by Amos Talshir
“Long time no see,” he told her in English, hoping for a thaw in the tension of their accidental meeting. Rose avoided looking at him directly, saying it had been quite a while and that things changed, bringing on a change in attitude. Simon said he remembered her sipping hot chocolate from his thermos as if it were yesterday. Rose did not reply. Simon said he remembered her lips, purple from the cold, as they touched the brown hot chocolate and became red, and she said it had been two years. He said he could still feel the hot-chocolate taste of the kiss in his mouth to this day. Rose said it was the memory of a sixteen-year-old’s first kiss, and he told her he was already eighteen and could remember today what had happened when he was sixteen, if it was that important to her to be precise. Rose said that he was angry at her and that she understood him, but things had changed, and he had to understand that when a person grew up, they saw everything differently. Rose turned to go, and he considered grabbing hold of her arm but felt shy and only increased the pace of his steps to walk beside her. Rose stopped and asked him not to follow her. Simon asked her whether, when a person grew up, they necessarily began to betray others.
Rose was not prepared for this painful directness, but thought she had no right to complain. She, too, had always preferred to be direct. When she had run naked in the stadium, she had been direct; when she had accused David of betraying her and not saving her, she had been direct.
“I’ll never forget what you did for me,” Rose said. “Not only did you save my life, but you were by my side when my whole world collapsed. I’ll always remember you made me believe in myself even when I had been betrayed and was alone, and you found me a place to escape to. But we don’t belong to one another.”
“Because I didn’t sleep with you properly?” Simon asked. “Because I didn’t know how to do it?”
“That has nothing to do with it,” Rose said. “It has nothing to do with sex. Simon, the long kisses with you in the burrow and your sweet body and our hot-chocolate kiss will always be my special love. I’m sure I’ll never kiss anyone my whole life as much as I kissed you, even if I live for a good long time. You might have been the love of my life, and anything that happens from now on will be just another love.”
“Then why are you betraying me? We had plans.”
“Because I belong here, and you’re a visitor. You can run away, if you’ve got somewhere to run away to, but I have to stay here and fight for my country. I can’t give up and betray my country.”
“But you can betray me?”
“You’ll run away like your bats, but I belong here. We’ll seize control of the country and return true freedom to the people. Some values are more meaningful than love.”
“And who will take care of you?” Simon asked. “How can I know you’ll be okay?”
“You’re so pure,” Rose said, unable to hold back her tears. “I’m betraying you and you’re asking who’ll take care of me?”
Rose cried and her tan complexion reddened. She tried to conceal her tears with a hasty brush of her palms, but the tears flooded her eyes and her nose, quivering on her lips. “Maybe David will take care of me, maybe President Fredo will take care of me. But no one will take care of me like you did, because no one is like you and like our kisses,” she declared through her tears.
“Come run away with me and my dad,” Simon addressed her in a measured, assertive voice. “They’ll kill all of you, or else you’ll continue to betray one another.”
“Don’t be angry at me, my love,” she asked. “Back when you got to know me, I was also running naked for a supreme cause I believed in, and that proved to be beyond me. I was born to change the world, to fight for what I believe in. You were born to love and to have fun, and you gave me great moments of love in this hell of hatred and death where I live. My fate is to stay here and change the world, and your fate is to save yourself. Run away from here, Simon, and maybe we’ll meet again and realize our decision when we were young was a good one. Maybe I’ll change the world, and maybe you’ll find your big love. Don’t let a little love like ours dictate your life. Escape, if you can.”
Simon stayed where he was as Rose’s shoulders, wrapped in his blanket, disappeared among the crowds strolling on the turf. He touched his own shoulders in order to feel the weight of the backpack on his back before turning to the light pole that his father had hacked into and waiting for the right moment. The moment when the sun disappeared beyond the stand but had not yet gone down, and the lighting system had still not been turned on. This was the twilight hour, when visibility was limited, the floodlights had still not inundated the stadium with their light, and the bats had still not assumed their positions on the edges of the roofs over the stands. Simon leaned against the pole and extracted the smartphone from his backpack. It was very simple; all he had to do was upload the files of dance music he had prepared and insert the small plug his father had connected to the wires in the pole into the outlet in his phone. Simon was not tense. He knew that if the loudspeakers let him down and no music sounded throughout the stadium, he would quickly disconnect the wires and wander away from the pole. He was much more concerned about what the snipers would do once the music sounded. Would they await instructions from up high, or panic and start shooting at the loudspeakers or the people in order to trigger the emergency drill in the stadium, driving people back to their seats? He waited for the moment when he saw Veronica and his father standing and embracing in the company of other people in the center circle on the pitch, raised his eyes to the roof of the stand, focused his gaze on one of the sharpshooters and inserted the plug.
The music shook the stadium. An immense roar of trumpets in a Latin rhythm attracted attention to the message Simon had recorded in the local language, against the background of a gradually increasing beat: “The forces of the new free democracy are pleased to kick off the celebrations in honor of the anniversary of the revolution, with a night of dancing to honor the people and their freedom.” Once the opening announcement ended, the music soared to new heights, shaking the air trapped between the walls of the massive stadium. The loudspeakers roared and the sharpshooters were seen looking around, searching for guidance. The vast crowd, some of which was in the midst of an evening stroll on the turf, began to move to the beat of the melody. Some of the sharpshooters stood in their posts, straightening helplessly as their judgment lost its moorings. Simon spotted Veronica, who had already had time to grab hold of Charlie’s arms, dragging him in dance steps to the line of the center circle on the pitch. A few fans joined the column headed by Veronica, creating a short train of dancers. The masses still lingering behind in their seats in the stands began to flood the turf, each of them grabbing onto the waist of the person in front of them.
Swarms of fans began coming down to the pitch, stamping their feet according to the Latin dance steps Veronica modeled as she led the lengthening column along the line of the pitch’s center circle. The turf overflowed with the presence of all hundred thousand fans. Simon lingered by the pole providing the electrical connection and prayed to the god of smartphones that for this one time only, the last in his life, the computer would not freeze up, like it had in every important presentation at school or in the university lectures which he had attended as a guest student by virtue of his status as an outstanding pupil in his computer classes.
All of the sharpshooters were standing on the roofs in their black clothes, waving their guns to the beat of the music. They, too, needed a bit of entertainment after two years of tense lurking on the roofs of the stands. Charlie was amazed by the number of sharpshooters suddenly standing on the roofs. Hundreds of them were present. A yard, perhaps a bit more, separated one sharpshooter from the next. Charlie felt the pulse of pride that always rose within him when he witnessed Simon’s talent. The idea of a stadium-wide dance was seemingly a simple one: people would dance and it would be fun. But Charlie knew that life was a lot more complex than that. In the dep
ths of the sea, in his long dives into the silence, as close as he could get to his ability to be solely himself, Charlie had known what he was worth and what other people were worth. He knew he wasn’t worth much. The little he had in him was located in his two hands, capable of understanding and mapping out and fixing a boat engine. If he made more of an effort, he might give himself a good grade for stubbornness, perhaps being presumptuous enough to call it perseverance. He could hold his breath long enough to achieve a very prolonged dive in order to repair an engine underwater, no more than that; that was all he had in him. However, he knew there were quite a few people around him who were capable of a lot less, of almost nothing. They were plain old people who were like flowing water, like waves crashing on the shore. They didn’t change a thing and were capable of nothing. That was why he was so impressed by Simon, his son, who could use his imagination to create a new situation conceived inside his head, like the creation of the world. Simon was the one who had thought of making the entire stadium dance so that he and his father could escape. The one great joy of his life, exceeded by nothing else, was that his son surpassed him by far.
Charlie was certain that Simon had planned the timing of the dance correctly. When the floodlights came on, a blinding space was created, leaving the exit to the burrow outside the snipers’ line of sight. The pitch became a dance floor packed with tens of thousands of fans discharging their suppressed energy. The audience members who had not managed to come down to the turf remained to dance in the aisles between the rows of seats. Veronica spun on her heels and hugged Charlie’s waist. Tens of thousands of dancers, starting with those closest to Veronica and gradually encompassing those distant from her, also turned their faces to the person closest to them, man or woman, and followed her lead. Pairs upon pairs, some men with women, many more same-sex male couples, transitioned to the waist dance modeled by Veronica when the next song began, roaring on the loudspeakers.
“I’m so happy,” Veronica told Charlie during the hip-shaking dance. He couldn’t hear her voice. The music was drowning out anything being said. “I’m pregnant,” Veronica yelled into Charlie’s ear. “My period didn’t come,” she continued shouting, and several couples around them turned to look and congratulate them.
Charlie was appalled. Within minutes, he and Simon were supposed to take advantage of the massive dance party, sneak into the burrow and head toward the sea. From there, they would swim toward one of the cruising ships, which would bring them closer to the coast of Mediterranean Mara Land, and in a week or a month, or however long it took, they would leap off the deck and swim to the house on the bluff. To Emily and Clara. Pregnant? He wouldn’t be here to greet it. He was sweating, he was a liar, he was not himself. He would run off and she would stay here with their baby.
“Are you glad?” she asked.
“Very glad.”
“I know when you got me pregnant. Want to know?”
“No, that’s not really important now. There are people here,” Charlie tried to silence Veronica by yelling in her ear.
“I want you to take part fully in my experience,” Veronica shouted. “Remember when I sat on you when we went back to our restroom stall? I was sure that that’s where it would happen, because it was there that we peed together for the first time. I felt it taking root.”
“Veronica,” Charlie yelled. “People can hear you!”
“You can go, Charlie. I know you have to go. You’ve given me everything I’ve dreamed of. I’ll love you forever, even if I don’t see you. You did what I asked you to do, and I’ll do what you expect of me. This dance party will go on till dawn. Good luck, Charlie. Tell Simon I’m proud of him too, and I’ll take care of his brother. If we meet again, I’ll be happy to introduce you to your son, and if you don’t come back to me, I’ll know you couldn’t. I’ll always be here for you.”
Veronica danced away from him, sweeping the train of her fellow dancers in her wake. Charlie’s gaze followed her until she drifted away and disappeared within the grooving crowd. The music impassioned the masses who followed the steps modeled by Veronica intently as she led a column comprised of tens of thousands of fans. The dancers sang along rowdily to the lyrics of the playlist Simon had put together in the file playing through his phone. Charlie spotted Simon next to the pole and hurried over to him. He was full of excitement in anticipation of carrying out Simon’s escape plan. With one last look, they bade farewell to the sight of the fans celebrating the anniversary of the revolution with a massive dance party and began to make their way toward the bat burrow that would take them out to the sea.
The plan was clear. Simon and Charlie had rehearsed it dozens of times. They would take advantage of the laxer security forces keeping watch over the exterior of the stadium, reach the ocean via the bat burrow and begin to swim. By the time dawn broke, after eight hours of swimming, they would manage to put a distance of at least twenty-five miles between themselves and the coast controlled by the revolution’s forces. There, outside the territorial waters, they would try to board one of the free ships sailing the sea and look for a way to reach Clara and Emily using various vessels.
The last look they turned toward the stadium left them surprised. A helicopter appeared over the stands suddenly and began to descend over the pitch’s center circle. A barred cage hung from a cable dangling from its undercarriage, its contents indistinguishable in the darkness. The helicopter descended further, and the cage approached the area illuminated by the floodlights. The loudspeakers broadcasting the dance music were invaded by the voice of the revolution’s announcer, who proclaimed the capture of an enemy of the people, whose identity would be revealed to everyone present in honor of the anniversary of the revolution. Simon and Charlie had just decided to hurry toward the opening of the burrow when the dangling cage was revealed in the beams of light roaming through the stadium sky. Inside the cage, trapped, tied up and trembling in the cold, was a naked Rose.
34.
Charlie hugged Simon’s shoulders. They had to make a decision quickly, much more quickly than they ever had before. Should they continue heading for the burrow, and from there to the sea, according to plan, or would they give up on the diversionary tactic of the extravagant dance party and wait to see what unfolded? Simon’s gaze was frightened, directed at the wretched Rose, who was shivering with cold in the cage suspended in the freezing night air. The throngs of dancers stopped where they were on the pitch and listened to the announcer, who continued to describe Rose’s shameful crime: the girl who had streaked naked in front of everyone at the end of the game had been revealed as an outlaw. The announcer declared that not only had Rose disrupted public order, which was of ultimate value in ensuring the stability of the new regime, but she was also a member of a resistance movement that threatened to damage the routine of life in the stadium. Simon translated the announcer’s speech for Charlie, who realized they were not escaping to the sea, but would stay behind to save Rose. No words were spoken; the decision was made from within the accelerating heartbeat transmitted from Simon’s body to Charlie’s embracing hands. They began to run abruptly toward the loudspeaker pole; it was obvious to both of them that first of all, they had to save Simon’s smartphone, which was connected to the pole and continued to broadcast dance music. The crowd, which had stopped dancing, huddled on the pitch, serving as a live shield for them. The two of them snuck in, hidden from the sharpshooters’ eyes, and disconnected the phone.
The announcer declared that they must all disperse to their regular seats after he finished his instructions in regard to the terms of Rose’s release. The barred metal cage hovered in the air, with the shivering Rose inside it, more intent on hiding her nakedness than on warming her body. Simon felt the suffocation of helplessness in his throat, just like years ago, when he had stood at the edge of the water, waiting for the children to invite him to take part in their soccer game on the beach. His gaze begged his father for help, and sudde
nly, in Charlie’s eyes, he once again resembled that lonely, weak boy who could not make friends on his own.
The boy on whom he had so relied, confident and proud of being the father who could follow his son—the planner, the inventor, knowing everything about burrows and bats and computers—stood helpless when confronting his first love. All his good qualities and ideas seemed to be negated; he was utterly vulnerable and self-effacing when confronted with his beloved’s distress. This pain was familiar to Charlie, piercing his heart even more sharply when it arrived from his son. Charlie had already learned to live with the desire for the lost Clara, but now, it was reflecting back at him from Simon. It weakened him, seeping into a place he was unable to defend—his son’s pain. As if he had bequeathed the weakness to Simon.
The announcer continued to glorify the Others’ regime and its contribution to each of the stadium’s inhabitants—to any person by virtue of being a person. Simon translated for Charlie, who whispered that anyone who talked that way when a naked girl was hanging in the air meant only to lie and to deceive. Charlie wanted to explain to Simon that nothing was over, and that there was still a chance. Just as he had taught him that in soccer, it wasn’t over until the game was over, and you couldn’t give up. He wanted to tell him how his father had given up and broken down when his boats were taken, leaving Charlie alone facing the sea. He wanted to tell Simon about the nightmare he had lived through when Clara lost interest in him. The suspicions that drove him out of his mind and turned his days and nights into a swampy mire of self-disgust. He would have liked to talk about the painful visions of jealousy that swept him up when possessiveness in regard to Clara tore him away from the memories of their pleasure in the warm sand and the endless water. He wanted so much to tell someone about it, to dislodge this filth from his body, but he couldn’t do it to his son. He mustn’t poison Simon’s soul with the disease of despair. It would be better if he whispered to Simon that the most important thing he should learn was to hold back. To wait and believe that something would change, even if you couldn’t make it happen. Because that was what time did. It made you believe you could hold your breath, that pain would pass over time, leave you and go elsewhere, because pain had a life of its own as well.
