Grossman David - Her Body Knows

Shaul moans to himself, and Esti hears the moan and perks up. He is sprawled with his face buried in the rough, slightly dusty upholstery, his chest rapidly rising and falling. It has taken him years of drilling down through his thoughts to be capable of reaching this stage, this stratum, where he can hold them together like this for almost a whole hour, an entire encounter, without having them lunge at each other. When he was finally able to do this, he realized he had lost her forever. It was difficult for him to explain this even to himself, but he vaguely sensed that if she and the man were capable of being in a state of utter calm, without passionately throwing themselves at each other, this must mean that he, Shaul, had lost her. And his pain is no duller even now, when he sees them like this, taut- but unlike a drawn bow with its arrow-floating in the warm fluids of illusion as if they had plenty of time for themselves, as if when these fifty minutes were over, another eternity of long hours would naturally follow, more days and nights would come-yes, surely, another whole night together, something he believes they have never had for almost the entire life of their love.

Perhaps at the beginning they did, he whispers suddenly into the seat. Perhaps at the beginning they did what? she asks. Perhaps-at the beginning-they-had-a night. He leaps suicidally into her arms as they open for him. An entire-night-together. He is excited to hear the words outside himself for the first time, and watches them full of wonder as they float like shimmering bubbles of poison. Perhaps when they first started, when I still used to do reserve duty in Julis, he says, and waits for his heart to calm down and thinks he won't be able to take it. Although even when I was on duty there, I almost always managed to get away and come home at night, he chokes, and Esti bites her lip, afraid to even look at him so as not to break the thin web. Just to get three or four hours of sleep at home next to her, he ruminates with a flooded heart. Just to lie close to her body and fill myself up with her breath. He shuts his eyes and his entire body clings to her womanly flesh, which even in sleep brings the promise that tomorrow, as if straight out of her body, the sun will shine. And don't forget Tom, he reminds Esti hoarsely. After all, she couldn't possibly have left him alone there for a whole night, you know what a crazy mother she is. No-he waves his hand-it's com-

pletely against her nature to do something like that. I mean, to wait until Tom falls asleep and then leave the house? No, she didn't do that, he determines. Although, on the other hand, she could have waited until the boy fell asleep and then phoned Paul to come over-

Paul? Esti asks quietly.

Yes, that's his name.

He's not Israeli?

Not really, it's a long story. He's Russian, but his family is from France.

Go on, I didn't mean to interrupt-

He falls quiet again and tries to understand how he can be saying these things, how it can be that his dark words are coming out into the light and yet he is still alive. At once he storms the doorway that has suddenly opened for him in the endless corridor in which he has been bumping around for years; words spill out, cut off, confused, ashamed, squeezing out. But it's so unlike Elisheva, he mumbles, to do something like that. I mean, to bring Paul into our house. What if Tom had woken up suddenly and come to the bedroom in tears? No, of this he absolved her almost completely, always, and it is important to him that Esti knows that even inside the chaos of their revealed and hidden lives, he knows that Elisheva is an honest person, the most honest person he knows, and that she is even loyal, in her own way. This is truly difficult to explain, and he finds it strange that Esti is quiet now and does not ask him anything about it, as if she understands on her own that such a contradiction is possible. And it's absolutely clear to me, he says, that a person less honest than Elisheva would not be so tormented by these transitions-

What transitions? she asks, confused.

The transitions, you know, between me and him, when she comes and goes, back and forth.

Yes, Esti pipes up, that is the most difficult part, the transitions.

That's the paradox, he continues, that because of her absolute honesty she probably has to pursue this lousy situation, because she just cannot be dishonest in her soul, you see, she cannot give up her great love. He stops and chokes down the gall of his words. Look, it's not easy for me to make peace with this, it's hard for me to even think of it, but this love must be worth all the suffering.

It's not suffering, says Esti softly, it's torture-think of how torn she is. Honestly, I can't understand how she takes it.

That's exactly what I'm saying: what she has with him must be worth the suffering for her. And maybe it's me who is the redundant one, he mumbles to himself. But you know her, he adds, she would never take a drastic step that might hurt me-how can I even use the word "hurt"? he sniggers, the bitterness in his mouth tasting like cyanide. It would destroy me. Annihilate me into dust.

In the dense space of the car she feels slightly dizzy, because of the warm streams emitted by the body lying behind her, and because of the inside of that body, which seems to be tearing apart and disgorging its burning contents, and she cannot follow all of Shaul's words. How difficult it must be, she thinks, to live with such a strain. And that is also why being with him always feels so oppressive. She's just so right for him, Shaul groans. Do you see what I'm up against? Esti nods, unable to utter a word-what could she say? What can one say? That's the thing, he whispers, there is something between them that cannot be canceled out or denied. It's as if she were born for him, he says with indescribable effort, and feels contaminated and miserable and yet freed in a way he has never felt before, and he extracts the words from within himself and places them one by one at her feet. Sometimes I think to myself that it was just their bad luck, or even a tragic error of some sort, that she and he did not- Esti lowers her head and silently begs him to take a break and let her breathe. How can he say such things? And how can she sit and listen to them as if nothing had happened? As if she didn't even recognize the words and the pangs and the sting of longing. She lets out a weak, crushed sigh. How could she be acting like Joseph, who de-

nied knowing his brothers even as he yearned to get up and hug them and shout, It's me! And that voice, she listens, it's not at all his normal voice; this slightly reserved, ironic tone is something completely different, from another place. She is almost tempted to shut her eyes to the road: she has perfect pitch, not for music, but for human voices, and with the subtlety of a wine taster she can discern every nuance of tone. His voice is now replete and dark, as he paints for her a distant, wintry place, perhaps a forest covered with a thin layer of frost, a large tree trunk slowly burning in its midst, silently, occasionally making soft crackling sounds of pain.

She becomes more agitated toward him and against him and with him, and knows that she is opening up now in a new place, unfolding to him with the thirst of a student, and even if she does not understand exactly what he is teaching or what the topic of the lesson is, something inside her whispers that she is in the right place, faraway in a school basement, in a dark and vehemently denied little room; only a few believe in its existence, and only they can be drawn to it and are worthy of participating in the class always in session there, at all hours of the day and night, even when not a single student is present.

Tell me, how is it possible, he says-the thought always strikes him in the same way, from the same exact angle and always for the first time-how is it possible to grasp that this woman, my wife, my one and only true love, has not missed a single meeting with the man for the last ten years? Except maybe once or twice a year on her sick days or when there was a family event, a war here and there, trips abroad or out of town-days when she absolutely couldn't go out and maintain her life with him. Shaul deliberately uses that turn of phrase: "maintain her life with him." The words burn every time, but honesty forces him to say them even when he's talking with Esti. He has not believed for a long time that Elisheva was going out only "to meet with him." Because he knew very well that there was something far deeper between them than a mere "meeting," and certainly more than a fleeting sexual encounter-although that undoubtedly does occur almost every day, he notes diligently. After all, they are a normal man and woman, he snickers, and as he speaks those last words, a flame is ignited within him, and for the first time he directs its blaze at another person, and Esti feels it and rushes to protect herself from the sudden violent gust, the likes of which she has never known, as it lunges at her from the fluttering man behind her. She knows she must save herself, but does not know exactly from what, and is not even sure she really wants to be saved and banished this soon from the private master class. She fears that if she does not pull herself together at once, she may not have the strength later on to withstand the strange assault which now attacks her in waves with a kind of impersonal insistence, almost inhuman, or perhaps insufferably human. Practically yelling, she bursts out, I don't understand, Shaul, stop for a minute, I can't grasp anything anymore. I thought for a second that. No, you've got me completely confused. Start over, please.