didn’t he come and see me? He knows I’m here, and I say, it really is insulting, but apparently it’s hard for him, and she bursts out, hard for him? So what is it for me? When I had to drop everything and come here, hide here like a leper, suffer for months with this pregnancy, he made the mistake and I paid the price, it’s so unfair. What mistake, I ask weakly, trying to disguise the passionate interest I feel in every detail, and she snaps, you know what mistake, he promised to be careful, he told me to rely on him, and now he’s acting as if I did it to him on purpose, and I think of the dark man with the shining eyes under the sullen brows, with the face moving between warmth and sternness, and with embarrassing yearning I think, she went to bed with him, she saw him without the white shirt and the pressed trousers, he kissed her, stroked her, made love to her, and already I’m prepared to feel jealous of her even though she is filling the room with her self-pity.

  I don’t understand him, she sobs, he loved me, I know he loved me, this pregnancy ruined everything, I don’t understand why he didn’t leave home and come to live with me, why he can’t love this baby like he loves his children he worries about so much, why he can’t leave his stupid wife, and I feel how every word she says hurts me, every word proves how superior this man is to my Udi, how lucky the stupid wife he refuses to leave is, I’m on her side now, the side of the wife of his youth, not that of the young mistress, and I say in a low voice, I know I mustn’t say it and if Hava heard me I’d be fired on the spot, Yaeli, but my husband left me a week ago.

  She covers her mouth with her hand and stares at me in astonishment, the complexity of things suddenly closes in on her, stinging and buzzing like a swarm of mosquitoes, and she puts her other hand on her stomach, listening in quiet despair to the murmur of the fetus, as if it is all she has left, and I approach her and put my hand next to hers, I’m sorry, I whisper, my story has nothing to do with it, just try to understand that at this stage of life every step a person takes destroys something. I’m sick of taking him into consideration all the time, she says resentfully, I’m allowed to think only of myself, my life will never be as simple as it once was either, and I say, that’s true, but you have to be realistic, apparently he isn’t going to leave home, the question is what you can expect from him nevertheless. She looks at me in surprise as if this question has never crossed her mind, her head sways as if in prayer, for him to go through it with me, she murmurs, for us to decide together what to do with the baby, instead of which he ignores me, doesn’t answer my calls, just think of the fact that he was here and didn’t come up to see me, and when I remember his hurried flight the moment he heard the crying I am ashamed for him, I bow my head and close my eyes, the proximity of the stomach quick with life fills me with longing and sadness, and I hear her voice in the distance, you have to help me, Na’ama, help me. That’s what I’m here for, I say, it takes time, you know, and she whispers, I want you to talk to him, to explain to him that he can’t cast me aside like this, that he’s responsible for everything that happened, I won’t be able to cope without him, it’s the hardest decision of my life, I can’t do it alone, and I declaim, you’re not alone, we’re with you, but she persists, please, Na’ama, get in touch with him, just try, I have a feeling that he’d listen to you. It’s unbelievable, I say to myself, the girl’s gone out of her mind, she’s actually pushing me into his arms, and she gets up resolutely and takes a piece of paper from my desk, this is his number at work, she writes rapidly, please try, and she walks out of the room, leaving me with the patch of white paper on the desk, and I stare at it, Mica Bergman, it says, with seven numbers next to the name.

  I won’t call him, it’s unprofessional, my job is to help her strengthen herself, not beg for mercy on her behalf, and nevertheless the new name hypnotizes me, Mica, it’s too glittery for him, an unfamiliar name, I don’t know anybody called Mica. You’re in trouble, Mica, I shake my head sympathetically, memorizing the number, a malicious fetus is thr
eatening your life, and you’re scared to death, and while I’m still vacillating by the telephone it rings, and I pick up the receiver, for a moment I don’t recognize the voice, the most familiar voice in the world to me, dusty and bleak, with a faint new note of apology, Na’ama, it’s me, he says, how are you?

  How could I not have recognized Udi, it’s as if I’d failed to recognize my own voice, and he says, I’m back, and immediately elaborates, back from the trip, in case I imagined he’d come back to my arms, but I don’t even have a chance to get it wrong, the words of prophetic consolation I repeated at Noga’s bedside are echoing in my ears, thy sun shall no more go down, neither shall thy moon withdraw itself, for the Lord shall be thy everlasting light, and the days of thy mourning shall be ended, how I’d prayed then to hear his voice, but now I’m as empty as the old swimming pool, he’ll break his neck if he tries to jump into me.

  Where are you, I ask, and he says, not far, Avner’s gone away for a month and he left me the key to his apartment, and I swallow the words in relief, even though I know full well that the relief is illusory, that the truth was revealed to me on that fateful day and nothing will obliterate it, even if he isn’t living with her and the baby he already belongs to them, and he asks, when does Noga get out of school today, I want to pick her up, and I say, in a little while, at a quarter to two, and he says, then I’ll bring her home this evening, okay? And I mumble, fine, no problem, still holding the receiver in my hand even though his voice is no longer there, imagining her joy at the school gate, the smile spreading to the tips of her curls, the fawning, awestruck hug, and I have no part in their joy, even though I gave all I had for these two, almost all my life, and now they’ll go out to eat, maybe to a movie, for years I nagged him to take her without me, to devote a bit of time to her, I didn’t think it would happen like this.

  My head drops heavily to the desk, I have the whole afternoon free, nobody needs me until this evening, for years they both needed me so much, I was torn between them like a piece of old cloth, and now I’m extraneous, and I’m so used to being needed that I don’t know what to do with the time that has been freed, this is something else I’ll have to learn, exactly like learning a foreign language, and I wonder what I’m going to do until this evening, glancing at the patch of white again, a bright cloud on the somber sky of my desk, and I can’t resist it, I dial the number quickly, before I have time to regret it, and to my surprise he answers himself, and I ask, Mica Bergman, and he announces almost proudly, that’s me, his voice brisk and businesslike. This is Na’ama, we met this morning at the shelter, I say, hearing with relief how his voice opens up to me, oh, he laughs, you’re not Hava, and I smilingly admit, right, I’m not Hava, and he says, how can I help you?

  I breathe uneasily into the mouthpiece, am I really so transparent to him, after all, I’m the one who’s supposed to be doing the helping, and hurriedly adopt a more formal tone, I wanted to talk to you about the situation, as the person taking care of Yael, and he sighs softly, what will I do if he says no, but then he says, okay, not-Hava, I’ll be glad to talk about the situation with you. When, I ask eagerly, and he asks, are you free this afternoon, and I reply immediately, yes, this was all I wanted, wasn’t it, to find something to do this afternoon, and he says, I feel uncomfortable coming to the shelter, let’s meet in a cafe, there’s a nice place not far from there.

  We’ll pretend I’m building a house for you, he says when he arrives, even before sitting down opposite me, smiling mischievously, as if we’re playing a game, as if undecided destinies are not lying open on the table between us, and he takes a large sheet of paper out of his briefcase, and I look curiously at the squares and rectangles drawn on it, living room, it says there, guest toilet, study, children’s room, bedroom, and everything is clear, orderly, reassuring. What a lovely house you’re building for me, I sigh, I only wish it were true, that I was a fine lady with a well-ordered life and nothing to do but consult her charming architect about the size of the guest toilet, and he asks in a pleased voice, do you like it, and I say, very much, looking sidelong at the bedroom, and he looks at it too, taking a pencil out of his pocket and drawing a big bed in the corner, and opposite it a closet, his fingers as accurate as they’d have been if they’d had a ruler implanted in them, and next to the bed he puts a little dressing table, I’ve never had a dressing table, my few cosmetics are strewn over the top of the washing machine, where they jump about with every wash, and above it an oval mirror. Is the mirror big enough for you, he asks, and I say, yes, what about the window, I bet you like big windows, and I nod, and he inserts a long window in the wall, reaching almost as far as the bed, and then he surveys his work with satisfaction and asks, is there anything missing, and I say, nothing, and then I say, everything, because I remember that it’s not for real.

  What does your bedroom look like, he asks sympathetically, and I think of the shabby room with the closet attached to the wall, and the red carpet, the carpet of my childhood, with its fraying hearts, and the picture of the old house with the red-tiled roof and the clouds sliding down it on the wall, and under it the bed we bought years ago from a divorced couple, and lying on it is Udi, his mouth cracked in a shamed sigh, his long legs still, like on the morning when they lost their movement, and when I remember that morning I feel as if I am ostensibly recovering from an incurable disease but that everybody knows that’s impossible, because the disease is incurable, and I too really know that it’s only a respite whose days are numbered, but nevertheless we all collaborate in maintaining the illusion that I have recovered, until it is no longer clear who’s deceiving who, and I’m afraid that he’s going to ask whom I share the bedroom with, but he is silent, glancing with a neutral expression at my hand, the wedding ring is still there, slender and lusterless, and then he asks, do you have a big mirror in your bedroom, and I say, no, nor a small one either, and he nods gravely, now I understand. What do you understand, I ask, and he smiles, when I saw you this morning I said to myself that you have no idea how beautiful you are, and now I understand why, you simply haven’t got a mirror, and I smirk, that’s exactly what that painter said to me years ago, once in a decade a man appears in my life, informs me that I’m beautiful, and goes away. How easy it is to breathe after receiving a compliment, my whole life seems instantly transformed, even my sorrow seems suddenly beautiful, and I sit back and relax, really, there’s no more charming sight than a beautiful, sad woman, except perhaps a beautiful, sad man, like the one sitting opposite me, I’m supposed to be angry with him, I’m on her side after all, but I want him, I know it and he knows it and there’s no point in hiding it.

  When the coffee arrives we clear the table of the beautiful rooms we’ll never live in and he says, go ahead, talk, and lights a cigarette, fixing me with chastised eyes, actually they’re dark, almost black, but with a dim radiance shining out behind them, as if someone has left a bulb burning in the recesses of his head and it is lighting him up from inside, its comforting rays even bursting from his mouth, and then he taps his ear, I’m listening, and I notice that his ears are surprisingly small, clinging to his head like frightened baby snails, at last I’ve found a flaw in him. Nervously I take the cigarette he offers, what’s happening to me, I can’t get a word out, and he smiles, what’s the matter with you Na’ama, this would never happen to Hava, I’m sure Hava always knows what to say, and I laugh in embarrassment, again our only common acquaintance, but actually we have another one, the one in whose name I am here, and whom I am supposed to represent. What should I say to him, I vacillate, that he should leave his wife like my husband left me, hurt his children like Udi hurt Noga, and he sighs, let me help you, Na’ama, I’m not usually so helpful, but you make me feel a desire to help you, I’ll talk about the situation in your place, you should tell me that I’m behaving like a swine, that I can’t abandon Yael in this condition, that I have to take responsibility for my actions, that I have to support her and help her raise this child I didn’t want, an
d I’ll tell you that you’re right but I can’t do it.

  What do you mean, you can’t, I suddenly get tough, you men are spoiled rotten, who cares what you can do or can’t do, there are some things that you have to do whether you like it or not, and he bows his head, I am sure that he will defend himself by going on the attack, like Udi, but his temperament is different, I feel so guilty that I can’t look at her, he says quietly, such a sweet pretty child, I’ve ruined her life, and I look at him and imagine Udi and Noga embracing at the school gates, behind my back, it was guilt that made him keep her at arm’s length, and instead of comforting him I magnified his guilt, and I ask with real curiosity, but how can you escape, it will haunt you even if you don’t see her, and he says, you’d be surprised, people can detach themselves. So how come I can never detach myself from anything, I ask in childish complaint, but immediately I fall silent, covering up the complaint with another, graver question, so why didn’t you terminate it in the usual way, why didn’t you take her to have an abortion, and he sighs, you know how I pleaded with her, threatened her, nothing helped, every time I made an appointment for her she canceled it, she thought that this way she would force me to leave home.

  What, she got pregnant on purpose? I ask in astonishment, and he says, no, of course not, but once it had already happened she couldn’t give up the chance, I’m not blaming her, it was out of love, but I don’t have to tell you what a curse love can be, and I smile bitterly, I’m not interested in how he knows what I know, but on the other hand I am very interested in the differences between their versions, and I wag my finger at him rebukingly, she told me that you were the one who couldn’t make up his mind, that you kept changing your mind until it was too late, and now it’s his turn to smile bitterly, that’s an outright lie, I told her at the outset that I didn’t want the baby, that I would never leave my wife, I told her that if I didn’t have any other choice I would acknowledge paternity and pay child support but that I could never live with her, I swear to you, I never vacillated for a second. Believe me, he’s almost begging, I did everything I could to put an end to it while it was still possible, once we were even on the way to the doctor and she jumped out of the car, you simply can’t imagine how crazy it was, I ran after her in the street, I was almost run over, I couldn’t believe it was happening to me.