A. Yehoshua - Open Heart

I knew that I should put the confession off until after the lease was signed; otherwise I might be left without an apartment. And even though my current landlady kept putting pressure on me to leave, I was in no hurry to contact my beloved. This time I wouldn’t make things easy for her, I told myself. If she wanted to nip everything that had begun between us in the bud, all she had to do was tell her secretary to summon me to the office in her absence, in order to sign the lease and take the key. If she didn’t want any further contact with me, if she saw my falling in love with her as something absurd and superfluous, all she had to do was keep away, or set Lazar on me, on the pretext that only he was capable of showing me the plumbing.

But after a few days she called me, and with a new friendliness and none of the hostility she had shown at our previous meeting, she asked me how I was and whether I was enjoying my enforced leisure; she knew, of course, that Professor Levine had not yet recovered from his depression. “If only we had known that you would have to sit here twiddling your thumbs”—a merry laugh came from the other end of the line—“we would have left you to wander around India. Because of us, you didn’t even get to see the Taj Mahal.”

“Right,” I responded immediately, overjoyed that the trip to India had cropped up at last, and turned into a common memory. “Because of your husband’s efficiency, the trip passed as quickly as a dream. And that’s a shame, because I know I’ll never go back there.”

“Don’t say that,” she protested quickly. “How do you know? You’re still so young.” I didn’t answer this, as I had no intention of being dragged into a discussion of my youth at this point, after having convinced myself that the age difference between us had dissolved of its own accord in the darkness of her mother’s apartment. She now asked me, in a voice that contained an unfamiliar anxiety, if I was in a hurry to move into the apartment or if I could wait until Tuesday, when lawyers’ offices were closed in the afternoon, since she wanted to sign the lease in the apartment so that she could show me not only the whereabouts of the water shut-off valve, but also how to use the stove and the microwave oven, and so that we could go over the inventory that her mother had prepared, and then we could sign the contract at our leisure like civilized human beings. After all, who more than she understood that business deals between friends were always open to misunderstandings and mistaken interpretations. “Will your mother be there too?” A doubt crept into my heart. “If you want her to come too, to explain how to use the household appliances better than I can, I’ll try to bring her,” she answered naturally and composedly. “No, no.” I hurriedly dismissed the idea, aware of the eagerness in my voice. “Why drag her all the way there? It will only upset her to see the apartment at sixes and sevens.”

Even though the suggestion to meet at the apartment for the signing came from her, I was sure that nothing was going to happen between us. She was a mature, realistic woman, basking in the love and admiration of her husband, and apparently of others too. Even if she enjoyed the attentions of a young man, it would never occur to her to think that he had actually fallen in love with her, for a woman who had been dining on a rich feast of love all her life would have forgotten what the obsessive hunger of being in love felt like. Moreover, despite the encouraging smiles she flashed at her reflection in the mirror, she was well aware of the folds of flesh around her waist. Nor did she fail to see the deep creases in her neck, and the blotches on her skin when her makeup faded. And even if she still felt complacent about her straight, slender legs, she wouldn’t be able to understand why a young and not bad-looking man like myself, a man at his peak, would suddenly fall in love with her. It would never occur to her that it was precisely her hidden weakness, which her husband had innocently revealed to me, had incited my interest and lust. Nevertheless, I prepared myself for the meeting with a feeling that it would be fateful for me. I decided to wear the checked shirt that I had been wearing when I performed the blood transfusion in Varanasi, even though it was nothing special and faded from many washings, for I hoped that it would give rise, even if only in her subconscious, to the memory of that mysterious hour when I had directed the flow of blood between the two women, and produce some sympathy for me after I delivered my confession, which I knew could only be humiliating and idiotic.

I was determined to unburden myself, and I only hoped that, as before, the apartment would remain shrouded in that golden, dusky darkness which softens, in the natural melancholy of the dying day, everything that is ridiculous and grotesque from the human point of view. But toward afternoon the sky darkened and a hard rain began flooding the town. And I knew that the twilight would be enjoyed only by those flying westward above the clouds, while I would be obliged to stammer my confession in the full glare of the electric lights. Nevertheless, I remained resolute, even though when I knocked on the door I prayed for a moment that Lazar would be there to protect her, and perhaps to protect me too from my imminent humiliation. But there was silence behind the door. She had not yet arrived. After a few minutes I heard her footsteps on the stairs. Was I too beginning to identify her footsteps from a distance, like her husband? She was late, but alone, confident in her ability to deal with me by herself. Her face was covered with a heavy layer of makeup, but the clothes she was wearing were not in the least attractive. On the contrary, they made her look short and clumsy. She had long black boots on her legs, and her body was covered by the black velvet jumpsuit whose sleeves she hadn’t been able to roll up when I gave her the vaccination shots. She was brisk and businesslike, and no longer hostile, as on the previous occasion. “It’s a good thing you came early.” She smiled and opened the door. And I knew there was no longer any need to appease her for my precipitousness. Instead, it seemed that she was already very satisfied with the quiet and undemanding tenant who had forced himself on her. “Isn’t Lazar coming?” I asked. “No, he’s busy today,” she replied, and moved an empty suitcase standing in her way in the passage leading to the bedroom. “But he was here yesterday and insisted on emptying out another closet for you, to give you more room. Come and see how how hard he worked for you,” and with a flourish she flung the closet door open to show me how ingeniously Lazar had succeeded in making all the shoe boxes disappear. But he had not been allowed to touch the gray suits, which were still hanging in the other closet. “You shouldn’t have made such an effort,” I said amicably. “The space was quite enough for me.”

“Now,” said Lazar’s wife firmly, “but how do you know what will happen in the future?” Her eyes twinkled in a smile, perhaps alluding to the marriage I had promised, and she led me into the kitchen to show me a few old electric appliances, which had been dug out of the depths of the kitchen cupboards and were now displayed on the marble counter, decked out in brightly colored covers. But when she tried to tell me how they worked, according to the explanations dictated by her mother, I saw that she was totally at sea. When she began pressing the different buttons, I realized her charming, pampered helplessness, which touched me so profoundly that I could no longer control myself and laid my hand on her little, freckled one to stop her. “It’ll be all right,” I reassured her. “I’ll work it out myself. And if I have any problems, I can always get in touch with your mother directly.” Then we entered the living room, to go over the detailed list her mother had insisted on drawing up in her large but almost illegible handwriting, and to try to work out how much the written words matched the actual furnishings of the apartment. After that I read through the lease, which was full of dire warnings and threats to the tenant. But maybe, I reassured myself, this was the standard form in use in Dori’s office. Everything was ready except for my parents’ signature on the guarantee, which she agreed to wait for until the following week. I signed the two copies of the contract, and as she requested I wrote twelve postdated checks for all the months of the coming year, so that we would not have to bother each other with additional meetings. She put the checks into her bag without inspecting them and took out two keys, which she placed on the table. Now she was relaxed and at peace with herself, and she lit a slender cigarette, gave me a soft look, and asked, “Have we forgotten anything, or is that all?”