Perhaps it’s because you have another home, she suggests, and he says no, I no longer have another home, and she looks at him sadly, oy, Avni, I have no doubt you’re doing the right thing, but doing the right thing at the wrong time can cause a lot of pain, and he sighs, yes, at our age there are no easy choices, there’s a heavy price to be paid and it just gets heavier, and at this point another sigh is heard in the empty shell of the apartment and Dina whispers, you see, we’ve both come home to Mum and she doesn’t even know, she can’t even be happy.
Or be sad, he says, good night, Sister, as it seems to him the sleep that’s waiting for him will be angry if he delays any longer, her limbs will cool and her embrace won’t be warm and devoted, so he leaves his sister standing irresolutely beside the double bed and hurries to his room, sweet tranquillity descending on him. Here they are again, the three of them, as if only now their father has died and left them like this, but then they were separated and dispersed, whereas now they are clinging, each to the other’s mistakes, and he lies on his back and smiles at the ceiling, time plays games with us, isn’t it absurd to feel the soothing presence of the first family for the first time at the age of forty-four, in mid-life, and when he wraps himself in sleep between his mother and his sister he’s overwhelmed by sentimental gratitude, he’s returned to them from a long journey of twenty years, returned to them finally without fear of their love.
Next morning when he gets up they’re still asleep; between his mother’s fingers he’s surprised to find a silver pen, and when he tries to pull it from her hand she grips it firmly, and he lets it go and boils water for coffee in the dimly lit kitchen, the two yellow cups in the sink raise a smile to his lips, some birthday party that was, a milk party, a party without cake, without flowers or guests. There’s no milk left over for coffee, but here comes Rachela, her gait as vigorous as ever and her hands laden with shopping bags, and the fridge soon fills up. Like some orange juice? she asks him, pulling oranges from the bag and putting them in the basket.
No thanks, I’m in a hurry, he replies, noticing with some bemusement that she’s dressed all in white, a lacy long-sleeved white dress and white court shoes, standing there with her fruit like a kindergarten girl bringing her contribution to the festival of Weeks, and he’s impressed, that’s a very nice dress you’re wearing! Is there a festival today, and she smiles awkwardly, not an official one, but just for me, it’s my son’s birthday.
Mazaltov, he says, how old is your son, and she answers, eighteen, and he asks, how are you going to celebrate? Her voice retreats when she replies, after work I’m taking him for a pizza and then to the cinema, her eyes are avoiding his and he’s a little puzzled by the choice of entertainment, more appropriate for his twelve-year-old son. Which film? he asks, and she answers hesitantly, All about my mother, and he buttons up his dark woollen jacket, ah, I didn’t get to see that one myself but I’ve heard it’s powerful stuff, you’ll enjoy it, and he’s already on the stairs and doesn’t see her hands taking an orange from the basket and squeezing it, her attention distracted, until it splits and the juice sprays her dress, but Dina, who will hear the exchange of words while lying awake in her parents’ bed, will leave the room and take the dripping orange from her hands and embrace her, don’t cry, Rachela, and don’t be too hard on yourself, you made the biggest of sacrifices for his sake, you gave him up so he would have a better future.
I should have rehabilitated myself for him, she wails, laying her head with its raven-black hair on her shoulder, what good did it do me, getting my life sorted out after I’d given him up, and Dina says, but the fact is, you couldn’t have done otherwise, and you shouldn’t judge yourself in hindsight, there’s no sense in that. He’ll definitely be in touch soon, he’ll see the file and come looking for you, and Rachela mumbles, I hope so, I’ll compensate him for everything, we’ll make a fresh start.
I’m sure it’s going to work out for you, Dina says, her fingers caressing the smooth parted hair, and she moves on to the subject uppermost in her mind, a little boy who’s going to be needing the services of a childminder a few months from now, perhaps not the easiest of children to handle, someone who will demand lots of love and patience, would she be interested, and Rachela looks up at her with a lively expression, yes, gladly she says, when your mother gets better I’ll be needing a new job and I really love working with children.
Getting better? Is that the way death will reveal itself in the future, the life that is evaporating through the pores of the skin, is that really our disease? So I’ll be counting on you, Rachela, she says, those are lovely oranges, we’ll cut them into small segments, the way we used to do it in the kibbutz, and as they stand at the marble worktop, slicing orange after orange and putting the segments on to the plate, to Dina these resemble little orange boats that aren’t going anywhere, scores of mouths gaping in the wet and toothless smile of the extremities of life, the beginning or the end of it.
Strange, how cagey she was telling him about her son’s birthday, he thinks while clawing his way through traffic jams, but then it isn’t that much of a surprise really, after all the eighteenth birthday means the army isn’t far away, and that’s the moment parents start dreading the day a male child is born, and right on cue there’s a newsflash on the car radio, a soldier seriously injured in an incident in the south, and very soon that could be her son, a few years from now it could be his son, and he switches off the depressing report, it’s all becoming so personal, the newsflashes and the bulletins, the gloom-laden accounts that always arouse in him a feeling of personal failure, as if it’s his family that’s in the news. He didn’t try hard enough, the responsibility was his, he was the favourite son and the biggest disappointment, and he remembers Anati telling him yesterday she needed to talk to him urgently, her face was hostile, and he disappointed her too, walking out on her because he thought she wanted to update him on her precocious pregnancy.
It pains him to watch the accelerated changes taking place in her personality, it seems that everything he experienced in twenty years is happening to her in the space of a few months; her irritating enthusiasm has melted away, its place taken by defeatism. We can’t help them anyway, she mutters from time to time, so why even try, and when he thinks of her while searching for a parking space in the congested streets, he feels in his flesh the pinpricks of unease. What does she want from him, what’s the meaning of the accusing glances she’s been fixing on him lately, as if he’s been leading her astray, but he warned her from the start that in this office there would be more frustration than satisfaction. Did she fall in love with him the day she arrived, and ever since she’s felt rejected? But that isn’t rational, he’s many years older than she is, things like that do indeed happen, but not to him, although something had happened to him. How strange that the night of her marriage was also the night of his bid for freedom, it was she who marked the change in his life even if she wasn’t in any way involved in it; why had she aroused an irksome craving in him from the moment he first saw her on the threshold of his office, a heavy-set girl, nice eyes, trying hard to impress?
Good morning, Nasreen, he hears her voice as he enters, no, Attorney Horowitz can’t take this brief, I handed him the material the other day and the answer was negative, no prospect of winning this one, and he interrupts the phone conversation, bewildered, what is this, Anati, which brief are you talking about? I don’t remember you giving me any new material recently, and she puts the receiver down and says drily, like I said, no prospect of winning, we’ve had cases like this before and we haven’t succeeded in halting the expulsion, and he asks, what expulsion is this?
Another mixed couple, he’s from East Jerusalem with a blue card and she’s from a village near Ramallah, brother a terror suspect, and they put out an expulsion order on her, the usual story, and he’s repelled by the tone of her voice, there are no usual stories, he reproves her, every story is single and unique, and I don’t understand why you’re turning people away
in my name without consulting me, has this been going on in the past?
Not exactly, she says, and he warns her, don’t you dare do this again, because if it ever happens again, but she interrupts the threat, don’t worry, there won’t be any more opportunities, that’s what I’m trying to tell you, I’m leaving, I want to start a new internship in a commercial office, I’m fed up with human rights, that’s the department for fantasists who always lose, I’d like to win now and then.
Always lose? he protests, this mindset isn’t unknown to him but her vehemence shocks him, since when have we always been losers? And she says, as long as I’ve been with you at least, you’ve achieved nothing. Steven was awarded a few coppers as an ex gratia payment, hardly adequate compensation for the damage to his face, the Bedouin school is finally facing demolition, those building permits will never be granted, not even for toilets, and if they build without permits the authorities will slap an eviction notice on them and send the bulldozers in to obliterate the toilets, and the best you can expect to get is yet another interim order to delay the demolition. It’s nice that you’ve managed to return a few goats to the Jahalin and they admire you for it but what have you done since then, more and more interim orders? I don’t know how you can carry on like this.
A few goats? he retorts angrily, what about all the people I’ve helped, resisting their eviction orders and getting their prison sentences reduced, you think all of this is worthless? And she says, fine, so you’ve done some good, but the harm you’re doing outweighs it. You go along with the establishment script, pretending there’s some real legal process operating here, when you know it’s all a game and the results have been rigged, don’t you see that your very presence is giving legitimacy to agencies that aren’t legitimate?
So what do you suggest, we stop trying? Abandon people to their fate? He raises his voice and she hits back at him, perhaps yes, in times like these it’s preferable to do nothing, or at least try not to make things worse, and perhaps out of this a solution will come. Don’t make those pious faces at me, you know I’m right, here and there you succeed in helping some poor sod, but on the big issues the state is screwing us and you accept the verdict with perfect resignation, as if secretly you find it reassuring to have it proved for you, how much stronger the establishment is than you.
Reassuring? he yells at her, it distresses me, it breaks me! And she’s quick to turn his words against him, so that’s it, you’re broken and I’m not blaming you, but this doesn’t suit me, I’m still at the beginning of my career and I want to get on, make money, I’m fed up with delusions, don’t you see that again and again you’re duping your clients? You failed to prevent the deportation of Halla to Jordan, why do you expect to succeed with Nasreen? And he turns to stare at the window, breathing hard, suddenly he can’t stand the sight of her, when were you thinking of leaving? he asks, and she says, a few weeks, not until you find another intern and he says, I want you to go today, if you have somewhere to go.
I’ve approached a few offices, she says, and I’m waiting for an answer, and he’s shocked, you applied to other employers without talking to me? I don’t understand this, his voice is hoarse and it seems to him his teeth are chattering out of anger and disappointment, take a day’s holiday, Anati, I want to be alone here today, and he sits in his chair and watches her movements impatiently; how long does it take her to disappear, putting a file on the shelf, stacking papers on the desk, hunting for her mobile in the other room, violating his holy of holies. There was always a good atmosphere between him and his interns, he thought this was his real, exemplary family, uniting around the same goals, everyone giving according to his or her ability and receiving according to his or her needs, the founding principles of the kibbutz movement.
Here too I shall need to start again, he sighs, peering at her morosely, at her clumsy gyrations in a black jacket several sizes too small for her, everything she wears is too tight, and when at last she picks up her briefcase, the jacket rides up too and over the waistband of her low-cut trousers a fold of white puppy-fat is revealed, and suddenly he feels sorry for her. Why didn’t you talk to me first? he asks, you didn’t give me an opportunity to change your mind, and she says, you’ve been out of touch for months, you don’t answer my calls, even when you’re in the office your mind is somewhere else all the time, I feel you’ve been avoiding me and anyway, maybe I didn’t want you to change my mind, don’t take this personally, I just can’t stand it, I’m sorry, and he says, don’t be sorry, it’s better if these things are revealed in time, just like in a marriage, there are mistakes that can be avoided if they’re foreseen.
When she goes out with downcast eyes he’s gratified to find he can identify the number of the previous caller, and he makes contact at once. Attorney Avner Horowitz here, he says mildly to the sullen female voice that answers, you tried to contact me this morning, and there was a misunderstanding, and straightaway she’s complaining, our attorney abandoned us, left us in the lurch, and you’re our last hope, Ali told me only you can help us, and he asks, what’s your connection with Ali? and she replies, he’s my uncle, my father’s brother.
When can you come to see me, he needs to know, and she says I can be there in an hour, and he paces up and down the empty office, staring at the ugly tree outside, stripped bare as a skeleton; it must be tough losing everything every year, but then every year it grows back, whereas we just lose. A long time since he’s been alone in the office, a long time since he’s given it his full attention, just he and his wretched files. Maybe she’s right, small rewards compared with the frustrations and yet, the flocks were returned to their owner, is that too trivial for her taste? and the toilets are still standing, is that too trivial? Yes, I fight for toilets and flocks of sheep, since that is where the honour of mankind resides in a war zone, and he stretches out on the sofa facing his desk, suddenly uneasy; for many years he’s felt that if he tried very hard there would be changes, has he not tried hard enough? Could he have done more? There’s no doubt he’s been defeated, but in a war such as this even defeat is something to be proud of, and believe me, it isn’t a war against you, he says quietly, resuming his nightly dialogue with his country, like a dream carried over into consciousness, you never understood me, you always suspected my motives, and as for me, I was concerned for your future too, as you tried to be concerned for mine, so we would succeed in surviving here, all of us together. In the process of defending oneself it is necessary to reduce the points of friction and enmity, emphasise the fundamental and minimise the trivial, this was what I wanted to do and over and over again I aroused your ire, and sometimes I think you’re more innocent than I used to think, prone to fear, committing yourself readily to anyone who promises to watch over you. Is it possible to fight fear without creating fear? Is it possible to defend oneself without attacking? I believe this is hard but still possible, and you have no answers, you always look for them in the same stupid and violent place, and it seems to me you haven’t tried hard enough, and that’s why I’m so disappointed in you, but I’m not giving up on you and I’m not giving in to you, it’s a blood-tie, impossible to unfasten, since this anxious rhythm is beating on the panel of your heart and I ask you to listen to it, and at this point he jumps to his feet and hurries to the door, sure enough, an hour has passed and here she is, how like Ali she looks, with those attractive features, slightly masculine in profile, dressed in European style, dark tailored trousers and a red sweater, big sunglasses covering her eyes and when she takes them off she reveals the downcast expression that’s so familiar to him.
So Ali sent you to me? he asks, wanting to hear the comforting words again, and she says, yes, he said from the start if anyone could help us it was you, but my husband wanted to engage a lawyer from the east of the city, someone who would speak our language, and he hastens to reassure her, that isn’t a problem, you did what you thought was right, so now tell me where things stand, and she unfolds the story before him once again, a story
beginning apparently around the time she married her husband, a resident of Siluan, and went to live with him in the choicest segment of the land, but in fact it began many years before she was born, a story with many beginnings at various points in time which could evidently have ended at various junctures over the past hundred years, but people have been born into this story and are dying within it, not to mention those who have died because of it, and still it has no end, and it seems to Avner he has never seen such a consistent dichotomy between individuals and the whole, since these individuals, like for example the young woman sitting before him, want more than anything else the well-being of their families and hence the well-being of the whole region, and he wants this too, for himself and all his family members and relatives, and Ali as well, and yet it seems that the whole which is composed of these individuals is dissolving them with the energy of contrary aspirations, jealousy and violence, and in every generation it’s possible to lay the blame on one figure or another, but accusations change easily, and new culprits appear, and nothing changes, and it seems a wild and unruly force like primeval radiation really would be capable of obliterating simple human aspirations and dragging the masses into a reality devoid of hope.
Perhaps scientists should work on this dispute and not statesmen, he thinks, perhaps they’ll succeed in devising some formula, since this contradiction between individuals and the whole is extended in this part of the world over generations, and these are the smaller sacrifices; this young woman who is being evicted from her home although her husband is a citizen of the state, and she must separate from her family or take them with her to her village of origin because her brother is a member of a hostile organisation and she therefore apparently constitutes a security risk, even though she hasn’t seen her brother for years, and of course there are bigger tragedies than this, he himself has handled much tougher cases, after all she’s entitled to take her husband and children with her to her natal village outside the frontiers of the state, but their lives will still be adversely affected and it’s these effects that he’s determined to prevent, and to this end he will gather together all the details, examine them all from the lightest to the heaviest, when did she last see her brother, what kind of relationship does she have with her family, and what is her brother’s relationship with the rest of the family, and how much does she know about his activities, and he’s so tense and attentive, time being short as the hearing has been scheduled for the beginning of next month, he doesn’t notice it’s time to pick up his son from school, and he ignores the ringing of the phone until it’s repeated.
The Remains of Love Page 36
