Песах Амнуэль - Zion's Fiction - A Treasury of Israeli Speculative Literature

“Oh, man, this is uncomfortable,” Stephanie says. She wiggles her back. Then, after she convincingly seems uncomfortable, she shifts her position and moves aside, in-between Michael’s legs, her back still turned to him .

“There. Much more comfortable.”

He’s shown interest in her before this. She’s shown interest. She’s been manipulating things all night, so that he hardly has to do anything to make the first move. But he still has to do it. He has to want her enough .

She asks him about a question in the notebook she had placed on her knees .

He leans forward, trying to read it. He obviously realizes now how close he is to her, and suddenly he looks at her. He smiles, and she smiles back. He almost laughs, and her body sends out a buzz of pleasure. And suddenly the hand she can’t see caresses her far cheek. She leans her face into his hand, the world forgotten. And his lips are on hers, and they are in that familiar kiss, and her body goes wild as most of it grows alive with pleasure. Everywhere he touches, everything he does, is perfect. It’s like her brain is melted and all she is is her body and her skin .

All right. All right.

I take my hand away. Her face more than jiggles this time. She almost stuck to me.

Did it get hotter in here since I came in?

I could go back to the moment any time I want. I just… need to calm down a bit.

Wow.

Someone else’s touch has never had such a powerful effect on me.

I look down at that face.

Wow.

Who are you, Stephanie? I caress her cheek.

All I see is the ceiling, but Michael’s hands are all over my naked body, and they are inside me, and the pleasure blots out all other senses. The pleasure comes in waves and waves and waves that spread out, that annihilate the rest of her mind. It makes her body one. It nulls her mind .

I break contact.

I look at her. More. More. More!

I run it over and over and over again, the waves that continue even when he no longer touches her.

All right. All right. I should stop. I should do something else. After all, her entire life is there, behind that face. Everything she ever thought, everything she ever dreamed, everything she remembers. Everything.

How like me are you, Stephanie?

Her face does not answer.

When were you betrayed, Stephanie?

Were you ever betrayed?

I caress her again.

“Don’t you understand how bad it makes me feel!” Stephanie is screaming at the top of her lungs at her mother. Stephanie is sixteen and in her living room. Can’t you get it through your head! Do I have to scream at you every single week about the same thing?” Stephanie’s mother has agreed to another family meeting at Grandma’s, when Stephanie has tried to establish time and time again that she would go any other day but Sunday, that Sunday was her day, her private day for herself. “Can’t you see—can’t you see— how bad it makes me feel!” And the tears come out. “Do you like making me cry?”

“Stephanie, how can you react like this when all we’re doing is going to see Grandma?”

“It’s not Grandma; it’s the fact that it’s Sunday.”

“But it’s just a few hours.”

Something sinks inside Stephanie. A helplessness. “This is how I feel, Mom.”

“Well, then you should do something about that. Change the way you feel. You’re being ridiculous.”

A wave of incredulity washes over Stephanie. “Mom. What about all those times, all those arguments with Dad? That he doesn’t understand you. That you can’t help what you feel. You should know. You should get what I’m saying. This makes me feel bad .

“We’re going to see your Grandma. You love her and she loves you. Why are you giving me such a hard time?”

And suddenly it dawns on Stephanie that every time her mother complained about Dad not getting her, not being considerate, that was her trying to get her way. When the shoe is on the other foot, she makes everything about her. That’s how she gets her way. For Stephanie’s entire life, Mom has always made it about her. And Stephanie fell for it. And all the work Stephanie ever did, and all the times she put herself aside to help Mom, all the times she sacrificed her time, her precious time, to do what Mom wanted and to make her feel good—that was for nothing. She has never appreciated it, has never noticed that Stephanie was helping. All she wanted was more, more, give me more, Stephanie .

Her mother is inconsiderate, blind, deceitful, and, worse than that, she has ignored Stephanie all her life, ignored who she really is and everything she’s done .

I stop.

I need to stop for five minutes.

I sit beside her and look at the rest of her body. There is something gruesome about this. There is something unfair in having such a great body even though you’re dead. There’s something beautiful in having someone lie there, prone, ready to reveal all her secrets.

What secrets are you hiding? What deep, dark secrets can you tell me?

“I only care about myself,” she tells Margaret. They’re both fifteen, sitting outside Margaret’s house. “I don’t care about other people. Everything I do, everything I ever say or do is just a show. Sometimes I forget, I get carried away, and I actually believe what I’m faking.”

“Are you faking it with me?” Margaret looks at her, vulnerable .

“No,” Stephanie touches her cheek. “I think you’re the only person who understands me. I think you’re the only person I really love. No one knows that I’m just a phony.”

—Another “secret”—

“Jee-zus,” Margaret is saying. They’re both in her dad’s car. Stephanie is driving, her heart is racing. “Am I glad you’re driving. I would have hit the dog.”

Stephanie missed the dog on the road, but a memory flooded through her mind. Her “secret.”

That first day she drove alone in the car, and she ran over a cat. She had seen the cat run into the road and she had swerved. And then she had felt that horrible bump. She hit the brakes and had stopped in the middle of the road .

I see it now—

She steps out and looks back. The cat’s head is squished, and the rest of its body keeps trying to walk in the air, jumping, turning, while its head is glued to the road. Five or six other cats gather in the middle of the road, and look at it, not understanding .

The cat’s body spasms in place. And it is her fault .

She gets back into the car and drives away .

Fifteen minutes later, she comes back. The cat was is now a piece of meat on the road, having been run over many times now. Even its friends had forgotten it.

She never told anyone. She hated herself over that .

No. These were not as dark as I had hoped. I need to find the right emotion, the right memory or thought that will give me access to the really deep places.

I need to think about this for a day.

All right. That’s enough for today. Still. I just want to see one more thing. I just want to see—

—Michael—

— Michael —

— Naked —

He stands there, naked. I’m sitting in bed, curled up between his sheets, as he gets up to go to his apartment before he goes to his job .

“Michael,” I say. Stephanie says. Stephanie .

He looks at her. “Yeah?”

“Before you get dressed, give me my glasses.” She points to the table .

He reaches for the table, and I see the folds in his stomach, the ribs stretch. He stops halfway, and looks at her .