Eshkol Nevo - World Cup Wishes

And Amichai also withdrew further and further into himself. Maria’s daughter had surprised the twins with the announcement that from now on she wanted Noam, only Noam, to be her friend, and so, in a single moment, she split the threesome apart. In response, Nimrod shattered all the pictures in the house (except for the one of his mother) and hurled a mini-disc player, including speakers, out of his bedroom window into the street. Professionals explained to Amichai that actually, through his anger at Maria’s daughter, Nimrod was allowing himself to experience his mother’s death for the first time. Amichai thought they were wrong, that they did not fully appreciate the autonomous power of children’s love (he’d once had an Irit whom he loved in the second grade. For months, he’d planned to ask her to be his girlfriend when they were at the end-of-year party, but she never showed up). Anyway, he delegated most of his authority to the managing director he’d appointed to work under him, cut his media appearances to a minimum, and tried to spend ‘quantity time’, as he put it, with his Nimrod.

He called his friends less often, and if I called him, he would usually promise to get back to me after the children were asleep. But he didn’t.

Of all of them, Ofir and Maria were the only ones who tried to show an interest in what I was doing (or, more accurately, in what I wasn’t doing), and once they even formally invited me to a family dinner.

My inner oracle prophesied doom. It claimed that this was not a good time for family dinners. But, as mentioned, I was educated to believe that, when invited, the polite thing is to accept, so I pulled myself together and drove to Michmoret.

On the way, I listened to naive Hebrew songs on the radio. A pleasant breeze came through the open window, and drivers passing me on the road looked to me like people, not just drivers. I said to myself that it was very kind of Ofir and Maria to invite me over. And that, all in all, I should be happy for both of them, now that they were pregnant.

But from the minute I walked into their wooden house, I couldn’t stop feeling envy. Bitter, bubbling, maddening envy.

I envied their small, modest house. And the fact that they were a five-minute walk from the sea. And the breeze that carried a salty smell into the living room and gently rocked the hammock. I envied the fact that they’d had the courage to leave the city. And the courage to do what they love. I envied Ofir for having Maria who, even after three years of being together, still occasionally stroked the back of his neck for no special reason. I envied Maria for having her daughter, even though they actually argued throughout the entire meal.

First, the girl didn’t want to sit with us. And then she didn’t want to eat with a knife and fork. And then, while we were still eating, she insisted on sliding down the banister of the narrow staircase that wound down from the gallery to the living room. Get off there, you’re doing something dangerous for no good reason, Maria said. Look who’s talking, was the girl’s cheeky reply. What is that supposed to mean?! Maria said, tensing up. Ask Ofi what it means, the girl hissed at her, and stayed on the banister. Maria looked over at Ofir. My trips to the checkpoints are my private business, she said, trying to contain her disappointment, I don’t understand why you had to talk to her about it. Because I don’t think it’s your private business, Ofir replied, without raising his voice even slightly.

And she answered him. And spoke about Lana, saying that this was her way of missing her.

And he didn’t answer her. And tried to touch her hand. But she moved it away, though not roughly.

They both got up to take the girl off the banister and bring her back to the table. And all that time, despite the angry, tense words of all three, you could sense how close they were. Intertwined. I’ve never had anything like that, I thought, and continued to eat my rice-and-lentils à la Copenhagen, and tell them about the articles I was translating, and about the latest, condensed news of Amichai and Churchill, but inside, the envy was blazing. Scorching. I envied the fruit salad that was served for dessert (a single guy would never make fruit salad for himself). I envied the fact that they didn’t have cable (that’s the way to live!). I envied the silence that filled the room after we stood up from the table and reclined on the cushions in the living room (a comfortable silence, as if they hadn’t had a bitter argument a moment earlier). And I even envied the fact that they talked about the problems they were having with the clinic.

They said that since the second Intifada had begun, people were hesitant about spending money on luxuries, and alternative therapy — there was no denying it — was still considered a luxury in Israel.

And I thought, how much they care about that clinic of theirs. How much it means to them. And how I had nothing like that in my life. Nothing that really means anything to me.

Ofir said that, the way it looked now, if the number of clients continued to dwindle, he’d have to go back to working in advertising at least for a short time, because there were bills to pay. But that didn’t scare him because a lot of water had flowed in the Ganges since his breakdown, and this time he’d be coming from a totally different place.

And Maria took his hand in hers and added, this time, you won’t be alone with it. This time you’ll have me.

I looked at them and thought, it’s love, stupid. It’s her love that changed him. Not those spiritual clichés, not the flapping sharwal and not the swaying hammock. It’s her. Maria. She calmed him down. Family-ised him. Hugged him so hard that he had no choice but to stop moving in her embrace. Caressed him so much that lately he even stops shrinking in alarm when a hand accidentally nears his face.

How about sleeping over tonight, Maria suggested and rubbed Ofir’s stomach, as if he were the pregnant one.

Yes, Uncle Yuval! Yes! her daughter said happily. And we’ll play Trivial Pursuit!!! (The girl was a world-champion player. Most grown-ups didn’t dare to play with her because they were afraid they’d lose, but I had collected enough marginal information through my translations to give her a fight.)

I’d love to stay, sweetie, but I’m going out tonight, I lied.

A new girl? Ofir asked casually.

Yes, I lied again.

That’s great, Maria said, happy for me. I think you deserve it. You deserve love. She said it warmly, and her eyes looked at me with warmth, but it made me cold. There was nothing patronising about the way she spoke, but I felt as if she were patronising me. That they both were being slightly, almost imperceptibly condescending. The natural way they rested in each other’s arms. The murmuring of the sea coming through the window. The gentle, caressing breeze. The thick, intoxicating smell of incense that blended with the light scent wafting from the shelf of Himalaya brand shampoos and creams. Damn it, two years had passed since they’d come back from India, how did they still have so much left? And why did they keep it in the living room and not in the bathroom? What was it, furniture?

I couldn’t stand it any more. I felt an intense need to see the city again. To hear the honking horns again. And the bulldozers. And the groaning buses. To sweat in the humid air. To stop at the shop for an ice lolly. To see people walking their dogs as if they were their spouses. Stroking them. Talking to them. To see people walk slowly, earnestly out of a cinema. To feel the tumult of the city overwhelm me, slowly silencing the tumult inside me.

Thanks for the invitation, the meal was great, I said, and stood up to leave. Maria and the girl gave me long hugs, and Ofir insisted on walking me to the car.