Eshkol Nevo - Homesick

Make room, Noa says, back from the shower and already wearing her sheep pyjamas. I squeeze up against the wall and lift the blanket a little so she can get in. Her face is very serious, her forehead wrinkled in a frown. I can feel her thoughts scratching at the edge of my consciousness, almost forming words, but I won’t ask her what she’s thinking about so she won’t ask me.

Will you pick up the pieces of glass and put them in the bin later? she asks, and I nod. We have to buy new plates, she says, we won’t have any to eat on. Yes, I say, and the bad buzzing that stopped when we had sex, the old buzzing that always stops when we have sex, is standing between us again. She turns her back to me and I think, what if this time I really do have to get up and go and all this talk about addiction is just a smokescreen, the fog of war, psychological warfare that I use against myself so I won’t see the bitter truth that it’s been awful between us lately, and if you think about it, we were never really good together, except for the first sweet-as-honey weeks, and maybe even the first month in this apartment. And there were a few days after Hanukkah. Fuck, the swing keeps swinging and I can’t think anything without the opposite popping right up in my mind. The line is blurred between right and wrong, between one person and another, between us and the whole mess around us, the explosions, the retaliations. They sold us a bill of goods about thick, clear, solid lines. It’s a lie. Everything’s blurred. Look, even the line between sanity and insanity. One minute I’m healthy and authoritative, and the next minute I’m not shaved and they pull me over to their side, the sick side, like in a kids’ game when they draw a chalk line, take your hand and try to pull you over it. But there isn’t even a line here; at the most a small asterisk. A small asterisk separates me from the other me, a small asterisk that fades so easily and bam, like in basic training, before I can breathe or defend myself, my chest collapses back towards my ears, my back itches with anxiety, my throat fills up with glass, and a scream gathers in my temples, crazy, crazy, crazy.

Meanwhile, Noa is already breathing deeply, asleep. And the buzzing stops. The buzzing between us always stops when she falls asleep and I feel suddenly quiet too. A stream begins to flow inside me, like in the Ehud Banai song, and now I can bend towards her and whisper words of love in her ear. I tell her that our souls are intertwined and there is no other woman like her and I desire her always, always and without shame. And it’s all true. She smiles in her sleep and I kiss her cheek, her earlobe, and raise myself up and over her carefully, so I won’t step on her. I put on slippers, one of mine, which fits, and one of hers, which is too tight. I pull the broom out from behind the refrigerator and start sweeping up the pieces of broken plates I threw on the floor when our fight was at its most furious and I yelled, I don’t want to hear about your final project now! I don’t! It’s amazing how far the pieces flew. There are some near the door and some behind the TV and under the sofa. And there’s one piece near Modi’s letter, which I see now for the first time. That’s weird. When did Sima toss it in? Did she wait until we were finished? Did she hear it all? Who cares. Let her hear. Let her think I’m crazy. That’s what they think at the Helping Hand. So who cares. The main thing is that I have a letter from Modi. I can put the broom aside for a minute. Sit down in the armchair alone. And read.

*

Amigo,

I have to tell you something. The best thing would be if you were here and I could actually tell you this, but letters are all we have for the time being and I have to share. So here goes. Keep quiet and read.

Her name’s Nina, and she’s Czech. She’s gorgeous, something like Olga, that Russian girl who was a year behind us in high school, but much classier. We met at the agency that arranges one or two-day treks to the nearby volcano, Pacaya. We were both waiting in the queue for the agent to finish with a large group of Germans. There were aerial photos of the volcano hanging on the wall behind her, but no matter how hard I tried to look at them, I couldn’t. My eyes were drawn to her over and over again, devouring another detail each time. The snub nose. The Greta Garbo eyebrows. The section of statuesque white neck (sorry for the poetic language, but after examining it up close, I can tell you that her neck really is a masterpiece). And the weird thing was that she had her eye on me too. To this day, I don’t understand what she saw in me, but it looks like there’s a type of girl whose taste runs to overgrown Israeli guys with messy hair. Anyway, she looked at me and I looked at her, and the longer we had to wait, the longer and more openly we looked at each other. Then, when I’m in the middle of trying to figure out how to translate all the opening lines I know into English, the door to the agency suddenly opens and a skinny guy in ripped jeans walks in, sits down next to my future wife and starts talking to her in some strange language. I don’t believe it, I muttered to myself, I have such shitty luck. When I finally find a girl who does it for me, she’s with someone? I got up and started pacing around the room, nervous out of my mind. Back and forth, back and forth.

Excuse me, are you also interested in the trip to Pacaya? her asshole, Jew-hating boyfriend asked me in English.

Yes, I said curtly.

When?

Tomorrow. You too?

We started talking. Muchillero small talk in English. Turns out they’re Czech. Turns out they’ve been travelling for two months already. They did Ecuador and Peru, and now they’d cut over to Guatemala, like me. True, not many Czechs travel. The Czechs don’t have money. Their economy’s down the toilet. But ever since they were kids, he and his sister had this crazy thing about Indians, and they worked their asses off for five years so they could travel. His sister?!! Now that I looked at them, there really was a resemblance. Something about the nose. Then I worked up the courage and asked her, how are you enjoying the trip? She doesn’t know English, her brother apologised for her, just Czech and Russian. He’ll translate my question for her. She gave a long answer and looked into my eyes during her whole speech.

Before he could translate, the agent called us to the counter. The three of us signed up for the next day’s group and set a time to meet later for dinner at the only restaurant in town.

When I got to the restaurant, shaved and wearing the only unstained shirt I had, she was sitting alone at a table. In English, I asked her where her brother was, and she spread her hands to the sides as if to say, ‘I have no idea what you just said, but it sounded interesting.’ I pointed to the empty chair next to her and made half a circle with my hand to mean ‘Where?’ Aah … She looked relieved. She rested her cheek in her palm. He was probably sleeping.

On the one hand, I was glad. No one would keep us from creating a romantic atmosphere. On the other hand, how can there be a romantic atmosphere if we can’t talk? The waitress came over. Nina ordered the huge salad that was pictured on the menu and I ordered churrasco , which is a cheap, local combo of meat, rice, beans, bananas and avocado.

When the waitress left, we stared at the tablecloth and laughed in embarrassment. Turns out that we both thought the situation was funny (and on top of all of Nina’s great qualities, she also has dimples). After we calmed down, she caught my eye and then, for a long while, she just didn’t let me avoid her look. She hypnotised me into that blue-grey lake until I forgot we were sitting in a restaurant and there were dozens of people around us, and for a minute I thought we were the only two people in the world, and also (you’ll probably think I’m crazy) that I was swimming. I had a real physical sensation of swimming and almost started making paddling movements in the middle of the restaurant. When I felt like I was starting to drown, I shifted my eyes.