A Room of Their Own

by Rakefet Yarden

  I looked up again and saw Rotem looking at me seriously and attentively.

  “Tell me about the dreams.”

  “No. I don’t want to share that, and I don’t even understand why and how I’m supposed to share things with you. I don’t know you, and I’ve already told you that I don’t want to be here. I don’t know why I told you about the dreams. It’s been nearly 45 minutes anyway and we need to finish up.”

  “That’s all right. I’m in no rush, and no one is scheduled after you so we do have a little more time. But it’s fine. You’re right. This can feel overwhelming. It’s important for you to feel safe here.”

  I was irritated by how she was analyzing my supposed feelings with psychological mumbo-jumbo. On the other hand, I recoiled − because it was true. And I was also surprised by the fact that she wanted to spend more time with me.

  We still had five minutes left to the session. I knew because I kept looking at the clock every few minutes. Partly because of the embarrassment of her potentially having to tell me that the session was over, for me not to be expelled. I would be the one to get up first. And partly because I wanted to end the session, all of these therapy sessions are pretty heavy. And partly because of the excitement about the next meeting on my schedule that day. My heart was bouncing around in my chest like some child waiting for her mother at the airport after a long time away from each other.

  I came out of Rotem Golan’s clinic and walked in the direction of the café where we’d decided to meet.

  On the bus, I thought about her, about this Rotem woman, and about having shared the issue of my dreams. Or, more to the point, the fact that I’m having dreams. Strange dreams. Perhaps even nightmares, sometimes, when I wake up all sweaty and my heart’s pounding within the prison of my body.

  Sometimes I wake up wanting to scream. Wanting to go wild. But something inside doesn’t let me. I wipe away the sweat, turn over to lie on my side and go back to sleep. Sometimes I toss and turn until the break of dawn. Sometimes I invite Miko into bed and hug him tightly until I fall back to sleep.

  I spotted her from afar, my big sister. Sitting in her majestic manner, leafing through the menu. Scattering warm smiles to every passerby, as though she’s a character in a Hollywood movie.

  Her azure eyes met my black ones. Smile, nod. She stood up and quickly advanced towards me, as though she’d been waiting for me for hours. She came up to hug me, as usual, and I backed off slightly but eventually surrendered.

  “So, Miko, you came too,” she said seemingly casually, but deep down I knew that she wasn’t happy about it.

  As we sat down, she said, “So, tell me. What’s happening with you? What are you up to? What’s new?”

  “Nothing. The usual, you know,” I tried to bore her in the hope that she’d leave me alone and get to the point.

  “The usual what? We haven’t spoken for ages like this, just you and me. Care to divulge a bit of info?”

  For ages? Try never, I thought to myself.

  “I’ve got nothing to divulge, nothing new happening, and anyway, nothing interesting ever happens with me.” I was already impatient.

  “Could it be that you’re seeing someone? I can tell,” she teased me.

  What’s her deal? Why does she always have to beat around the bush with everything, and what precisely can she “tell” about me? I mean, she’s never been able to notice anything. Not about me, and not about anyone else. Not even about herself, I think. And where did she get the idea that I’m seeing someone? I’ve never seen anyone. If she had ever taken any interest in me, she’d know that it isn’t applicable. Actually, she never really had anyone either, I think to myself.

  “Okay. Why did you want to get together?” I finally slice into the awkward silence.

  “Why? What, can’t I just want to meet my sister?” She was playing coy and getting on my nerves.

  “Come on, Tal. We never just meet like this. Even when we’re at Mom and Dad’s we hardly exchange more than three consecutive words. Did Dad send you? Tell me the truth.”

  “Okay. All right. I just wanted to start everything on a lighter note. And anyway, I’ve been thinking a lot about our relationship recently, and why we’re not very close. After all, I only have one sister,” she smiled and tried to soften the atmosphere. “And why would Dad send me? Stop thinking that he’s constantly hounding you. This is about me. I think that I’m getting kicked out of school.”

  I was stunned. Speechless. “What? Why?”

  “Or if I don’t get kicked out, then I’ll just drop out. And if I don’t drop out, then I’ll just take a break. But Dad’s going to kill me.”

  All right, but what does she want with me, and why is she coming to me, of all people, I wondered. “What do you care about Dad? And why would they kick you out, or why do you want to drop out, or whatever? You’ve always been a really good student, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, but that’s precisely it. Something within me has broken down. I’m not the same Tal you knew.”

  “What do you mean?” I was confused.

  “Well, ever since exams began − or maybe a little earlier than that, actually − maybe when I was still with Oded. I don’t know. Anyway, I get these weird fits. During the day and at night, too. I’ve already done lots of medical tests, EKG, blood pressure. I even went to see a cardiologist whose department I’d worked in once.” She paused for a minute, and it seemed that her eyes were welling up. I was shocked.

  “Well, so what did he say? Why are you having these fits?”

  “He and Dr. Shiloh both said that it’s an emotional thing. That it sounds like a panic attack. I’d studied about it, and I even went to a lecture on the subject when we had rounds in a psychiatric ward. There’s no way that that’s why I’m having fits. I’m not crazy.”

  She paused, about to keep going, but suddenly looked up at me. “Have you ever had anything like that? It’s silly, but I thought that maybe because we’re sisters, or maybe because of what you’d undergone. . . ” she said, embarrassed. “Maybe it’s happened to you too, or still does? It’s terrible. I can’t sleep, can’t study. . .”

  The waiter interrupted us. “Hi. Would you like to order?”

  “We haven’t decided yet. We’ll call you when we’re ready,” I quickly answered him.

  I gestured for her to continue. I thought about Rotem Golan. Wondered what she’d have to say about all of this. I also thought about the nightmares I’ve had been having. For years now. There are certain times when I can’t sleep at all, can’t read, can’t get up for work in the morning and am therefore “unable to keep a steady job,” as Dad puts it. I didn’t feel comfortable sharing all that with her. I didn’t entirely believe her, or trust her. What could I even do to help her? Why was she coming to me? We’re so different. And I can hardly help my own self. What can I possibly tell her?

  I was swamped by confusing questions. I felt overwhelmed, just like Rotem had said earlier that day. And I felt that I wasn’t able to hear her any more. I felt my mind wandering to other places. Far away. I looked into her big blue eyes. They were talking, moist and sad, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. And this force, this steel shield suddenly began melting in front of my very eyes.

  Tal finished talking and was waiting for me to answer her, and I just sat there, not saying a word. What could I possibly say? I didn’t even hear the second part of her story. I was too invested in my own thoughts. Just meaningless memories, and yet I still couldn’t manage to listen to her. I couldn’t be there for her. It suddenly dawned on me. This was the first time ever that Tal was asking me to be there for her, listen to her, even help her. And I simply couldn’t do it. I felt ashamed. Ashamed. And full of guilt.

  I left the get-together with a heavy heart, because of its content as well as the way it ended. Tal felt insulted and attacked me with blame, which I couldn’t reall
y hear, but that I assumed from the way she looked at me and how quickly and loudly she spoke. I could understand her anger, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I was like a fish in an aquarium, fighting with another fish in an adjacent aquarium, but unable to physically go there or speak. Because he’s a fish. I saw everything from the outside, and I couldn’t lift a finger.

  I guess that this is the life I’ve been doomed to live. Standing at the side and helplessly looking on.

  I walked all the way home to South Tel Aviv, through Rehov La Guardia. The road was as busy as always, and cars sped past me. Some honked, and in some of them I could see the drivers eyeing me with bewilderment.

  I walked fast in the biting chill and all I wanted was to feel nothing. Quick, quick, don’t think, quick until I can get home and under my blanket, hug Miko and go to sleep. That’s all I could think about. That’s all I wanted. Not to be.

  Rotem

  It was the end of the day and I was sprawled on the couch. The phone rang, and the screen showed “Omeriki.”

  “So, Omer, did you finally despair of messaging me?”

  “Listen. I’m dropping Maya off at your place to look after Yotam and we’ll take a ride to the beach. Bring beer. Do you have any, or should I pick some up downstairs?”

  “All right, come over. I have some beer. Tell Maya to come in without knocking so that Yotam doesn’t wake up.”

  Omer is my first nephew, and, as such, has always held a special place in my heart . I can’t refuse him for too long. He’s like my own first-born - the promo that had peeled off the initial layer, thus awakening my dormant maternal instinct. I’d never even played with dolls before he came along. What a strange little girl I had been.

  “Look at that baby,” my mother would gush.

  “Yeah I saw it. It’s a tiny little bald thing. Now what?”

  Maya walked in with the glow of a bride. You could tell that she was still in love. Well, how could she not be? She won Omer. I took my black bag, put two beer bottles and two nectarines inside, kissed the sleeping Yotam, whispered goodbye to Maya and went out to the stairs, closing the front door carefully to keep the noise down. If Yotam wakes up, the night will be finished. I won’t be able to wake either of us up in the morning, so the entire next day hinges on the front door not slamming shut and interrupting his rest, our rest. I took the stairs quickly, two at a time. The light turned off in the middle of my descent, of course. I felt along the rail until I found the switch, turned it back on, and kept going.

  Omer got off his motorcycle and came over to hug me. “Thank you, Rotem.”

  “Sure thing.” I got on the motorcycle and grabbed onto him. The strong smell of the exhaust mixed with Omer’s Aramis aftershave, to which he’d remained loyal ever since his bar mitzva. The scents tickled my nose.

  “Should we go to the Bograshov Beach? It’s relatively well-lit there,” Omer suggested.

  “Right, It’s the beginning of the Hebrew month so it’s dark out tonight,” I said.

  “How do you know the Hebrew date?”

  “What do you mean? Because of the moon. How else would I know?”

  There are no beginning-of-the-month-parties in Yotam’s school. They don’t send notes home in the kids’ lunchboxes saying, “Please send your son/daughter with a white shirt tomorrow,” and they don’t do sing-alongs with them to welcome in the new month. Those memories belong only to me, and Yotam is building up completely different childhood memories.

  Omer drove fast, and as we reached the beach I thought about Emily again. We sat close to the water, not far from and the corner where Yulia and I always sit. The sea was calm, and a pleasant breeze caressed my face. I handed him the bottles and he opened them over a rock.

  “That’s the only reason we need men around.”

  “Yeah. Good thing there’s still a reason.”

  “So, Omer, what’s happening with my big sister?”

  “I’m worried, Rotem. I don’t really know where she is. I mean, I know that she’s in the Upper Galilee, at Kibbutz Ma’ayan Baruch, renting out a two-story villa overlooking a beautiful green valley with a few other mid-life refugees, but I don’t know what’s happening with her or when she’ll come back to us. I need you.”

  “What does she tell you? How do you communicate?”

  “Phone calls, but mainly emails. There are whole days that go by without her answering the phone, so then I email her. It’s been a month since our last correspondence. I thought that she just needed time. After all, she’d never allowed herself to break down, always remained functional, at work, at home, for everyone else’s sake. So at first I was glad. Why shouldn’t she take this time for herself? But it’s getting longer and longer, and I don’t know how it’ll end. I’m scared that she’s in some sort of limbo, neither here nor there. She uses all sorts of expressions that I don’t understand.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know, something about “samsara,” getting off the Ferris wheel, unnecessary suffering and necessary suffering, being unattached. She meditates on the rocks in the creek every day. Isn’t she a little old for that? And there’s some guy who seems to be impressing everyone there with his wealth.”

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “Yehuda something-or-other. From what I’ve gathered, he’s a psychology lecturer at the college in Tel Hai. Used to be a Zen monk in Thailand, got stuck there during his travels, then returned to Israel, and now he’s making money from it. All day long, Yehuda said this and Yehuda said that, a real Judah Maccabi. I’m very upset about this, Rotem, and I’m scared that he’ll take advantage of her distress. She sounds confused.”

  “Maybe it’s just terminology that isn’t familiar to you. It’s not some far-out cult, you know, it’s just Buddhism. It only has like 500 million believers worldwide.”

  “You’re right, I don’t know enough about it, but I do know my mother. Or at least I thought I did. You know her, too. She’s not like that. She’s focused, grounded, independent, doesn’t need some guru running her life, and she’d never leave me and Ya’ara like that. We’re her kids. She’s been there for almost a year. I thought that she would just take a few months off and then come back home.”

  “I didn’t even know that she’d left. Ever since your father died she hardly ever talks to me, and it’s been a year since I last saw her. There are people closer to her than me − colleagues, friends.”

  “She’s cut off contact with all of them, just cut everyone out. I’m telling you, Rotem, she hardly even talks to me and Ya’ara.”

  “Well, I was the first person she stopped speaking to. So why did you come to me?”

  “You know why. You’re familiar with this kind of stuff.”

  “Are you trying to say that I’m a little bit crazy?”

  “I’m saying that you’ve gone through certain things yourself, and found a few solutions. You seem to be better. I thought that maybe you could come with me. That we could try to talk to her together.”

  “Talk to her and what? Persuade her to come back home? Because I’m not so sure it’s a good idea, Omer.”

  “I just want to be sure that she’s all right. If she doesn’t want to, then she won’t come back home. I surely can’t force her to do that. I just want her to feel that someone cares about her, and that maybe there are solutions other than becoming a modern-day monk and disconnecting from life.”

  “This is the life that she’s currently choosing, and even if you suspect that someone may be influencing her, you should know that she’s the one allowing herself to be influenced. She’s not a little kid, Omer. She won’t hear you out if she senses that you think she’s making a mistake.”

  “Then why doesn’t she ask us to visit? Why doesn’t she share her oh-so-wonderful life with us?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she needs more time to herself . . .“


  “Time?” Omer interrupts me. “How much time? Isn’t a year enough?”

  “This sea existed before us and will exist long after us. What’s a year when compared with eternity?”

  “Come on, Rotem, be serious. Then what’s 100 years? I’m talking in terms of people, not mountains. We’re here now and we love her and care about her. Why does she choose to live with a bunch of strangers instead of us?”

  I suddenly realized what was going on . Pay attention to him, Rotem. He’s trying to deal with his mother’s having left him. He hasn’t yet experienced a few life stages with her.

  “You’re right, Omer. To you it’s a long time, and still, they’re probably not be strangers to her. She’s encountered something there that she’d lacked. Otherwise she wouldn’t stay. Something has touched her, something that she needs. Omer, your mother is mourning her previous life. Mourning what she had and what was taken from her. Mourning the way she’d perceived the world, the people close to her, and herself. And everyone reacts differently. She had never before let herself confront all of this. Now she’s made herself available for it.”

  “You know what, I get that she copes with things differently than I do. I can accept that different people need different things. That everything she’s ever believed and known has collapsed. Maybe I’m just insulted because I didn’t betray her and I didn’t disappear, and I don’t understand why she won’t stay with me.”

  “You’re a big boy now. You’ve grown up beautifully and you don’t need her in order to survive. Both you and Ya’ara have your own lives.”

  “Rotem, I have to ask you. Where did all of this sympathy come from all of a sudden? You want to tell me that you’re not angry with her?”

  “Of course I’m angry, and it’s nothing new. Sometimes I explode with anger. But the way I see it, Emily didn’t leave a year ago, or three years ago. She left me a long time ago, or at least left the little girl that I used to be, who is still inside me searching for her. You can’t leave someone without having been with them to begin with, and Emily was really with me. Not the way I wanted her to be, but now I finally understand that it was the only way she was capable of.”