I went into the room, which was smaller than my bedroom. The room was gray and no one had tried to improve its appearance. The walls were completely exposed and the grayness from outside had made its way inside. Across the desk, overflowing with files, sat a man about thirty years old. When I entered, he lifted his head and invited me to sit down in the chair across from him.
Suddenly the room darkened. In the doorway stood “dear child,” his wide frame blocking almost all the light coming from the corridor. The policeman across from me didn’t say a word, but I got up and, with uncharacteristic bravado, shut the door in his menacing face. I think the policeman himself was surprised by my action. His expression showed amazement, and I think a little bit of admiration. He presented his hand and said, “Don.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Eva,” I said.
“Yes, Eva, what can I do for you?”
“I would like to file a complaint for attempted rape,” I said in a steady voice.
Don raised his head, a question forming in his eyes.
“Against George Lucas,” I stated.
Everyone knew George. He owned the largest hardware and home appliance store in town. Everyone in town must have visited his store at least once. His family was also well known. His father established the business and managed it himself until he became too old. Then George took his place. The officer squirmed in his chair and the pen in his hand shook. He lifted his head again and looked me squarely in the eyes.
“Please describe the incident,” he said. I could hear a change in his voice.
I described the entire incident, from the knock on the door until the policeman arrived at my house.
“Were there any witnesses to the incident?” he asked skeptically.
“Yes,” I answered.
“I will have to question them as well.”
He asked me to sign the form, then got up and told me to go home, that he would be in touch. Leaving the station, the same group of burly men was still there, waiting to terrorize me. I walked between them, my eyes straight ahead. It felt like someone touched my arm, but I kept walking out the station door. Standing outside, I could feel the immense tension that had built up in me; my balance wobbled slightly, making me grab the banister next to the stairs. Walking to my car, worried that the gang would follow me, my legs were unsteady. I got into the car, closed the door, and rested my head on the steering wheel for a minute, waiting for my breathing to stabilize. When I looked up, there were the three men, one in front of the car and the other two on either side. They didn’t do anything, just stood there looking at me. It seemed like it took an eternity for me to get the car started and inch it past them.
In the rearview mirror, I saw them standing in a row watching me and knew at that moment that my life was in danger. For a split second, I thought about turning the car around and calling the whole thing off, but it was a moment that was almost imperceptible. My foot pressed down on the gas pedal and the car moved forward at a normal speed toward my house. I wanted to be inside the four familiar walls at home, to regain some of the confidence I had felt when deciding not to keep silent any longer.
Evening came quickly. Darkness covered the world, casting doubt on what had seemed so certain in daylight. A loud voice thundered in my head, trying to convince me to let the whole thing go. It was completely illogical to fight with men that would stop at nothing to get what they wanted. These men were motivated by a sense of power drawn from the fact that they were a group. And then there was me: young, inexperienced in war, with a lifetime of experience in listening to orders without questioning them. It was a very convincing voice that was hard to argue with. But the Eva of today isn’t the one from the past, I announced to myself silently. I must atone for my way of life. Mostly for myself, but also for my mother, who I haven’t thought of for many days.
***
The first threat came three days later as I left in the morning for work, a few minutes before eight o’clock. I locked the door, my back to my car. Roy had installed two more locks on the door, so locking up took longer than usual. When I turned around, I saw the writing. On the car, on the driver’s side, in black spray paint, were the words, “Beware, dear child.”
I went back inside the house and locked all the locks on the door. I sat in the kitchen and couldn’t stop shaking. My legs jumped up and down like a machine and the pounding of my heart was deafening. The sound was incessant. I couldn’t even get to the telephone—I sat there shaking and terrified for a long time, until it felt possible to get up and call Roy. He promised to come right over. What seemed like an eternity passed until he arrived.
“Eva, I’m begging you—withdraw the complaint,” Roy urged me.
I really wanted to please him, but I couldn’t. Withdrawing the complaint would be an admission of defeat for me, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to look myself in the mirror.
“I can’t,” I said.
“Of course you can,” he said. “You have to understand that they aren’t playing. These aren’t idle threats. This is a warning. They are capable of much worse.”
Roy stooped down in front of me so that my head was a bit higher than his. He tried to catch my gaze.
He began again, this time more aggressively. “Eva, you will withdraw your complaint!”
“No, Roy, I am not withdrawing anything!” I jumped up from the chair, almost knocking Roy over. “You don’t understand. You don’t understand anything! Ever since I was a little girl I’ve been like… Like the wind, going wherever I was blown, like air. My father, my idol, turned out to be a fake. Do you know what it’s like to find out that someone you idolized was faking it? Can you even try to understand what that feels like? For twenty years it seemed that my father was like all the other fathers, that everything he did was right and just, that stupid little me should follow him blindly.
“I even rejected my own mother because he did—because of him, I didn’t have a mother, never felt a mother’s hug. Do you see the depth of my loss? I lived like a trained pet, making no decisions, never objecting to anything, just existing—that’s it. And I’m angry—so angry at myself! I can’t even look myself in the mirror because it shows me just a… nothing. Can you understand my disappointment? My frustration? My desperation?”
The tears were streaming down my face, but I didn’t try to stop them. It was the first time I had voiced my disappointment in myself. It was a feeling of disgust, of great contempt. These last discoveries about my father and mother opened a door for me that had been locked with a million locks.
“Roy, if I withdraw my complaint, I will go back to being that nothing Eva. This complaint isn’t just a complaint for me. It’s defiance, maybe even revenge. Revenge for my life up until now; revenge against my father who cheated me all those years; revenge against myself for just accepting everything. You have to understand that standing up to these Nazis is a stance against my previous life. It is a decision to change it. Do you think I don’t know that they’re dangerous? Of course I know it, but I am not prepared to go backward.”
“Not even if it costs you your life?” he asked all of a sudden.
I thought for a minute before I answered. “Yes. From my point of view, going back to my previous life would be like dying.”
Roy was silent. I could see the battle going on inside him. I understood him. He was afraid for me. But I also knew that he understood.
“Roy, if my father were here, he would order me to change my mind. The fact that he’s no longer alive makes it easier for me to do something I owe myself.”
I couldn’t fall asleep that night. I tossed and turned in bed in total restlessness—hot one minute, throwing off the blankets, and cold the next, pulling the covers up to my neck. I looked around the bed for something to hold on to: a book, an album, something. My eyes fell on the guitar I had never played, the textbooks from high school, old pens, pencils, childish pink curtains, a fancy old lampshade hanging from the ceiling. Nothing had changed in my room s
ince I was a child.
Getting up from the bed and peeling the sheets off, I went over to my desk and pulled down the books from the shelves, piling them on the floor until the shelves were completely bare. I ripped the lampshade from the ceiling, took down the pictures on the wall one after another, and finally pulled down the curtains and heaped them onto the pile in the corner of the room. I looked around. The room was bare, with no symbols of personality. I pushed all the things out of the room and left them in the hallway for the next morning.
I sat in the easy chair in the living room and covered myself up with the wool blanket that was always there. That’s how I fell asleep—all curled up in the chair that used to be my father’s.
The doorbell brought me out of a deep and dreamless sleep. I looked at the watch on my arm. It was seven o’clock a.m. Fear began to trickle inside me. The doorbell rang again and again.
“Eva, open up, it’s me,” called Donna.
I got up and opened the door.
“What are you doing here?” I asked sleepily.
“Roy told me what happened yesterday,” she answered.
Again I noticed that she and Roy had a relationship that had nothing to do with me, and again I felt a slight pinch. This time it hurt even more.
“So, what are you doing here at this hour?” I asked again.
“I want us to drive together to work.”
“What?” I was upset.
“I want us to drive together to work,” she repeated.
“So, what, now you’re going to come over every morning to take me to work?”
“If need be, then yes.”
“Donna, I know you are worried about me, but this isn’t a solution.”
“Eva, I am very worried about you.”
“I know,” I said gently. “But I need to deal with this.”
“How?”
“I still don’t know. I need to think about it.”
“I have an idea. Why don’t we meet today at your house with Roy and put our heads together and come up with a solution. You don’t need to be brave, these are dangerous people.”
“I know. It’s not a matter of being brave. It’s a matter of necessity for me. I’m afraid too,” I admitted. “But I am not going to stop my life. I have to continue.”
“Let’s meet here today and think about it, OK?”
I nodded in agreement.
I followed Donna in my car all the way to the office. After returning home, my next job was to get rid of all the things in the hallway. After two hours, the house was neat and the things were piled in the garbage can in the yard. I didn’t feel any remorse or regrets. As soon as the lid closed on the garbage can, I was relieved. I said goodbye to a chapter in my life that was weighing heavily on me and preventing me from moving forward. I went into the house feeling a bit victorious.
Roy and Donna came over that evening. We sat in the kitchen and I made them something hot to drink. The air outside was beginning to get warm, but it was still chilly. The house was warm and a cozy feeling filled the air.
“Look, Eva,” Donna said. “Roy and I have been talking, and we have an idea, but I’m asking you to not reject it straight off. Think about it first.”
“OK.”
Roy continued. “Look, it’s dangerous for you to stay home alone. You know these people are capable of anything. They won’t stop until you withdraw the complaint against George. Therefore, we thought that at least for a short time, I would move in here with you.”
“What?” I was shocked.
“Listen, Eva,” Donna said, “it’s completely logical. I know that it sounds strange to you, but think for a minute. Roy is a police officer. He has a gun.”
“So, what, if they come, he would whip out his gun and kill them?”
“Don’t exaggerate. The gun provides security. Nobody really intends to use it.”
“I won’t do it,” I cut him off. “I don’t want Roy to leave his home and stop his life to watch over me because of my problems. It sounds like a bad idea.”
“Donna, will you give us a couple of minutes alone?” Roy surprised me.
Donna looked at him and then at me, got up, went into the living room and turned on the television.
Moving his chair to sit in front of me, he began, “Eva, we’ve known each other for almost ten years, right?”
At my nod, he continued. “Only yesterday did I realize how complicated your life has been. Even in the two years since the death of your parents I haven’t been able to understand everything you and them have been through in depth. I’ve known you for so long and only yesterday did I see what I should have seen ages ago.”
“What are you talking about?”
“When I left here yesterday, I drove around for hours in the car. I couldn’t calm down. You are angry at yourself and I am furious at myself.”
I tried to stop him and tell him that he has nothing to be angry about, but he asked me to let him continue.
“I am so angry at myself for not seeing. I should have felt what was happening to you. I knew the kind of father you had, but I never dared talk to you about him.”
“I’m sure I would have gotten angry at you if you tried to tell me bad things… In any case I wouldn’t have believed you,” I tried to reassure him.
“Maybe, but I should have tried,” he insisted.
“Roy…” I tried to interrupt.
He continued. “I was so caught up in myself, in my feelings…”
I didn’t want him to go on. I knew that if he did, we would have to deal with something we’ve been putting off for a long time. At that moment, I couldn’t deal with our feelings for each other. I preferred to ignore them—to live as if what hadn’t explicitly been said didn’t exist.
He said, “Eva, I want a chance to make it up to you for being dimwitted. I know that you want to be independent and to rid yourself of the strings to your past, but the crisis you are going through right now is very difficult, and I just want to help you through it. For me, mostly. As soon as it’s all over, I will go home. But until then, I will be with you, and we’ll fight these Nazis together.”
I looked in his eyes, and I saw his aggression and his pleading at the same time. Finally, I said, “OK, you can come live here, but only for a short time.”
20
Two days later Roy moved in with me. I moved into my parents’ bedroom and he made himself comfortable in mine.
It was strange not to be alone any more. I was used to being alone by now. Even so, I got used to his presence in the house rather quickly. It was nice to know that he would be coming home in the evening, that I would be eating with another person, that I could talk and get a human response, and that I no longer needed to be afraid at night. My sleep became much more relaxed.
One evening, about a week after he moved in with me, we were sitting in the living room watching television. We weren’t talking much. He was very tired, and his eyes began to close. I didn’t mind that he was sleeping next to me; his presence was calming. Since he had moved in, suddenly I had begun enjoying television shows, my appetite had returned, and I had a new sense of vitality.
Roy’s head dropped every so often, the movement waking him every time, until finally I leaned him against my shoulder and let him doze there. The house was dark. Only the floor lamp was on in the living room, and the blue light of the television engulfed the room. Suddenly there was the loud sound of breaking glass, then tires squealing, which slowly faded away into complete silence.
Roy jumped right up as soon as he heard the explosion. He grabbed me, shoved me into the space between the table and the sofa, and leaped on top of me to protect me with his body until we heard the sound of the tires leaving.
We looked up, but the window across from us was still in one piece. We went into my bedroom and there, on the floor, was a heavy brick surrounded by glass shards.
“Are you OK?” asked Roy.
I nodded and gave him a look that expressed my thanks
for being there with me. We cleaned up the room. There was nothing else to do. It was obvious that this incident was part of their plan to make me withdraw the complaint. It was also obvious to me that this intimidation campaign wasn’t over and that there would be more of the same.
We decided to let the episode pass and not to file another complaint. We did our best to stay at home most of the time. We certainly felt safer inside than we did anywhere else. Donna came over once in a while to visit, but she also tried not to wander around outside after dark. For some reason, the bullies didn’t harass her, even though they knew that she intended to testify at the trial.
In the meantime, living with Roy became routine. We were together, but we respected each other’s living space. Roy never entered my parents’ bedroom, and I avoided going into my former room. It was an understanding we came to without having to talk about it. But what happened that weekend undermined the delicate texture of our relationship.
It was Friday evening. Roy had gone shopping on his way home from work; I cooked dinner for us. When I finished cooking, we sat down side by side and enjoyed the aromas of the dishes we had created with our own hands. Roy poured the wine, and we clinked our glasses, smiling at each other. We felt like we were on a desert island with only empty space all around us—no people, no threats, and no danger lurking in the shadows. We were focused on eating and the casual conversation we were having. A light knock on the door, barely perceptible, replaced the serenity with tension. We looked at each other and waited. We heard the knocking again, this time louder. Roy got up and moved closer to the door. He called me to also come near and told me to ask who was there.
“Who is it?” I asked, but no answer was forthcoming.
I cleared my throat and asked again, “Who is it?”
Life in a Box Page 15
