Eshkol Nevo - Homesick

But no one was waiting on the steps, and when I opened the door and he came over to hug me, the only smell coming from him, from his shirt, was the smell of the club: cigarettes, sweat, loneliness, and a new element I didn’t know what to call. I didn’t say anything about the smell because I remembered how he responded the last time I did that. I gave him a quick, cursory hug, and he said, what’s this, a brief military hug, and I said, that’s all there is. Then I was sorry for the tone, for the content and the timing, and reached out to stroke his cheek in compensation, but it was too late.

*

I didn’t shave. I always shave before I go to the club, even if there’s no more shaving cream, but this time it completely slipped my mind. I realised it on the Mevasseret bridge, but I thought that if I went back I’d be late. So I kept driving, running my fingers over the stubble, and then I started having other thoughts. No one at the club said anything about the stubble. Nava gave me a very significant look, as usual. Shmuel greeted me enthusiastically, as if a week ago he hadn’t accused me of causing him pain, and the devotees of the crossword puzzle group asked me impatiently when we could start.

We started quickly. That conversation with Shmuel still stung me, and hanging the crossword on the wall and escaping to the definitions was just what I needed.

Two down, five letters. The capital of Ecuador.

Quito. That’s right, Gideon.

One across, four letters. The symbol of peace.

Dove. Right.

Five across, four letters. The opposite of despair.

Hope. Very good, Malka. What did you say, Gideon? Love? But love is with a ‘v’, and our third letter is ‘p’.

Gideon got up. What difference does it make, he suddenly yelled, what difference does it make if it’s a ‘v’ or a ‘p’? Just write what I tell you. The group waited tensely for what I would say. If I’d been feeling myself, it would have ended there. I would have given in and fixed it later. But I was having one of those days when the ground was splitting open under me. So I insisted.

I won’t write love here, I told Gideon, because it’s wrong and it’ll mess up the rest of the puzzle.

He got up, walked around me contemptuously and tore the card off the wall. Who are you to tell us what’s right and what’s wrong? He threw the puzzle on to the floor. Look at what you look like! Not shaved, a stain on your shirt. You look like a crazy man, so where do you get off pretending to be normal, huh?

I rubbed my stubble in embarrassment and looked at the members of the group, hoping they’d come to my rescue. But they thought the whole scene was entertaining. They grinned admiringly at Gideon and he, encouraged by their support, stamped on the puzzle, covering the card with the imprint of his soles and screamed: we don’t want your puzzles! We don’t want you. Get out of here!

I looked at the door — maybe Shmuel would hear the screaming and come to defend me. Maybe he’d stand at my side with his cracked glasses. But Nava came in instead.

Is everything all right? she asked, looking from me to Gideon to the crushed puzzle on the floor.

Nothing’s all right, Gideon answered her. The quality of the students gets lower every year, and this year it’s the lowest. You brought us a crazy student. Look at him, look at the way he looks. Not shaved. He should be a member of this club, not an instructor.

Murmurs of agreement came from the group. Traitors, I thought. I’d sat with every one of them for hours. I’d listened to Malka’s hatred of her sister, to Amatzia the vacillator’s sexual fantasies, to Joe’s paranoia about the General Security Service. And the minute I need them, they turn their backs on me.

These students invest a great deal of time in you, I heard Nava say to Gideon in an authoritative voice, and what you are doing now is completely unfair. Gideon shrank into himself, rebuked. I suggest that we disperse the demonstration, Nava said, looking at me. I don’t see much point in continuing with the group at the moment. I gave a slight, confirming nod. The members of the group filed out of the room. On the way out, each one of them gave me a look, as if they still expected the coup de grâce I was supposed to give to Gideon, but it stuck in my throat.

Amatzia the vacillator was the last one out, and a second later he came back in, pointed to the floor and said: but what about the puzzle? Who’ll solve it? An unsolved crossword puzzle is not good! Then he turned on his heel and went out.

Nava gave a quick look to make sure he wasn’t coming back this time, and said, I can see that you just went through an unpleasant experience. Yes, I admitted. Her eyes were soft and understanding, and for the first time since I started volunteering at the club, I felt that I could share something important with her. That I wanted to. I think they’re especially sensitive now because of the tension all around us, in the country, she said, and her look went back to being professional and cold. And also, maybe you’re having a problem with limits. But I suggest we talk about it during our training session, OK?

OK. No problem. Of course. I understand.

The window of opportunity closed. I was left alone in the room. I picked up the crossword and tried to fold it, but all I did was tear it some more. There was nothing I could do. I had to throw it away and make a new one for next week. Not that anyone would come to do a puzzle next week. All of them know now that the student from the crossword puzzle group is crazy. He should be a member of this club, not an instructor . Gideon’s words pounded at my temples. Maybe he’s right. What actually is the difference between me and them? Everything they feel, I feel, only at a slightly lower volume. I’m like Dan, shifting back and forth between elation and depression. I’m like Amatzia the vacillator, who’s always thinking one thing and its opposite at the same time. And I’m like Shmuel, feeling Noa’s sun, on her bad days at Bezalel, radiating beams that pierce my skin and burn me on the inside. Like them, I’ve been displaced, a man without roots, pretending to be confident but swept away with every wind. A thin line separates me from them, and I’ve crossed that one too. In basic training. If Modi hadn’t been there to save me, I would’ve ended up on the army shrink’s sofa, and who knows, I might’ve wound up here, a member of the Helping Hand Club.

I took the drawing pins off the board, and for a minute, I wanted to press them between my hands till they bled, but I put them and the Scotch tape into my bag and thought: what the hell am I going to do for the two hours until the training session? How do I go out of this room now and look those people in the eye? Shmuel will probably want to talk, and he won’t remember my name again. He’ll comb his hair from side to side again and complain about how full of pain I am and how bad that makes him feel. No. I won’t be able to take it standing up. Or sitting down. It’s too much for me. Much too much. I have to get out of here. Fast. Wait a second, the voice of reason flickered. If you go now without waiting for the training session, you can forget about a recommendation from Nava at the end of the year. How can she recommend someone who can’t cope? Fuck coping, a different voice answered. There’s no chance she’ll recommend me anyway, in light of the darkness between us. And besides, who wants to be a psychologist? My image wants it, all the girls I’ve known who always told me I should be a psychologist want it. But do I really want it? The only thing I want to do, that I have to do, is leave. Now.

I took my bag, left the room, ignored Nava’s raised eyebrow and Shmuel the Cracked, who was coming over to me. I didn’t answer Ronen and Chanit, who’d stopped their flirting for a minute and called out to me. I signalled a quick no with my hand to Joe, who was on his way over to me with a draught board. I went up the steps and made way for Gideon, who was just coming back from the bathroom and ignored me as if the fight we’d had was all in my head. And maybe it was? Maybe I hallucinated the whole thing? I thought, and felt a slight dizziness that threatened to toss me down the steps, but I kept climbing, stopped to breathe, leaned on the right-hand wall, leaned on the left-hand wall, until I was out in the open air, in the deserted park, and started running down the street, running, running, not knowing where.