Shelly Oria - New York 1, Tel Aviv 0

So freaky, Avner said, because he didn’t want to tell Kleiman— Kleiman of all people — how far his own experience was from that. His daughter was a mystery.

* * *

When Maya was about a year old and Noa a newborn, Kleiman came knocking on Avner’s door late one muggy summer night. He was loud in the hallway, angry about the heat.Your fucking AC better be on, Kleiman was shouting at the door as Avner was opening it. This was a barking, sweating man facing Avner — quite different from the usual Kleiman, the man nicknamed Buddha in their unit years ago for his calm nature. He stormed in, looking for a button to push. Where is it, where do I turn it on? I need air! The word “air” he shouted even louder. Please be quiet, Avner said; Netta and the baby are asleep. But seconds later Netta was at the end of the hall — blue robe, arms crossed. She stood there, saying nothing; Netta always treated words as if they were in limited supply. He just showed up, Avner started apologizing as if Kleiman weren’t in the room, but Netta ignored him and turned to Kleiman. Can I make you some coffee? I think we’re done with beer for the night. Kleiman thanked her as if that’d been the point of everything all along, for someone to offer him coffee. This was a special talent of Netta’s: people usually wanted what she offered. Netta signaled with her hand, and Kleiman followed her to the kitchen. No one said anything to Avner, but he assumed he should stay in the living room. He’d been struggling for some time to find words that would help his friend, who got a call one day from a woman he barely remembered, telling him she’d just had his baby.

They came out of the kitchen two hours later. Avner was half asleep in his recliner. Help him with the couch, would you? Netta said to Avner, and turned toward the hall that led to their bedroom. Avner and Kleiman opened the sofa bed in silence, as if Netta had pushed both Play and Mute before leaving the room.

The following morning, Netta took Kleiman to the travel agency on Dizengoff Street where she’d worked part-time years before, and where she still had connections. The next day, Kleiman was on a flight to India — back to where he’d spent long months after his military service, an Israeli tradition Avner had always been critical of, believing it only kept people from facing their lives. That evening, Avner overheard Netta on the phone with Noa’s mother, offering her help. It was the sort of thing Netta did; she often went out of her way for people she hardly knew. Noa’s mother must have mentioned that Netta had a baby of her own to take care of, because Avner heard Netta say, Well, but I’ve got Avner here. Was Netta only saying what the moment required, or was it possible she actually relied on him in some way? In that first year of Maya’s life, he’d only stayed alone with her twice, and for less than two hours each time. He had this horrible fear back then that Maya would somehow die while Netta was gone. He’d mentioned it to Netta once, very early on, and they’d joked about it, but there was something in their laughter, a plea made and heard.

* * *

Nine weeks later, Kleiman returned. He seemed to have shed all his angst and anger, left it in India; he was Buddha once again. She’s a smart one, your wife, he told Avner.

* * *

In the months that followed, something strange happened: Kleiman kept reaching out to Avner for parenting advice. The first time he changed Noa’s diaper, the first time he took her to the doctor, the first time she stayed with him overnight. Avner found, amazed, that he knew the answers to most of Kleiman’s questions. Since no live demonstrations were ever needed, and since he could always use generic language — not outright lying , simply describing what he’d seen Netta do and letting Kleiman infer, perhaps, that it was his own actions he was describing — he was able, it seemed, to be helpful. He had been a father a year longer than Kleiman, after all, and to Kleiman, who seemed oblivious to Avner’s own troubles with his little family, that was enough to consider Avner an authority. There was a quality to these talks — a lie repeated until you started believing it — that made them so dear to Avner, and he hid them from Netta, sneaking out to talk or meet with Kleiman as if having an affair. And the affair lasted quite a while, Avner always being one year of fatherhood ahead. But everything changed, of course, when Avner decided to move to New York, a decision the new Kleiman simply couldn’t understand. You have a five-year-old here, he whispered to Avner on the balcony of the Tel Aviv apartment, as if reminding his friend of a crucial detail he must have forgotten about, as if forgetting his own history. It may only be for a few weeks, Avner said then.

These days it was Kleiman offering the advice — advice Avner never asked for — and always, it seemed, wanting Avner to confess something. His guilt? How little he knew his daughter? How true that had always been, even before he left? It’s freaky, isn’t it, how transparent they are.

* * *

Would you like me to take your picture with Disneyland in the background? Avner asked now. When Maya nodded he remembered he’d left the camera back at the hotel, but his daughter was taking off her backpack, then squatting down and hunting for something. A few seconds later, she was holding a small camera in the shape of a butterfly, stretching her arm up so he could reach. She’d always loved to be photographed. Even back when she was a toddler, Avner remembered, she used to smile and make giggly sounds whenever someone was taking a picture of her. She has a sense of her own beauty, Netta used to say, and then in a lower voice, I hope that never changes. You have your own camera? How great, he said, taking it from her extended hand, looking for the viewfinder. I know what I can do, Maya said suddenly, her voice high with excitement, I can put this in one of those double frames, right next to a real Disneyland one! It will be so funny. I even have a pretty one that Mom took when I was wearing this shirt! Avner pushed the button without meaning to. Mom was in Disneyland, too? he asked. Maya nodded, but her excitement was immediately gone. Was it, like, a group? he asked. Were other people there? Maya shook her head no, her eyes on him. He must be misunderstanding. So it was just Kleiman and Mom, with you and Noa, he said very slowly. Maya nodded. Noa’s dad said maybe next time you’ll come, too, she said.

Something in Avner was pulling him down now, his body asking to sit or lie for just a moment or two, but it would be so dramatic to do so in the middle of the plaza, and Maya would surely be startled. No, all he needed to do was take her picture; it was a simple task, and he could do it. He held up the camera again. You’re not smiling, Maymay, he said in a voice that sounded foreign, the voice of a man he’d never met, and Maya said, Sometimes I like the regular pictures better. What was it about that simple statement? It made him want to close the small distance between them and hug her. But instead he took her picture, tiny and serious, the Disneyland of Albany behind her.

* * *

Once they were walking again, there was no pushing the thoughts aside. He wanted to call Netta, ask her point-blank. For once in his life he’d be direct, clear. Would she admit it, assuming there was something to admit? And if she denied it, and he said that, even still, they shouldn’t have gone on a trip like that, like a family without him, would she understand? Or would she say that they couldn’t have afforded it otherwise, which was true, of course, that Kleiman’s inviting them was the only way for Maya to go, and didn’t he want that for her? Or would she take it even further and finally say what she never had, that he was a bad father for leaving?