Eshkol Nevo - Homesick

*

And these are troubled times. In Lebanon, cannon blasts resound. At Ben Gurion airport, there are no tourists to be found. Agricultural projects have been halted and cucumbers tremble in the cold. Abu Dhabi has broken off diplomatic relations (please Abu Dhabi, take us back into the fold). Jerusalem is celebrating its three thousandth anniversary, but no one comes to the celebration. The suits, who can’t agree on a date for the elections, can barely hide their frustration. A Jordanian couple who named their son Rabin flee to Israel to escape their countrymen’s ire. An unemployed man attacks a social worker with an axe. Children dream about terrorist attacks. And on the bridge to Mevasseret, a white cloud of thought appears, large and clear: for a minute, only a minute, it seemed that things could have been different here.

*

I held the letter that came for Amir and Noa, but I didn’t want to throw it to them through the hole. I wanted to listen.

And we have to throw out that picture, Noa said. I could finally hear her clearly.

What’s your problem with that picture? Amir asked her. His voice was strange. Different from the voice I know. Shakier.

It drags us both down, Noa said. It’s like the nymph of grief enticing us to drown.

Come on, Noa, a man is sitting on a bed and looking out the window. Where do you see drowning here? Amir said, and his voice moved away a little. I pictured them standing in front of the picture with their hands on their hips.

Look at his shoulders, Noa said. Look at how they’re drooping. And the hands are so heavy. He isn’t even looking at us. He’s looking out. That’s why you hold on to this picture, because he always wants to be outside, like you.

He doesn’t want to be outside, Noa, he misses something.

Do you miss something too?

Always.

What do you miss now?

You.

I miss you too, Amir.

But I’m here.

No, I miss the way you were before we moved to this apartment.

How was I?

I don’t know, Noa said. Rounder. I imagined that there was a big, warm circle in your body.

Sorry to disappoint you, but I also have corners. When people tell me I’m crazy, I can’t help it, but I just can’t round off the corners of that.

*

I covered the hole and leaned against the wall. What happened to the way they were yelling before? How can they suddenly be talking to each other so nicely, suddenly so understanding. I never had a conversation like that with Moshe. He misses her, she misses him. So what’s their problem? And who said he’s crazy? And why were they smashing glass half an hour ago?

I uncovered the hole again. I know it’s not nice, but I couldn’t control myself.

*

And what about you? Why don’t you dance any more? Amir asked.

But I do.

When?

When you’re not home.

Why? Do I bother you?

No, I just have more room when you’re not here.

But you have an aerodynamic build.

God, Amir, it’s not physical. It’s more of a feeling.

So maybe I’ll leave, and you’ll have lots or room. Endless room.

Do you see how you always want to take off?

OK.

That last ‘OK’ of Amir’s was a killer, and I was waiting for the action to start again, for them to yell and break glasses and plates. The question even crossed my mind what would happen if Noa leaves and Amir stays in the apartment alone, and his landlady goes to comfort him, and that made me angry at myself. Enough, Sima, what’s wrong with you, and I covered the hole in the wall once and for all and went to the kitchen to load the dishwasher and wash the sink, but I had one ear cocked to hear what was happening on the other side of the wall. They talked for another few minutes, first him, then her, then him. Then it was quiet, as if they’d left the house. But the door didn’t open and I didn’t hear footsteps on the tiles. And then, a few minutes later, I heard those sounds that Noa makes, the ones that give me a twinge down below, and I started to picture them lying in bed together, his long white body on hers, hiding it. Or maybe she’s lying on top of him, leaning on his strong shoulders, kissing his completely hairless chest, the kind of smooth chest I love. And maybe he’s lying on her back — who knows what those two could be doing — maybe he’s lying on her back, holding on to her hips, those narrow hips of hers, and …

Lilach started crying like she always does when she hears those noises of Noa’s. I went and picked her up. Her body was hot, but mine was hotter.

*

As if this were the last time. Holding on with our fingernails, with our feet, clinging to anything we can to keep from slipping. I press her tightly to me, the way people hug each other at the airport before one of them goes up the escalator, and she coils around me, gets entangled with me, turns me on my back, on her back, and then, using my little finger as a brush, I slowly paint a line from her cheek to her collarbone, the way she likes me to, circles, circles, a kiss, circles, circles, sucking. She draws me inside. First my tongue is swallowed up, then my cheeks, my mouth and now my whole head is inside her, my thoughts are inside her, my memories are inside her. I pull myself out by the skin of my teeth and bite my shoulder, then hers, and she says aiee. Then she says, look into my eyes, and she pulls my head up so I’m facing her and I look into her eyes and feel like a cheat, even though I’ve never cheated on her. I dive into her neck to hide and she trembles slightly, chilled, but she insists, look into my eyes, Amir. I rise along the serpentine path from her neck to her cheeks until our faces are level again, my nose facing hers, and she smiles. I love your eyes when you’re horny, they shoot yellow sparks as if smoke is about to come out of them. I blink in embarrassment like a model and say, thanks. Now that she’s said that, I feel like my eyes really are burning, that the sheet, the blanket, the wardrobe are about to catch fire and the flames will spread to the living room and burn the picture of the sad man, who’ll try to escape through the window but won’t make it. The flames will pass through the hole for the water heater switch to Sima and Moshe, to the empty lot, to Yotam. Come, Noa says, saving me from the fire, come to me. I hesitate for a minute just to make her crazy, draw circles around her bellybutton with my tongue, licking it as if it were an ice-cream cone, kiss the inside of her thighs once, twice and then, when I can’t go on any more and she pulls my Samson-like hair, come up here, come on, I toss aside a corner of the blanket — and come.

When it all collapses, she gets up quickly and heads for the bathroom. Where are you running off to? I ask her. She apologises, so there won’t be an infection, you know. And I think, it’s not because of any infection, it’s because we can’t stay together in the same air for more than a few minutes, and I say to her, watch out for the pieces of glass. She remembers and says, oh yes, I still can’t believe you did that. I chuckle and say, don’t forget that I’m half Greek. And half frightened, she says, I still don’t believe it. At least put on your slippers, I insist and throw her one of hers and one of mine. She puts them both on and walks out. I stay in bed and cover myself with the blanket. All the images of our fight pass through my mind, and I don’t know whether to be happy that I finally fell apart or to be scared that I fell apart into such small pieces. Somehow, as the minutes pass and Noa doesn’t come back, the emotional scale shifts more towards being scared and I think, maybe she and I really do need to take a break. This apartment closes in on us, squeezes each one of us into our own dark corner. What was that supposed to be, that blind rage that is so not part of my image? A sensitive psychologist is supposed to contain everything. A sensitive psychologist doesn’t use words to hurt, doesn’t expose his nasty side like that, and he never ever breaks plates. Fuck, maybe I really do need some distance so I can calm down. Terrific, Amir! I rebuke myself. You haven’t run away in a while. You haven’t moved in a while. The women are different, but the story is the same. You’re just addicted to it. Addicted to muscles tensing up so you can take off. To the magic you use on new people who don’t know you. But no, I won’t let you push away the only woman who ever really got close to you. The only woman you let touch that black lump of yours, even stroke it.