Eshkol Nevo - Homesick

She can’t, I think. Not really. There’s a thick wall, a concrete wall between people who have children and people who don’t. What about you and Amir? I ask, and the minute I say his name, I remember that I dreamed about him again yesterday. I went over to get their monthly rent and she wasn’t there. He said they didn’t have any money and asked if he could pay me in a different way. I pretended not to understand and asked, what way? He bent over and gave me a kiss, a gentle kiss on the lips, and I said, that could be a problem, and all of a sudden I didn’t have any clothes on. But before we could touch, I heard Lilach crying and I couldn’t work out where the crying was coming from because I didn’t see her. I looked for her in the dream and when I couldn’t find her, I got scared and woke up. Then I realised she really was crying because her dummy had fallen out.

What about me and Amir, Noa repeats my question without a question mark and then is quiet.

Yes, I push her and remember the big fight I heard through the wall.

She wants to say something, but she’s hesitating. You can tell from the way she’s staring at her shoes and the way her knee starts jigging up and down. Tell me, Sima, she finally says, does it sometimes happen, I mean, did it ever happen, I mean do you sometimes think about other men, I mean, other than Moshe?

My heart drops into my trousers and slides down into my socks like a coin. How does she know? I didn’t tell anyone about my dream, not even Mirit, so how did she find out? Do they teach her at Bezalel to photograph people’s thoughts? That’s scary. I knew there was something strange about that girl. I told Moshe right from the start. Allah yistur . God help me. How do I answer her?

Why do you ask? I look her right in the eye. Like they say, the best defence is a good offence.

No, because … she mumbles, embarrassed, accusing, and I’m almost tempted to confess, to get down on my knees and say I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I don’t know what came over me. I have hormonal problems, maybe that had something to do with it. Or maybe it’s because it’s spring, with all the allergies, but I promise you, Noa, you have nothing to worry about …

But then she starts to talk. No, listen, it’s just that in the café some guy came on to me, and I usually brush them off. I tell them I have a boyfriend and go on about my business, I mean, yeah, it’s nice, but nothing more, and yesterday, I don’t know, he asked if we could go out, and my heart whispered, yes. A second before my mind kicked in, my heart whispered yes, do you understand? Of course, in the end, I said no, but I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind.

What does he look like? I ask her. I’m so busy breathing in relief that I don’t have time to think of a less idiotic question.

That’s not the point, Noa says and looks at me, disappointed with me for not understanding.

So what is the point, I ask, trying to correct the impression I made.

It’s not that specific guy. I’ll forget him in a minute. It’s just that I don’t think something like that should happen when everything’s good between you and your boyfriend.

Why not? I protest, and want to go on: take me, for instance …

I think that if you’re looking outside — Noa makes a fist, puts it in her mouth and bites it — it’s a sign that something’s missing at home.

But something’s always missing. No man has it all, I hear myself saying. And I’m almost convinced.

True, Noa says, taking her fist out of her mouth. But that’s not the thing.

Lilach, who fell asleep in my arms, wakes up suddenly and starts looking for my breasts. She still does that sometimes, and I have to move her mouth away gently to remind her that she’s been drinking from a bottle for a while now.

Look, I say to Noa and don’t know how to continue. I feel like giving her some really first-class advice, something that’ll make her come to me for help every day, but the only thing that comes out of my mouth is: maybe you need to get out together more, you know, to add a little variety to your life. You’re at home all the time, aren’t you? Travel a bit. Go on holiday. Go away for a few days. I say all that and think: now she’s probably saying to herself, advice like this I can get from women’s magazines.

But she actually smiles. You’re right, she says, we really have got bogged down. And we used to go out a lot before we moved here. But there’s something about these walls that closes in on us, that pushes us so close to each other that we can’t see. Maybe that’s really a good idea, to go away for a while.

Yes, what’s the big deal, I say confidently, like someone whose advice has been accepted, and think: if only I took a quarter of the advice I give to other people. Why a quarter, an eighth.

I forget how good it is to talk to you, Noa says, playing with the fuzz on Lilach’s head.

It really is great to talk to me, I say, and we both laugh. I look at the sparkle in her eyes, at the small wrinkles dancing on her cheeks, and I’m jealous: he probably fell in love with her because of the beautiful way she laughs.

*

All those particles of emotion in the air, the fragments of hurt feelings, the small, invisible insinuations, all the hidden balls we’ve passed to each other with the speed of light, I have the ball, Amir has the ball, the ball is rolling down the street, all the kindled memories, recent ones from yesterday, distant ones, my mother, the words that have been spoken, the words that will be spoken, the words that will probably never be spoken, the throat choking off the words, the little lamp that lights up in your chest and illuminates you from inside, the touching, your body’s memory of it, the inexplicable longing, great expectations, the slight but stubborn desperation, the law of connected vessels, the law of scorched hearts, music, his inner music, quiet, solid and tense, my inner music, slightly more dramatic, the duet, the delicate ballet of compromise, someone always has to give up something, the small flash of disappointment, the lack of clarity, the knowledge that it was never really clear, that it will never be clear, the stone rolling down your back, the little stab deep in your stomach, the shared wound constantly bleeding inside, the transparent ties that bind, invisible, like in the circus, the ties you can trip on and fall, fear of falling, hope of falling, knowledge of falling.

You can’t see any of those things in the picture of that trip to the hidden spring.

In the picture, we’re hugging. Amir’s hand is peeking from behind my shoulder, my hand is peeking from behind his waist. In the background is the red Fiat Uno with its tired right eye. Behind it are green bushes sprouting from the hill, and behind them, the sky and a cloud shaped like a hippopotamus. Amir is smiling a slightly tired smile, or maybe it’s only now that I think it’s tired. As usual, I don’t photograph well. Or maybe I’m just not pretty. Our bodies are very close. Relaxed. And there’s no sign of what would happen a week later. Maybe the heads. Yes, the heads. I didn’t notice it until now. Instead of tilting our heads towards each other, we’re tilting them away.

*

It can’t go on like this, Mum said. I knew I wasn’t supposed to hear this conversation. It was really late already, maybe one in the morning, and I just happened to get out of bed to go and pee, and I was about to go back to my room when I heard her talking. Even though I was half asleep, I heard the words and stopped, thinking they were talking about me because I’d brought a note from my form teacher that day — an invitation to an urgent meeting to discuss my marks this term — and I was sure they were talking about what punishment they should give me after all the ones they’d already given me hadn’t helped.