by Amos Talshir
Simon appeared in the opening of the burrow and she pulled him to her and kissed him and drank in the freshness of his mouth. They lay down side by side in the burrow and kept kissing, on and on, and Rose brought her body against his, wanting to savor the contact. Simon was very excited by the touch of her fragrant body. She covered both of them with Simon’s blanket from that night in which he had appeared like an angel with his cup of hot chocolate. Simon was intoxicated by the touch of her body, and she encouraged him to touch her more and more, guiding his hands under her shirt. His hands shied away from contact with her breasts and he embraced her body, clenching his hands into fists in her warm armpits. In his imagination, he saw the breasts at which he had peeked on that night of nudity on the turf and his breathing became heavy. Rose brought her thighs against his own, tried to direct his hands toward the buttons of her pants. His fingers fumbled and he was unable to undo the buttons, merely continuing to rub his body against hers, kissing her lips with great passion, until Rose pulled down the zipper of his pants, closed her hand around him and placed him on her stomach. Simon let out a moan of pleasure. Rose kept her hand between his legs, rubbing her fingers on his thighs. Simon clung to Rose’s belly. She whispered good, loving words in his ear, asking him to love her, and he erupted on her tan belly while she stroked his back and smiled at his wide-open eyes.
Rose wiped herself off with one of her shirts and then wiped down Simon’s belly and thighs. A fresh smile spread across her face, illuminating her eyes. She asked Simon to stroke her; his eyes still gaped from that moment of too-pleasurable joy. Rose whispered that she wanted him to stroke her in order to feel that he was having a good time with her. Simon stroked her face, abashed. This had been his first time. Not really the first, but the first like that. As if in response to her thoughts, Simon continued to caress her belly, still moist with his leavings. She laughed and he found relief in an embarrassed laugh of his own. Rose pulled his face toward her breasts and asked him to kiss her. He asked her what she preferred, for him to kiss or stroke, since he couldn’t do both at once. Rose said she liked stroking “before” and kisses on her breasts “after.” “And don’t get it wrong,” she warned him, “because if you kiss my nipples after, it’ll tickle me and I’ll burst out laughing.” Simon said he wasn’t certain he would know when was before and when was after, and Rose bit his lips and told him not to worry, since he would know, he would definitely know, because she would teach him.
Simon got up and pulled her to him and they turned toward the exit of the burrow, to the secret route that led them to the restroom facilities. Simon was silent, and Rose knew he was trying to get used to the act of love. Simon tried to cautiously understand his excitement in response to what he saw as her vast experience. Rose would have wanted them to talk about it, and perhaps she could encourage him with the explanation that this was exactly how it should be, and over time, he could learn more and feel better. She would have wanted to tell him that she wanted him to actually sleep with her, like he’d certainly seen in his online videos and maybe even talked about and heard about from his friends. But on second thought, she held herself back from talking to Simon and savored his virginal quality. She found it pleasant to be more experienced and to lead him to her. All she wanted was to see him enjoying himself. At certain moments, during the long nights in the burrow, yearning for Simon’s arrival in the morning, she allowed herself to feel that she was paying him back for his courage and generosity. Her heart clattered with joy in anticipation of his arrival, gentle and bashful, rubbing his body against hers. In such moments, she liked to remember him towering above her, tall and determined, when she was lying naked on the turf, and he leaned down toward her with the blanket and served her hot chocolate.
In the first light of day, the bashful expression still on his face, Simon took Rose’s hand and led her to the hidden turn in the burrow, beyond the place where they had been lying. With warm words, accompanied by shy giggles, Rose asked him to take her to the sinks to wash up. His earlobes flushed, turning purple, when she said she wanted to wash him off her. Simon shook off his embarrassment and told her this was exactly the moment when he wanted to show her something important. They groped their way into the turn, nearly crawling, and Simon instructed her to curl up beside him in the morning dimness and not to move. Several seconds later, they heard a hushed flurry of wings that gradually increased into a calming breeze.
“Now they’ll come,” Simon whispered to her.
“You’re scaring me,” Rose whispered back out of the darkness of the burrow.
“Don’t ever be scared again, I’m with you,” Simon replied softly.
Rose began to cry, a deep, liberating weeping, arising from the fear that had accompanied her all her life: the fear at the sight of her mother’s frozen face as she waited for her husband’s next act of abuse. Fear of her father, who gazed at her dismissively for not adopting shamefaced, humiliated mannerisms of femininity. Fear of David, who was always threatening to leave her. All her life, she had waited for someone to tell her, don’t ever be scared again. And now that Simon had told her what she wanted to hear, she realized that something else needed to happen in order for her to truly stop being afraid.
A gentle billow of wings passed by her head. Light, fluttering spheres of wind multiplied in their flight within the tunnel, streaming like an elusive breeze within the burrow in the hidden direction beyond the turn. The flow of bats grew gradually thicker until it became a full, uniform stream of precise little bodies hurtling toward the unknown. A few minutes later, the sound stilled, and a hollow silence spread over the burrow.
“Where did they disappear to?” Rose marveled.
“To freedom,” Simon replied. “I’ve been tracking them since they attacked the sharpshooter. They’ve given up on violence. The bats have realized they stand no chance in the stadium anymore. Every once in a while, a group of them leaves on command. Not all of them, just a group of a few hundred—taking this route in the burrow and never returning to the stadium.”
“They’re flying to freedom,” Rose said, placing her palms on Simon’s face and kissing his lips.
“I’m sure the bats are flying off and not coming back, but what interests me is how they’re leaving the burrows and getting outside the stadium walls,” Simon said.
He was embarrassed by the looks directed at them by the other people in the restroom facility and tried to remove her caressing hands from his face but encountered her teary eyes. The question of whether the bats were flying off to freedom was still suspended on her lips, and Simon envisioned the letters painted in white on her rump: Free world. He really wanted to talk to her about the thoughts causing him such turmoil. He had a feeling that with her, with Rose, he could talk about this excitement that paralyzed him. He wanted to tell her about Annette, the girl he loved on the school field trip to the lakes. Annette—causing his lungs to burst as he dove beneath her in the lake and saw her small breasts as her blouse floated up around her in the water. But Rose was talking about freedom. No, he wouldn’t tell her he loved Annette, because he didn’t know whether he actually loved her or had only been excited to sneak a peek at her underwater. And even if he did love her, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to tell one girl that you loved someone else, or even that you had once loved her.
Rose took him by the hand and led him to the sink. The flowing water brought Simon back once more to the blue lake and to Annette’s feet, fluttering in the water to keep her afloat. He had never told anyone everything he felt about Annette. There had been moments when he had thought he could tell Mom, definitely not Dad. But Mom was protective of him as well, and that wasn’t what he needed. He actually could and wanted to tell Rose. It would be different with her, since he had brought her hot chocolate and a blanket. She even said he had saved her. But maybe there was no point in telling her. He and Dad were planning to escape anyway, and he wouldn’t see Rose anymore. But maybe, for tha
t very reason, this was the opportunity to tell her…
After they had washed themselves by the sinks in the restroom facility, the beatific expression that she had so anticipated returned to his face once more. As their day began, he resumed determining their schedule. While they walked in the fresh morning breeze that began to blow in the stadium, he once again felt the desire to tell her about Annette but chose to begin by telling her about missing Mom and Emily; later, he might talk to her about Annette as well. Rose responded immediately, with what felt to him like insensitivity, saying she had never allowed herself to miss her family, left outside the stadium. Such thoughts might weaken her resilience. The mere fact that she had been born to a pair of parents was not, as far as she was concerned, a reason to love them. She had not resigned herself to oppression and disloyalty, either at home or in her country. She felt that she had decided on fighting for her right to love her mother and father, or anyone else she would love in her life, only of her own free will. She had joined the resistance, believed in a free world, and was willing to sacrifice her body for it. She believed that loyalty to an idea could not be expressed in words and slogans about what was and wasn’t right. The actual, physical and practical test was the only true one. That was why she was so uncompromising in her attitude toward her streaking. That was why she had been David’s lover. Faith and love were her path in life, and the proof was in her total devotion. But did David really love her, or was it also the same arrangement of obligatory love with him, as well? Like the obligatory love of a girl toward her parents, or a guy toward a girl who was around him, in the resistance, close to the leader?
“If David loved you, how could he have abandoned you?” Simon asked.
Rose tightened her grip on Simon’s long fingers as he walked beside her. Did the fact that David had betrayed her and left her, weak and naked, to freeze to death, mean that Rose was wrong in all her beliefs? That her entire love was nothing but a relationship of convenience? David was older than her and was assertive and authoritative. He was the leader of the resistance and had led Rose to his heart with declarations of love. He declared, decreed and determined the path of the resistance movement, as well as the path of their love. She had been swept up in the passion of his words and in the fury of his intentions. But he had not offered his hand when she needed him. What did that say about her? Did she not know what love was? Was she trying to see love in anything that did not look like her father and mother?
Simon was younger than her, fresh and seeking answers. A curious person investigating what was greater than him. Thinking and exposing hidden depths, comparing and exploring his path, listening and suggesting solutions that only he had thought of. Not summarizing things others had said, not juggling words. Precise in his speech, with actions hidden at its edges. And beyond all that was his smile, his face radiant like an enormous “thank you” for all the good he found around him, and he, this child, was the only man in the world who had reached out to her when she needed it.
“If the bats have come to the conclusion that they have to escape, it’s unequivocal for us,” Simon said suddenly.
“How are they escaping?” Rose asked, hugging Simon’s arm.
“I think the president can help us find the opening in the wall.”
“Does he know where the bats are escaping to?”
“No, but he knows where he would escape to. More precisely, every structure in your country has escape hatches for tyrants who know the day of escape will come. It’s possible that the bats found his escape hatch.”
“He didn’t manage to escape.”
“Because he didn’t want to escape. I think he knows the outside might be worse for him.”
“Do you think we can trust him?”
Simon entrenched himself in his silence. So many thoughts were running through his mind. They continued to stroll on the turf among the thousands of fans and Simon focused on Rose’s warm hand in his own. Occasionally their arms brushed against each other and a delicious current passed through his body. He had not even dreamed of walking hand in hand with Annette. He had only hoped for a clear look from her, signaling to him that she was aware of his existence. And that hadn’t happened. He hadn’t blamed her; after all, he himself hadn’t gathered the courage to gaze directly into her blue eyes, and the idea of inviting her to swim in the ocean near his house continued to roll around in his head.
And now he was walking hand in hand with the lovely Rose, who was stroking him and talking to him. He mustn’t make the mistake of suddenly sharing all the unique ideas running through his mind with her. He shouldn’t tell her that the revolution had been coordinated with additional countries in the coalition, perhaps with the entire continent. What would she think of her pathetic resistance? She would realize they had not seen the big picture and had played like children in the grownups’ game. And what if he told her he thought that doctor was not as innocent as he was trying to appear? It was obvious to him that that doctor, the minister of health, was closely connected to this entire event in the stadium, or at least knew a lot more than he was letting on. He preferred Rose the way she was, naïve and combative.
“Simon, what are you thinking about all the time?” Rose asked.
“I’m just thinking.”
29.
The second summer in the stadium found most of its inhabitants in an amazingly adaptive state. After passing the winter sleep-sitting in the stands, it seemed as if nothing could further disrupt the routine of their lives. Everything that, a year ago, had seemed illogical, unreasonable for civilized people, impossible, animalistic, cruel, had become a way of life. The lockdown within the stadium, isolation from the outside world, bathing by the sinks, making do with tap water and food rectangles dropped down from the helicopter once a week, now met all their requirements. The regime of order, cleanliness, nonviolence and the rules promising a sudden death by sharpshooter fire for anyone who went against the system were victorious. There were still, of course, remnants of the resistance cells that had worked against the previous regime, which continued to chatter on about deprivation of freedom and human rights, but this zeal did not bring on any sort of action. Occasionally, a smoking hole would gape in the forehead of an impassioned speaker in the stands. No factor was more persuasive in maintaining the routine of life than the fear of death that seized the masses every time they were exposed to a head pierced by a sniper’s bullet.
The deposed president welcomed them with the same dignity he had exhibited in their first meeting, as if he had lost none of his status. He emerged from the VIP box accompanied by the minister of health and hurriedly directed a slight bow at Rose, kissing her hand and calling her “my political rival.” He straightened his filthy suit, hanging from his scrawny body as if he were a terminal patient or one of the people thrilled by their extreme diet. He looked around him, narrowing his pupils in order to enhance his vision; this had been his habit since his glasses were broken when he stepped on them in the course of his insomnia in the VIP stand. He was disappointed to see that Veronica had not come with them, and did not bother to hide it. Since their first encounter, quite a while ago, the president had yearned for Veronica’s rare visits. He did not stop telling anyone who was willing to listen how she had managed to lift his spirits when she danced with him to the sounds of the MP3 with which Simon had equipped her. Like a renowned leader exulting the wonders of his reign in his memoirs, he recounted, as if he had no other past, how one earbud had been lodged in her ear while the other was in the president’s own, and so they had danced close to the sounds of the medley of songs Simon had downloaded based on the president’s preferences. He erased his cruel exploits and told the story of his life as if it was epitomized by that wondrous dance with Veronica.
Simon and Rose stood spellbound, listening to the words of the man considered to be the ruler of Los Españoles Estados Unidos coalition. Rose needed a significant degree of restraint in orde
r to believe that the president had not lost his mind. Simon did not believe the president had gone mad and was convinced that this was in fact his strategy: to look like a harmless idiot in the eyes of the new regime.
Under the enormous concrete pillars, in the constant gloom, the malnourished man loomed around them, telling them how much he loved romantic music that reminded him what he was capable of. Like a distant, meaningful memory from the glorious days of his reign, he said that Veronica would tell him that she didn’t understand why he was regaling her with stories about every lover with whom he had danced to the notes of her special song. His body, swaying within the suit that had lost its sharp cut, floated around Simon and Rose, carried along by the tune of the music playing in his imagination, as if he was in Veronica’s skillful arms at that very moment. The two of them looked at him, while he simulated whispering how he missed his mistresses in Veronica’s ear.
Rose asked Simon in a whisper whether he still believed this crazy man could help him, and Simon did not reply, continuing to watch the president.
“Which of them do you miss most?” he asked him.
“Every moment, I miss someone else most,” the president replied, continuing to float around in meticulous dance steps.
Rose asked him if he did not miss being in power, and he said that love had always been in first place for him, and that at the forefront of his loves was Veronica.
