“Stop wearing those tight blouses,” he demanded.
“I want you to wear longer skirts,” he asked.
Gilat made up her mind to end the relationship. It was too loaded. But Edna stepped in and matters took a turn away from what Gilat had in mind.
“Dov’s father is the director of an established company on the stock exchange,” Edna pressed.
“Dov’s crazy about you. What’s wrong with that? It’s a pity to lose such a family.”
Gilat found herself under the wedding canopy at the age of eighteen and a half. They stood under the pure white cloth, smiling and beautiful. Dov looked happy. Gilat wore a long, white bridal gown. He had insisted that they, meaning he and she, meaning he, would choose the dress. Edna thought that this modest privilege was reserved for the bride and the mother of the bride; but she gave up when she saw that he was determined. The seamstress in the bridal shop was shocked to find herself discussing the young bride’s measurements with the perspiring bridegroom.
“The darts are too narrow; make them wider,” he yelled at her. “We want a modest dress; the top part is too tight. Loosen it.”
He never took his eyes off his fresh young bride throughout the ceremony. Gilat was beautiful, even in the long, wide dress.
“You’re very aristocratic in that dress,” he whispered and, indeed, she was.
They spent the honeymoon in the Seychelles. Dov had taken care to find a remote hotel. They spent most of the day paddling in the clear water of a secluded cove away from the eyes of other bathers. Dov pampered her, entertained her with stories, amused her, showered her with gifts. He gazed at her. Desired her. Loved her.
“I never dreamed that life with you could be so beautiful,” she told him.
“I’ll do everything for you. You’re my whole life,” he replied, meaning every single word.
Gilat’s honeymoon ended immediately, but immediately, on their return.
“Why do you need to go and study?” She couldn’t believe it was her husband speaking.
“Have you forgotten that I intend to study social work at the university?” she said. She was furious with herself for not bothering to checking his views on the subject before she married him.
Dov managed to persuade her to work in his father’s office for a limited time. She would learn to like the stock exchange. When she got to know the business, she would understand how fascinating the subject of stocks and shares could be.
“Anyway, it’s only for a year or two, and then you can study whatever you like at the university,” Dov promised.
Gilat was given a room overlooking the sea in one of the office towers in south Tel Aviv .She showed no interest at all in her workplace, other than the sunsets that reminded her that another pointless day had gone by.
Before she could decide how to lay the course of her life with her husband, she found herself in an advanced stage of pregnancy. Dov clicked around her, phoned her constantly, took her to expensive restaurants, kept her from over exerting herself and tried to make her happy.
The delivery went well. Sharon was a beautiful baby. Her mother’s features were imprinted on her face as if by an artist. Granny Edna had not left her side from the moment she came home. Grandpa Nahum was proud of his grandchild and insisted on photographing her tiny face on her very first day. He framed the picture and placed it on his desk. From then on, the journalist made sure that nobody would fail to see and remark on the picture of the charming little face of his wonderful granddaughter.
Gilat gradually adjusted to her life as wife and mother. She told herself that she would wait until Sharon was older, then she would study social work at the university and pursue a career in the field, thereby filling a need that haunted her like a dark shadow.
When she had an attack of nausea, she put it down to an upset stomach. Her doctor was distressed to see the pallor that spread over her face when he told her she was expecting another child.
“Tell him what you’ve just told me,” she insisted when her husband arrived in response to her urgent phone call. Dov swung her around, hugging her closely. The expression on her face remained bored and frozen.
Dov suggested naming the baby Boaz, but Gilat insisted on Yaniv and Dov agreed, “If only to make her smile again,” as he said to her parents.
Her friends and others explained her closed face as an indication of post-natal depression. Dov continued to shower her with gifts. He made all the arrangements to take her on a trip to Europe, even finding a suitable nanny for the children while they were away. Gilat remained indifferent to these preparations, as to everything else. When he happily showed her the plane tickets, she casually told him that she would not be going with him. Edna’s attempts to persuade Gilat to join her husband were also unsuccessful, but Nahum was more perceptive.
“I have an idea,” he said. “Why don’t the four of us go on holiday together? We’ll get someone to look after the little ones!”
Gilat agreed. A trip with her parents, especially with her adored father, suddenly seemed like a very good idea.
They were sitting in the bar of their hotel, in Salzburg, when it happened. Although he was the only one who drank beer, Dov ordered some for all of them. Nahum downed his as if it was water and went to the counter for another. Two American tourists were sitting there, eyeing Gilat.
“Is that girl your daughter?” asked one of them, pointing at Gilat who was having a lively conversation with her mother.
“Yes,” Nahum answered, “she’s my daughter.”
“Beautiful girl. Looks like Marilyn Monroe. Have you heard of Marilyn Monroe?”
Nahum burst out laughing and took a sip of his second glass of beer.
“I’ll go and tell her. I’m sure she’ll be glad to hear it,” said Nahum.
“Dov,” he said as he rejoined the others, “d’you want to laugh?” He was not much of a drinker and the two beers were having their effect on him. He hiccupped, looking foolish. Dov had never seen his father-in-law in this amusing condition.
“Nahum, you’re making me laugh,” he said between bursts of laughter, which soon infected Gilat and Edna.
“So, what’s the joke?” Dov asked, wiping his eyes.
“See that American sitting by the bar?” Nahum asked.
“Sure, he can’t take his eyes off us.” said Dov.
“Not us. Gilat.” Nahum corrected him. “He can’t take his eyes off Gilat!”
After another burst of laughter, he added between giggles, “He says…he says…Gilat…our Gilat looks like Marilyn Monroe, the actress!”
Dov was the first to stop laughing. The smile quickly vanished from his face and his eyes darkened. Gilat was the next to fall silent. The rapid transition could not be ignored.
“Like who? Who did they say she looks like?” He still hoped he had not heard correctly.
“Have you never heard of that actress, Marilyn Monroe?” Nahum asked.
Without answering, Dov turned aggressively to Gilat, “How many times have I told you to stop wearing those tight blouses that emphasize your breasts?”
Perhaps it was the beer that made Nahum intervene, in a shaky voice that still carried traces of laughter, “The face, Marilyn Monroe’s face. They weren’t talking about her breasts. Don’t get confused.
Dov stared furiously at Gilat, who stared back at him in miserable surprise. They ignored Nahum and Edna. In fact, they ignored everybody in the bar.
Keeping her eyes on his face, she said, “You know, you’re the only man I’ve ever known who can make me feel bad, very bad, about what nature has given me. I have never been proud of my beauty,” she said vehemently. “I have never emphasized it, never have I given it any importance. But you, you have always made sure to fill me with guilt over something that everyone would be vain about, except me!”
The beer had run its course, apparently. Nahum,
now completely sober, found himself answering her before Dov could speak, “Gilly, Dov meant no harm. He’s only asking you to stop going around in tight shirts. Dov’s a loving husband.”
Her eyes never moved from Dov’s face as she answered her father, “Daddy, stay out of it. This is between me and Dov.”
Her parents looked at her with worried expressions. They had never seen her so determined. So forceful. So angry. She continued without waiting for Dov to answer, “What do you think? Do you plan to get me pregnant every year in the hope that I’ll end up fat and worn out so that you can go calmly off to work, leaving me, your private property, securely yours? Why are you so angry at me? Why should I be imprisoned at home raising children while I’m still so young? Why do I have to be punished? Because I’m beautiful? Too beautiful for you?”
Dov bowed his head. Edna and Nahum looked at the young couple with growing concern. Dov sat motionless, hiding his face from Gilat’s gaze.
Silence reigned in the bar. The Americans, who had listened to the exchange in a language they did not understand, turned their backs and concentrated on their beer. They were clearly embarrassed. The barman, on the other hand, observed the strange quartet with interest, trying to understand what they were saying, especially the young blonde.
Gilat stood up and walked towards the door, but half-way there, she turned and went over to the bar. She sat on the high stool, put her elbows on the counter and ordered a large beer. She gulped the yellow brew as if she was a seasoned drinker. The Americans snuck glances at her.
She looked directly at them, “American?”
“Yes, we arrived from New York yesterday,” one of them answered hesitantly, while his companion looked nervously at the three tense, mutely staring Israelis.
“I hope your argument wasn’t caused by something we said,” the American remarked anxiously.
In fluent English, Gilat reassured him, “It’s not anything you said. He’s the problem, not you.”
She did not go into detail and the Americans were satisfied with the brief explanation. Relieved of responsibility for the altercation they had witnessed, they felt free enough to openly admire her blonde beauty. The younger of the two was particularly keen.
“Would you mind being photographed with us?”
“Hey, you’re really flattering me!” Gilat replied, looking drunk for the first time in her life.
The young man handed a small Japanese camera to the barman and asked him to take the photograph. Gilat stood between the two men with her arms around their shoulders and said in a resounding, drunken and happy voice, “Ok. I’m smiling, take your picture!”
The flash of light from the camera egged her on to try new poses. “How’d you like me to stand?” she asked, but the Americans were not looking at her. Their eyes were on Dov, who was standing in front of them. Breathing heavily and blinking wildly, he shouted at her, “Stop that immediately!”
“Lemme get photographed, man,” his wife flung at him, clearly intoxicated.
“That’s enough, Gilat. We’re going up to the room.”
“I want a photo…” Dov dragged her out of the bar in mid-sentence.“Let a person get photographed, man,” they heard her mumble as she went. A few minutes later, she stormed back into the bar with Dov behind her, only to be dragged out again.
Next morning, Nahum and Edna were having coffee in the hotel restaurant. They had spent the previous night in their room to allow the young couple to work out their problems in private. Dov and Gilat appeared when the waiters were already clearing the tables. Gilat was wearing a long blue skirt and a loose cotton blouse. She looked humiliated. Dov was in high spirits.
He said, “Gilat has something to say to you.”
Nahum gave his daughter a measuring look. He had never seen her so sad. So withdrawn .He searched for a spark in her eye, without success. Gilat kept her mouth shut.
Dov tried again. “Gilat wants to apologize for what happened last night.”
She roused herself to say, “Daddy, I was drunk last night. From the beer. I behaved disgracefully.”
Nahum and Edna looked enquiringly at their daughter. Dov cut through the heavy silence that was settling on the table. “Nonsense,” he said, “it could happen to anybody. We’ve forgotten all about it already. The main thing is to carry on with our trip and enjoy it as much as possible.”
Something changed in Gilat, after Salzburg. When they got home she was quiet and restrained. She stopped seeing most of her friends. She devoted her energies to her children, driving them to kindergarten and nursery school, drawing with them, playing with them, intent on them. She liked the nights best, when she lay beside them reading stories to them. The children heard many stories from their mother. Stories about children like them, about other countries and, mostly, fairy tales and legends. Gilat sailed far away with them, to magical lands of the imagination, on and on she read, her voice drenched in longing until the children’s snores reminded her that she was telling the stories to herself.
As for the clothes she wore when Dov was around, they were always as he liked them. She took care to wrap her lean hips in skirts that fell below the knee. Her blouses were now several sizes too big for her. In the morning, Dov would see her in boring, loose unimaginative clothes that sent him calmly off to work. At night, when he returned fatigued by the cares of the day, he would find her as he liked her, lovely in her natural beauty, unadorned by added color or daring clothes that were likely to raise his blood pressure.
However, from late morning to early evening she established a custom for herself. When Dov left, she hurriedly cleaned the house and cooked the evening meal. She would then go to her closet and take out one of the stretch tops she kept hidden from him and, flinging off her oversized blouse, she would put it on. Then she would put on her makeup and examine herself in the mirror for ages. Afterwards, she would go out to fetch the children from kindergarten and nursery school. She smiled at the teachers and children and they all said Sharon and Yaniv’s mother was beautiful.
Before sunset and Dov’s return, she would change her clothes in order to greet a calm and loving husband.
One day, Dov came home unexpectedly early. He did not phone to say he would be early and when he arrived, he opened the door without ringing the bell or knocking. She heard his key in the lock as she was putting on makeup in front of the mirror. There was no need for her to turn her head to see his flushed face, his wide eyes and his quick frown; the mirror reflected all of it. As for Dov, what he saw was her breasts peeping from the tight blouse.
He stammered, “Exactly where have you been?”
“Nowhere,” she managed to say.
She knew he wouldn’t believe her. She knew nothing she said would sound logical. How could she explain that she only put on makeup to make her feel better during the day? How could she ever convince him? All of a sudden, she realized that her behavior seemed idiotic. What would she say to him now?
She heard herself say, “I found an old blouse in the closet and I was trying it on.”
“Don’t make me laugh,” he replied, “do you take me for a fool? And what about the makeup? Just tell me exactly where you’ve been!”
Instead of answering her husband, she pulled off the blouse and put on the wide cotton shirt. She felt momentarily protected by the shirt; all she wanted at that moment was to disappear forever into that warm, good, wide, cotton shirt.
When she let go of the illusion that had comforted her for a sweet passing moment, she found herself saying, “Anyway…anyway I intended to throw this top into the rubbish bin” She put it on the bedside table.
“I don’t believe a word you’re saying,” he declared, adding, “Don’t bother to throw the blouse into the bin; I’ll do it for you.”
He snatched the stretch top from the bedside table and began to rip it to shreds. Gilat noticed that Dov was fighting
the inert cloth as if it was a dangerous beast of prey. He pulled it this way and that, slammed it against the table, tore the flexible cloth into tiny pieces and unraveled what was left of them. When he was done, he gathered the fragments and handed them to Gilat.
“It’ll be much easier for you to throw it out now. Who knows what you get up to when I’m not home!”
Unable to stand it any longer, Gilat said, “As far as I’m concerned, you can get out!”
He did not wait. Turning on his heel, he strode to the door and said, “I’ve been meaning to go, anyway. He slammed the door.
Gilat felt a powerful need to leave the house. Her miserable face stared back at her from the mirror. Her father. She’d go to her father. She’d ask for his advice. He always helped her to see her problems from different angles. Daddy. She could think of nothing else to do in this crisis.
10.
Nahum came out and Gilat hugged him. Noticing her serious expression, he smiled and tried to look relaxed.
“What has my lovely daughter done to annoy our Dov?”
He put his arm around her and led her to a cafe outside the building. They were still a few paces away from the street entrance to the café when they saw a man in a blue shirt and black pants standing on the corner reading, or pretending to read, a newspaper. As they passed him, he lowered the paper and said with baffling heartiness, “Hello, Mr. Peterson, how are you?”
Nahum, who had not noticed him till then, responded with a pleasant, “Hello”, as he was opening the cafe door. He had always recoiled from people who invaded his privacy, particularly strangers and, as a matter of fact, he did not remember having met the man before. The man reached the door when they did and allowed them to enter in front of him, remarking, “I see we’re headed in the same direction.”
Nahum and Gilat seated themselves at a corner table. The man with the newspaper came and stood next to the table, giving Gilat a long look. Then he transferred his gaze to Nahum. The journalist was embarrassed. Although he did not know the man and was not obligated to him in any way, he nodded in Gilat’s direction and said, “This is my daughter, Gilat.”
Until Sweet Death Arrives Page 5
