Shelly Oria - New York 1, Tel Aviv 0

* * *

She has something like a playlist in her brain; double-click on a man’s photo and you can hear the sound he makes. How can she explain — to Mia, to anyone — that she understands these moans better than she understands words?

When people speak, they say things like: It is what it is , and I believe her, but I also don’t believe her . Ridiculous, absurd things. But with sound you get something that language can’t hide. With sound, you get the feeling underneath the words.

* * *

Feeling, for Nadine, is the place you go to when nothing makes sense. For example: a night spent on a beach, a man with salt in his hair and hands of magic, a man she loved. She said This is the end, right? And he said Not even the beginning, Deenie. As it turned out, they were both right.

* * *

All of Mia’s questions are the same question. Something something sex worker something something choice something. Nadine always pauses before she answers. It appears as if she is thinking hard, she knows that. But the pause is the time when she says with no sound, Ask me something real . Every time, she waits for Mia to hear. When Mia doesn’t, Nadine answers.

* * *

Would you mind repeating that , Mia asks sometimes; I’d like to record you .

* * *

A recording:

No, it’s not that I don’t like the question, it’s just … easy to be seduced by the idea of “what if.” You know? So I try not to do that.

Pause.

Sure I think about it, yes. I’d have made a good social worker if I stayed in school, I think. I’d have helped people. I mean, as I’ve said before, I think I am helping people. But maybe I’d have helped more that way, and maybe I’d have enjoyed that job more. And I wouldn’t feel … I’d be more proud. Of what I do. And I’d have more friends, probably. I had some good friends in social-work school. But when I dropped out and started … working more, we just lost touch.

* * *

When Mia is recording, when the camera is away, she is listening. Nadine wants to talk minutes and hours, talk until there’s no way for Mia to leave, talk until the buses have stopped running. One thing she hates about New York — the buses never stop running.

* * *

A moment: Mia and Nadine are eating, sitting on the floor. ( Can we take a break? Nadine asked. I’m hungry.

Of course, of course , Mia said, but kept shooting.)

* * *

Nadine is thinking maybe she should leave the furniture in the other room like that for a while, maybe she should eat all her meals on the floor from now on. Something about it feels like a fresh start. She wants Mia to say nice things about the quiche she made, and when Mia doesn’t, Nadine asks, and the sound of her own voice is soft, too soft. How’s the quiche? Good , Mia says without looking up. Then she nods a few times. What did she expect Mia to say? This quiche has changed my life? And if she said that — if she looked right at Nadine for once and said, Is it possible for a quiche to change someone’s life? Because I think this is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth and nothing will be the same after this moment — what would Nadine do?

* * *

How old were you when you moved here , Nadine asks, but she forgets the question mark. She sounds like she’s demanding something of Mia, and, expectedly, Mia asks back, Why? No reason , Nadine says, just curious , and Mia says, Let’s talk later?

Later, while Mia is going over her shots from the day, or that’s what it looks like she’s doing, she suddenly says, I was nineteen , and Nadine doesn’t ask, because she knows what question Mia is answering, but still Mia says — somewhat impatiently, too— When I moved here. You asked me earlier . Nadine nods, tries to think quickly what to ask next. You left school over there to come here? she asks. If she allows even a moment of silence, Mia will announce Back to work, in that voice that’s just an octave too low, the voice of relief.

No , Mia says, I left the army to come here, or really came here because I left the army; I needed to get away . Nadine doesn’t understand, and she instinctively tries to hide it. She’s a pro, there’s a thing that she does with her eyebrows — it’s not a nod, which would feel like a lie, and yet it’s always enough, with the men, to make them believe that she got it, that no explanation is needed. Mia stares at Nadine’s eyebrows.

That’s what kids over there do after high school , she says, become soldiers . Nadine feels heat in her face, she knows she is blushing, although she never blushes, hasn’t blushed probably since fourth grade, but she is blushing now because Mia knew that she didn’t understand, knew that an explanation was needed. And inside her embarrassment she senses a kind of thrill, a thrill she never expected, the thrill of being caught in a lie. There’s a brief pause; what words can follow the word “soldiers”?

So all the kids are recruited , Nadine says finally, girls, too? And Mia nods, says, Yup , keeps nodding. After a few seconds she adds, Women do two years, men three. Oh , Nadine says again. She wants to ask Mia what it means that she “left” the army — how can you leave if you’re recruited, did she escape? But she knows she can’t ask that, and yet she can’t think of anything else to ask, although this silence has an edge to it, the recognition in both of them that this conversation is about to end before it really started.

I need to reload the film , Mia says. Would you mind making some tea?

* * *

Nadine wants to find the joke.

The first line is: A prostitute and a photographer walk into a bar. The punch line is: Tea. She doesn’t have the rest yet, but still she laughs every time. For a few seconds she can think, What is this thing, it’s absurd, it’s funny . And it is, just then, for a short while. It is funny, and she feels relief in her muscles. She can move her neck without feeling the stiffness.

* * *

This happens only once and happens quickly: Nadine gives Mia a massage. Mia is stiff after a long day’s work — Nadine recognizes the stretching of the neck sideways, a thumb searching for pressure points. What comes over Nadine? She doesn’t ask anything. She crosses the room, stands over Mia, who’s sitting on a chair, says Let me help . Does she wait a beat, give Mia a chance to object? Not really. There’s something in Nadine’s fingers that can heal, and when Mia realizes that, feels that, everything may change. So Nadine reaches for her. Mia’s skin is soft, and she smells a bit like detergent, not what Nadine expected, but Nadine can’t focus on that now, only on the knotted bones. She goes deep, could go deeper if Mia let her, but Mia doesn’t relax into her touch, not completely. Mia is quiet. Nadine wants her to moan, is sure she would if she let herself, and she wants to say something, Don’t hold it all in. But she doesn’t. This is borrowed time, she knows, and anything could make it end faster; better not to take risks. Then, for a brief moment: Mia lets go. Her muscles soften in Nadine’s hands, and this sensation makes it hard to remain steady, but she does. She uses her knuckles, rows into Mia, and Mia makes a small sound then, a sigh so low anyone else would have missed it, but Nadine doesn’t, and into this sigh Mia says, You’re good . Does Nadine imagine these words? No, Mia says them, and right after she says them she realizes what she said, her muscles realize what she said. How long does the whole thing last? No more than four or five minutes, probably. Mia gently moves forward, stretches, says Thank you, that was so helpful . Nadine stands there, her hands holding air, looking at Mia’s back.