The fact that both of us were born to the same pair of parents was some sort of medical miracle. There was no similarity between us—external or internal. She was a well groomed, slightly chubby (though very beautiful, in my opinion) girl, while I was neglected and skinny. She had always been a balabusta [a great homemaker]. She cooked amazingly, managed a house and three kids, while I managed to burn as little as scrambled eggs and, apart from dogs, I knew I would never raise any living creature besides myself. I went to study a "cold" trade like law and she, who was always a caregiver, studied occupational therapy.
I have no idea what she saw in me, but she always cared for me and loved me. I loved her too, but I was always haunted by the unpleasant feeling that I didn't repay her for all of the things she did for me.
"Hadasi, I apologize that I didn't get to make something for you, but I have schnitzel and spaghetti from yesterday."
I chuckled to myself. I didn't want her to know what I usually had for lunch, if I had anything at all; yesterday's schnitzel and spaghetti sounded like a feast to me.
The plate was served and I gobbled it up like a starving child.
"Be careful you don't swallow the fork," Shira joked.
"Stop cooking so well," I said with my mouth full.
"Mom says Evyatar's thing seems very serious to her this time."
Evyatar, our youngest brother, had been dating a girl for six months already, a record for our sought-after, pretty boy brother.
"Great," I said and sipped from the cool Coke glass. "Maybe she'll finally get off my back for a little while."
I put the glass on the table and flopped down, full up to my throat, on Shira's couch.
Chapter 5
About a month before Meir Danilowitz got up before dawn and shot his entire family, and then himself, dead, I divorced my husband.
Divorce is a messy business, even if it's consensual and even if no kids are involved. For someone who didn't even want to get married, divorce took a pretty heavy toll on me. I felt as if I had failed at one of the best things I had in my life: my partnership with Yinon.
I met Yinon, my ex-husband, at Tel-Aviv University. I was halfway through my third year of law school and he was halfway through his third year studying mechanical engineering.
We met in the library of the Faculty of Medicine. Neither of us had any reason to be there except for silence. It was the quietest library on campus. In the entrance to the library stood a giant fish tank with an especially communicative fish. The fish would get real close to the observers and really make contact with them. Each time I was there I marveled at the smart fish.
"That fish is something," Yinon smiled at me when he first noticed me, standing and playing with the fish. I smiled.
"Are you a student here? I've never seen you." I felt like he’d caught me red-handed.
"I'm not a student here exactly; I discovered this library two weeks ago and it's just so quiet."
"It's okay, I don't study here either. I'm in mechanical engineering, but I come here to study."
"Great library."
"There's also a really good cafeteria here."
"I'm just taking a break," I smiled shyly.
That's more or less how our story began. At the beginning of our fourth year we moved in together and about a year and a half later we were married. Personally, getting married wasn't very important to me. Yinon and my mother pressured me. I was almost twenty-eight, Yinon was twenty-nine, and I didn't have a firm opinion on the marital institution, so I agreed; although, I had a very firm stance about children, an opinion I didn't bother hiding from anyone, especially Yinon.
From a young age, I knew I didn't want children. In a country like ours, with demographic threats and religious fanaticism, I definitely qualify as an excellent candidate for the psych ward, but somehow I managed to grow up in Israel and not in a northern European country, and without the urgent need to duplicate myself several times.
Yinon, as well as my mother, thought that I would eventually change my mind, which was why marriage was so important to them. I had no problem getting married because I didn't feel as if I was deceiving anyone. A few months into our relationship I told him I didn't see myself as a mother. At the time, the subject was no more than an anecdote. We were still deep in our studies and Yinon wasn't even thinking of starting a family. When Yinon started talking about marriage right after we finished school, I initiated slightly "heavier" conversations about the subject with him. I explained to him that I just didn't want children and that he should take that into account when deciding to tie his life to mine. Yinon believed, or wanted to believe, that we were in the same place in our lives.
But we weren't.
Compared to me, he was one of the calmest, most peaceful people I knew. This trait of his managed to calm me down even in very stressful moments in life. He always knew when to stop, sit down and enjoy the view and not just the race. He was always good at listening and being a shoulder to cry on. Not just for me, but for everyone who knew him. I always told him that if he wasn't an engineer, he should have been a psychologist. Or any kind of therapist. He had an ability to give that very few people possess. I knew he could be a great father someday.
I, on the other hand, never dreamed of being a mother. I don't even recall playing with dolls, though my mother claims I simply don't remember. When the girls in my class began getting engaged and married, I wasn't jealous, I didn't see marriage as my life's purpose, much less children. Shira was a year and a half older than me and got married when she was twenty-two; I was still in the army at that age.
About three years later, her eldest daughter was born. Nurit was (and still is) an adorable, lovely little girl. I enjoyed holding and cuddling her, but mostly I liked the fact that that was all I had to do. I saw my exhausted sister and mostly felt sorry for her. I hadn't met Yinon yet, meaning I didn't even have a boyfriend, but I didn't think I should be pitied—the supposedly lonely one. It should rather be my sister, who, at least in my opinion, had no life.
About two years later, Shira was pregnant for the second time and my sister, Ayala, who was more than four years younger than me, got married. People were careful around me. Everybody thought I was in an emotional state with Shira already having a second child and my younger sister getting married, while I wasn't showing any signs of progress. At some point, I stopped trying to explain myself. No one believed me. It's hard for people to believe that some people don't see starting a family as their uppermost priority. I was longing for love and I had boyfriends here and there, but bringing children into the world seemed like an insane act to me.
I couldn't understand how sane people, with no background as nurses, could be interested in chaining their life to that of tiny creatures (cute as they may be), in the most beautiful time of their lives, when they're young and full of energy. I must be very extreme in my thought processes because most of the parents I know don't take care of their children twenty-four hours a day, but I also saw no point in bringing a child into the world if someone else would be taking care of it. The world was on the verge of overpopulation as it was, so I saw no reason to add another child to this negative trend.
When I got married, Shira already had two kids and Ayala was in her second pregnancy. Although my parents (especially my mother) knew I was not interested in having children, they hoped the fact I was getting married was the first step towards a change in attitude. Yinon thought so as well.
We were happy together, but Yinon’s biological clock didn't stop ticking, and we knew that at some point this story might explode. After I received my license to practice law, I continued to work at the office where I interned. It was a successful commercial office and I produced excellent work. I didn't have small children to run to every day at four; nothing got in the way of my professional development.
About three years after I began working as a lawyer, something changed. I was tired and unhappy. Allegedly, I had nothing to complain about: I had an excel
lent position with high pay, the bosses and clients were all pleased, but I felt like I was lacking something. Yinon didn't like to see his wife in agony, but secretly he was happy because he hoped the desire to have kids was awakening inside me.
I went through a very confusing time and Yinon managed to confuse me even more. He kept hinting that it was time to change, time to become a family. I was in a bad place and was wondering if this was how I was supposed to feel in order to want to become a mother. Was this the yearning for a child? A sense of confusion and unease?
We decided that the best way to understand what I wanted was to get away. In February 2008, we packed ourselves up and left for two months for New Zealand. It was an amazing vacation. I guess you have to travel to the other end of the earth to really get away. The spectacular views and endless serenity were a neat bonus. I finally had some peace and quiet.
When the vacation was over, I knew exactly what I wanted, or more accurately what I didn't want: I didn't want to continue working for Lipkin, Danieli and Co. Unfortunately for Yinon, I still didn't want to be a mother. I realized that my lack of satisfaction didn't stem from my family situation, but from the choices I had made in my professional life. Yinon was convinced that upon our return we would start working on expanding the family unit, but instead I enrolled myself in the selection process for the police.
I have always loved spy novels and movies. I've always dreamed of being a police officer, but the stigma about it stopped me from following my heart. I was an honor roll student in high school and university, I could work wherever I wanted, and when I first voiced my aspirations of working in the police investigations department, my mother was appalled. In her eyes, people who go to work for the police are those that couldn't find a profitable job.
Actually, I quite quickly discovered that there were all kinds of people in the police, including those who could work wherever they wanted but chose to work at a place that would challenge them professionally.
The more my professional life blossomed, the more my personal life wilted. Yinon realized I had not changed my mind on the issue that mattered most to him. He was already thirty-three, we had been married for over four years, and he didn't see any reason to keep on waiting. People around me began to suspect we had fertility problems. The thought that I simply didn't want kids never crossed their minds.
In August 2008, we celebrated Yinon's thirty-third birthday with a couple that were his friends. We invited them over to our house and they were charmed by our "bachelor pad". They were more or less our age, with two kids and another on the way. It had just been a month since I joined the police.
"You were so brave to leave the office and transfer to the police," Revital said after she finished updating us on all of the exams she was going through and how hard it was to be pregnant with two little ones in the house.
"I owed it to myself," I explained.
"I imagine in the police it’ll be easier for you to get pregnant. Still, a government job…"
I stared at her in shock as she continued. "Excuse me for butting in like this, but, personally, I don't think it's anything to be ashamed of," she added, caressing her round belly. "I had a hard time getting pregnant too and Ido is a result of treatment. I remember it was so difficult for me, not just the treatments, but also how I was treated in my work place—that's what it's like in private companies."
"Why do you think I'm going through treatments?"
Revital blushed and Ronen, her husband, lowered his eyes in embarrassment. "Sorry, I was just sure that… you've been married for four years, you're over thirty… I was sure…"
"We're not trying to get pregnant," I announced.
"Really?" Ronen seemed shocked.
"Yes, really," I answered decisively.
"You're already thirty, aren't you?"
"I'm thirty-two."
"That's starting to get a little tight. Aren't you scared?"
"Of what?" I played dumb.
"That you'll be too old."
"That's not going to be a problem because I just don't want kids."
Revital and Ronen looked at me in astonishment and then turned their gaze to Yinon, who in turn looked down in embarrassment.
"You're not serious?" Ronen was part-asking, part-telling.
"I am totally serious."
"What sort of thing is not wanting kids? It's the most natural thing in the world."
"So…I'm a freak of nature,” I joked. I don't think I managed to make anyone else laugh, especially not Yinon.
"And if you change your mind in ten years, you won't be able to get pregnant then." Revital explained the facts of life to me.
"I’d rather regret not having them than having them and regretting it. Besides, these days, women in their fifties are getting pregnant."
"And you want to be a mother the age of a grandmother?" Ronen protested.
"Right now, I don't want to be a mother at all, so it doesn't concern me."
"I don't know any parent who regrets having children," Ronen said decidedly.
"That's what you think," I smiled. "I constantly meet parents who don't stop complaining that their lives ended when they became parents.”
"That's just whining in a moment of weakness." Revital continued to stroke her belly, as though trying to protect her unborn baby from my blasphemous words. "There’s no greater happiness than watching your baby grow and develop."
"If you ask me, most people lie to others and, most of all, to themselves about the joy of parenting. If parenting is so satisfying and amazing, why do people bother having children and then ask other people to take care of them? I was always amazed by people at the office—men and women who worked until eight o’ clock every night, or even later. They barely saw their kids. Where's the great joy in that?"
I knew I was touching a painful subject because both Ronen and Revital were mechanical engineers like Yinon, and they both worked jobs which required endless working hours from them.
"If everyone talked like you, the human race would become extinct." Ronen said, obviously pleased with himself.
"If the human race is ever in danger of extinction, come back to me and I'll consider donating my uterus," I smiled.
"Don’t you want to leave someone to follow you? Children are a type of perpetuation." Revital was curious.
"I don't think I'm interested in what happens after I die."
"And who will take care of you when you're old?" Ronen once again tried to undermine me.
"I have a great insurance plan. I really hope you're not having kids so someone will take care of you. Insurance is far cheaper and more efficient. Children aren't an insurance policy… maybe they'll live in another country, disown you, or simply not be interested in nursing."
"I had children simply because they bring me joy," Revital declared.
"I can't argue with that," I smiled. "I don't think they'd make me happy, which is why I'm not taking the risk and taking that kind of burden on myself."
"Children are not a burden," Ronen said decisively.
Revital rolled her eyes at him. "For you they're not! Because you almost never help me!"
I was glad Revital was beginning to side with me, but one look at Yinon made it clear that I had gone too far, that it was his birthday and I was not supposed to make his friends fight.
"I think that people should have kids only if they make them happy," I said to Revital. "All the other reasons are irrelevant. I think that a lot of people, especially here in Israel, have kids because that's what everybody does and nobody wants to be the odd person out.”
An hour later, the conversation between the men and the women parted. Yinon chatted with Ronen and I talked to Revital.
"You're very brave," she said in a low voice.
"Really? I've always wanted to be a police officer."
"No, I'm talking about the kids thing. I see parents every day who shouldn't have done it, who hadn't thought it through. You have the courage to think and do w
hat you really want."
"Thanks," I answered shyly. She moved me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Ronen was talking to Yinon heatedly. I was dying to know what he was saying.
"What did Ronen say to you?" I asked after they left.
"He said that if he was in my place, he'd separate from you."
I opened my eyes wide in amazement. Where did this guy get the nerve to say something like this to my husband?
"What did you say?"
"I didn't say anything."
"Really?"
"I wouldn't."
"Yinon, you’ve known almost from the start of our relationship that I don't want kids."
"I hoped you'd change your mind."
"But I haven't."
"That's a problem."
"It's your problem, I haven't changed anything."
"I don't know if we can stay together."
I started tearing up. "Because of what Ronen said?"
"Of course not." He stroked my cheeks. "I don't know if I can go on waiting."
Four months later, we separated and four months after that, we were divorced.
*
"Mom’s worried about you." Shira tried to soften me up. The person who took my divorce the hardest was my mother.
"I'm a big girl."
"Mom is Mom. I’d tell you that someday you'll understand, but I don't want to enrage you." Shira smiled. She was definitely the only one in the family who managed to comprehend me.
I finished eating and Shira washed dishes while I began questioning her.
"I know them." She thought for a second and then corrected herself. "I knew them, mainly from the synagogue. I don't think I ever once spoke to them."
"What did they seem like to you?"
"It's just an impression from their appearance—I don't really know them."
"Any impression will help me right know." I knew my sister would talk to me in the most direct way.
"She seemed like a real bitch." Shira blushed. "I hate to say that about someone who's dead, but it's the truth."
Hill of Secrets: An Israeli Jewish mystery novel Page 4
