Edeet Ravel - Look for Me

But in bed, he barely knew what he was doing—though he wouldn’t admit it and tried hard not to show it. I had to explain some things to him; he was embarrassed and pretended he’d known al along. Everyone had told me I needed to see other men, but it didn’t work. The experience had no relation to anything that was going on in my life, to who I was or how I felt. After he left I soaked the sheets in soapy water and cal ed Odelia. “I wonder why everyone thinks adultery is such a good thing,” I said. I told her about the boy and about the sheets soaking in the tub. “Washing sheets after the guy leaves … that’s always a bad sign,” she agreed. And then she apologized, because she’d been one of the people advising me to date. “Do what you feel is right,” she said.

For weeks afterward he cal ed me every day, came knocking at my door. It turned out that he was sixteen and in high school. He was desperate, and it took a lot of energy get ing rid of him, and I hurt him. I promised myself that this would be the last time, and it was.

But that night, after the demonstration in Ein Mazra’a and the two intrusive sentences in the let er to my father—that night I wanted distraction. And though I had no intention of let ing this man fol ow me home, I didn’t send him away.

“I’ve seen you here,” the man said. “I’ve seen you walking here at al hours, as solitary as a wolf in the forest.”

I continued strol ing along the shore, where the tide had created a smooth shelf of wet sand, at and generous, giving us back the imprints of our shoes as we walked.

“Once I saw you with a camera slung around your neck,” the man said. “You were taking photographs at dusk. Is it okay with you that I’m walking next to you? Tel me if it isn’t. I don’t want to intrude.”

And this is where normal y I would have said, “It isn’t okay, go away, I need to be alone.”

But I said, “I don’t mind.”

His spirits lifted. “You’re very kind,” he said. “You have a compassionate heart. It real y shows on you, it sits on you like a coat. A coat of many colors,” he chuckled.

“What are you doing here at this hour?” I asked him.

“I just came back from reserve duty, I came for a jog, to clear my mind,” he said. “To breathe in some sea air. You can feel the heat coming from the waves, but it’s a pleasant heat.”

I took another look at him, and it was true, he was dressed for jogging: running shoes, shorts, T-shirt. He looked reliable; he looked like someone you could trust to pick you up in his large arms and carry you if you fainted or had a seizure from tear gas. He would know not only what to do but also how to do it, because he was clever. You could tel these things from his eyes, his hands, and especial y his way of speaking—not just his voice but also the interesting words he used, his perfect grammar. It was pleasing to the ear, his poetic use of language.

“You use nice words,” I said.

“Nice words?” He was puzzled.

“Yes.”

“No one ever said that to me.”

“People don’t notice things.”

“People don’t notice things.”

“I never noticed,” he laughed. “What sort of nice words?”

“The way you speak, the phrases you use.”

“Come to think of it, I did very wel on the vocabulary part of my psychometric exam. I remember they remarked on that, they were impressed. I just have a good memory. Maybe one day I’l write a novel. About reincarnation. A man who was a warrior in the days of the Bible, reborn today …a hero from ancient times, like Samson, let’s say. Fighting the Philistines. The whole story of Samson repeated, because he’s a reincarnation. Do you believe in reincarnation? I do.”

“I support the Palestinian struggle,” I told him.

“Oh wel ,” he said. He didn’t care. He only cared about whether he was going to get anywhere with me. “This is romantic,” he said,

“walking along the shore with you.”

“It would be, if I knew you,” I said. “If I knew you and we were in love. Then it would be romantic. As it is, I can’t think of anything less romantic.”

“We were destined to meet, it was preordained,” he said. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“How do I know you’re not a psychotic rapist?” I asked him.

He paused, surprised. “I’m safe,” he said.

“Do you have children?”

“Yes, a son. I missed him while I was away. I’m glad to be back from reserve duty. He’s in kindergarten. A very naughty boy. Naughty, but clever. You know what he asked me the other day?”

“No.”

“Where is yesterday’s time? Is it gone, or is it in our thoughts? That’s what he asked. Isn’t that clever?”

“Yes.”

“It’s nice to be home.”

“Where were you?”

“In Dar al-Damar. I’m in a special unit.”

“What do you do, in civilian life?”

“I teach programming.”

“You could be lying,” I said. “I don’t know you. I don’t know anything about you. Maybe you just escaped from prison. Where you were serving time for kil ing your wife with a chain saw.”

“I’l show you my ID if that helps. My army ID too, if you want, I think it’s stil in my pocket. I’d show you my business card but I don’t have my wal et on me—I just came to jog.”

I laughed. He was very happy when I laughed.

“Okay, show me your ID,” I said.

He pul ed his ID out of his pocket. His name was Aaron and he was forty years old. Then he showed me his army ID. He looked about eighteen in the photo.

“Wel , now that I’ve seen your ID and I even know your serial number, I guess you can come over.”

“Thank you. You can trust me.”

“I was just kidding.”

“Why not? Why not? This is perfect—you, me, a perfect night.”

“No,” I said.

I didn’t say anything more. Aaron went on talking about how much he loved the sea, and then he talked about his son, but I wasn’t listening. He gave up and walked silently next to me.

We reached the southern end of the beach. “I have to go now,” I told him. “It’s get ing late.”

“Do you have a boyfriend waiting for you?”

“No, I live alone. Good-bye.”

“Maybe I’l run into you another time.”

“Maybe,” I said. I climbed the stairs to the boardwalk and walked back to my flat.

Daniel and I lived together for seven years and two months. Daniel designed buildings and I worked at an insurance o ce. I enjoyed my job: I typed let ers in English, handled overseas phone cal s, brought lunch for everyone, and watered the plants. The o ce was ful of interesting exotic plants because our employer, a bald, friendly man who was, however, capable of ruthless decisions when it came to client claims, was an amateur horticulturist; he had taped instructions about each plant to the wal and it was a compliment that he trusted me with their care.

“I can count on you, Dana,” he used to say.

In the evenings Daniel and I nearly always went out: to concerts, comedy shows, plays, lectures. We wore matching out ts and everywhere we went there were people we knew. We had friends who were artists and musicians, waiters and drifters, students and left-wing lawyers; we got together with them for dinner or at parties that lasted al night. Daniel invented our own private language, cal ed Kamatzit, in which the syl ables of words were al vocalized with a short a sound, in honor of my name.

We tried to have a child, and I nal y succeeded in get ing pregnant, but I miscarried in my sixth month. Daniel was convinced that he had saved my life by harassing everyone in the hospital and insisting they take me in and look after me instead of let ing nature take its course, as they suggested, and I was angry at him for being rude and alienating the entire hospital sta , but we were both just stressed out and disappointed. The experience brought us even closer, if that was possible. We breathed the same air and a few times we had the same dreams at night. Once we both dreamed we were in a eld l ed with rabbits and we were feeding them let uce; another time we dreamed