Eshkol Nevo - Homesick

*

Yotam’s father is sitting in his car, crying bitter tears. Crying as he hasn’t cried in many, many years. If his employees could see him now, all they’d be able to say is wow. Their big boss is crying like a little child. He hasn’t cried since Gidi was killed. All he did was cough. But yesterday, when they found Yotam, he was flooded by tears he couldn’t choke off. Earlier, at work, he’d had a lump in his throat that wouldn’t go away. Don’t be such a baby, he kept telling himself all day. Be strong, he told himself again and again; without you, the business doesn’t have a chance. But the lump kept growing and growing, and by lunchtime he was feeling unwell. He couldn’t eat, and his partner said: go home Reuven, you look like hell. But he yelled at him, I’m not leaving till I’ve finished my work. He forced himself to keep at it till exhaustion was all he felt, hoping that hard work would make the lump in his throat melt. But it only got bigger and bigger. Late at night, on his way home, he felt he couldn’t take it any more. So he stopped the car on the side of the road, turned off the lights and leaned against the door. He hid his face with his hands and began to shake. And cry as if his heart would break. He cried about so many things. About the morning he took Gidi to the bus station and they hugged goodbye with so much love. About the night he touched Nechama and she recoiled as if he were an enemy she wanted no part of. And about yesterday, when he found Yotam in that Arab shack. Lying there as if he were dead, on his back.

He wept and wailed for what seemed like a year, until a police car pulled up and someone yelled into a megaphone: Get going. You can’t park here. OK, he signalled to the policeman and turned on his lights. He let a few cars drive by, then merged into traffic, trying not to cry.

But all the way to the Castel, the tears kept flowing. He cried so hard that he could barely see where he was going. And he thought: Nechama was right the other day when she said that things can’t go on this way. I can’t drive on these roads any more. Every traffic light brings up memories. And I can’t stay at home, there’s so much tension in the air. No, we have to take Yotam and run away. But where can we run to, where?

Right before the Mevasseret bridge, an idea popped into his head, but he said no, it’ll never work. What’s wrong with you Reuven, are you nuts? But the idea was persistent, it wouldn’t retreat. It stayed in his mind when he drove up to the house, when he parked on his street. It was still there when he took a handkerchief out of the glove compartment to wipe his face before he went into the house. (He’s a man, after all. The whole world doesn’t have to see him bawl.)

He climbed the stairs considering whether to tell Nehama about the new idea he had.

And before he put his key in the lock, he decided not to tell her yet. It might make her upset.

*

It’s as if I cried a lot, and now I feel relieved.

I flow with the streets leading to Frishman beach and think: it’s so great that I don’t have to be careful. That I don’t have to feel Amir’s pain enter me through a hidden tunnel that connects us. That I don’t have to keep his hurt feelings deep inside my stomach. It’s incredible how much room it leaves in my body. But on the other hand, at night, it’s exactly that empty space that gets hungry and shouts: Amir! Amir! I try to fill it with peanuts or ice-cream, but it doesn’t help. I walk around Aunt Ruthie’s apartment terrified that Amir will give up on me and go to some other girl. I can see them together, hugging and touching each other, as if I’m standing at the window of the apartment in the Castel and taking pictures. She’s a little shorter than I am. Her tits are nicer. And if I’m not mistaken, she’s not as sad as I am.

Enough, I say, trying to push that scene out of my mind, you have to focus on the project, Noa. Go out. Look for interesting places in Tel Aviv. There must be some. All you have to do is raise your head.

*

I hear Sima washing dishes. Frying something. Talking loudly to Lilach. I hear her walking around the house in high heels (she has nice ankles. I noticed when we were looking for Yotam together). I hear her go out. Come back. Open the cover of the water heater switch, turn it on. Take a shower. I picture her body naked, very different from Noa’s body. When Noa showers, the water flows from her hair down to her feet without interruption. When Sima showers, or so I picture it, the water pools in the indentations of her body. In the space between her large breasts. In her deep belly button, which she loves to expose. In the hills of her buttocks. I hear her step out of the shower and can actually see, through the wall, how she brushes her long hair, untangling the knots until it’s smooth. I hear her talking, I can’t tell to whom. I don’t understand a word, but I like the tone. Full of energy, opinionated, always ready to burst into laughter. I think to myself: she’s home alone too. Just like me.

A few days ago, I put on a ‘Natasha’ CD, and suddenly I thought I heard her singing along with it, ‘One touch, then another, sadness, all so familiar.’ I turned down the volume, and her singing stopped all at once. I pulled open the cover of the water heater switch and called: Sima! She came over to the hole in the wall and said: did you call me? Yes, I said. I just wanted to tell you to keep singing, I mean, you sing very well. She laughed and said: I didn’t know you could hear me. Then she added: I love the music you put on today. Not like the noisy music you usually listen to. Nirvana, you mean? I asked. I don’t know, she said, shifting uncomfortably on the other side of the wall. OK, I said, I’ll try to edit my musical selections to suit the taste of the audience. You don’t have to, she said, coming a little closer. I could hear her breathing. The scent of perfume wafted in through the hole, along with the aroma of frying cutlets. I wonder what’s wafting through the hole from me to her, I thought, and said, well, I’m going back to my books. And immediately I regretted my words. OK, she said, I’m going back to my cutlets. Have a nice day. I put the cover over the hole and went back to the living room, intending to open my books again, when I heard the cover open again and her voice call me: Amir?

*

I asked him if he wanted me to bring over a few cutlets when they were ready, and thought, it’s a good thing he’s on the other side of the wall and can’t see how I’m blushing now. Sure, he said, that would be great. And then I was sorry: what did I need this for? They’re our tenants and it’s not good to mix feelings with money. And anyway, he’s Noa’s boyfriend and Noa is my friend. But then again, she did pick up and leave without even saying goodbye. After all those talks we had, she couldn’t come and tell me what was happening? Did she think it was beneath her?

An hour later, I put on my nicest trousers, the ones that give me a waist, put on a little make-up and walked up the path holding Lilach in one hand and a plastic box full of cutlets in the other, saying to myself: I’ll just give him the box and leave without going inside and without talking. I have loads of things to do at home. The mountain of laundry is higher than Mount Meron. Besides, if Amir was ugly, that would be another story, but when he gets a haircut he looks like that tall American actor, I can’t remember his name, the one whose films Mirit and I always went to see in Ashkelon, and when he talks to people on the phone he has all the patience in the world, and he speaks in a deep voice that passes through the walls and makes me feel good all over. When we signed the lease with them, I said to myself, he’s a good-looking guy. Wild hair, light eyes, muscles in his shoulders. The way I like. And after we went looking for Yotam together, I liked him even more.