Edeet Ravel - Look for Me

“Look,” he’d say, pul ing an empty box of tissues out of a tiny garbage pail. “Even when you put things in the garbage you don’t real y bother. This box is bigger than the pail, what’s the point?”

“It’s a reminder. A reminder that it’s on the way to that great big garbage dump in the sky.”

“I don’t think it’s funny. I think you’re being selfish.”

“But why aren’t you the one who’s selfish, wanting me to conform?”

“I can’t believe anyone can prefer ugliness to beauty.”

“You have a very narrow definition of beauty, Daniel.”

That would hurt him. He felt then that I was at acking the most essential thing about him, the thing that de ned him: his passion for architecture. And I would feel remorseful and penitent. I’d start cleaning up, but Daniel’s mood would be ruined; the evening would be ruined. And I had no talent for cleaning up. “I don’t know how to organize stu ,” I said. “This place is too smal . There’s no room for anything.”

So Daniel built al sorts of clever shelves and cupboards for me. But nothing helped. I never reformed, and he never got used to my slovenly habits. We hired a woman to come two afternoons a week and bring order to chaos, but her good work never lasted. “Like the sand in Woman of the Dunes,” Daniel said when he was in a good mood and trying to joke about it. But most of the time he wasn’t amused and every now and then he walked out of the house in protest, leaving me to sit in the squalor and sulk.

SUNDAY

I WAS WORKING ON MY NOVEL when the phone rang. I ignored it, and continued writing.

He took her in his strong arms and murmured in her ear, “Angela, Angela. Why did I read that let er before I left for St. Petersburg? If Sir Anthony returns tomorrow, nay, if he returns tonight—

Fifteen minutes later it rang again. I answered this time, though I knew it would be Rafi.

“Hel o, is Dana there, please?” he joked.

“Don’t cal ,” I said.

“I’m right outside the hotel. Come have cof ee with me.”

“No, I can’t,” I said. “I’m busy.”

“What building are you in?”

Instinctively I looked out of my living room window, and there was Ra , standing next to Marik the guard, talking into his cel phone. He waved at me.

“Why? Why are you here?” I asked.

“That’s what it says I have to do on my list. Cal Dana.”

He raised his arm with the white sheet of paper, like a soldier waving a ag of surrender. “You don’t believe me,” he said. He crossed the street, came up to the window, which was only slightly higher than the top of his head, and tried to show me the paper with the green handwrit en notes.

“I’l meet you in the hal way,” I said.

I came out to the hal and took the list from his hands.

It was true, my name was there: Pick up bread, pickles, bananas, rol ed oats, vitamin E. Give glasses in for repair. Stain remover for sofa.

Cal Eve about piano tuner. Pick up Naomi at 16:15, remind Yolande about Thursday. Cal Dana.

I was the last item.

“Cal Dana, why?”

“My wife wants to meet you. She knows you—she saw you on television talking about your husband. You’re famous, Dana. Anyhow, she wants to invite you over for dinner.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Because I’m at racted to you?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s have cof ee at the hotel. It’s air-conditioned and my old buddy Coby says it’s on the house.”

“The manager?”

“Yes.”

“I have to save what I have on my computer.”

“I’l wait.”

“Wait for me there. Don’t wait here.”

I sat down at my computer and stared at the screen. Sir Anthony may have the let er Martha sent about the inheritance, I wrote. If the Countess sees the let er, her sweet, innocent daughter wil be banished from the palace at once and her life wil be in grave danger. Bandits roaming the countryside had already—

I gave up. I closed the file and made my way across the street.

Ra was waiting for me in the lobby of the City Beach Hotel. He rose when he saw me and smiled. I didn’t smile back. I fol owed him to the dining room: pink and blue owers in slender vases on each table, four or ve foreign journalists stu ng themselves with food from the breakfast buf et.

We sat in the corner and drank co ee. Ra watched me with his black eyes. I remembered reading somewhere that irises couldn’t real y be black, only very dark brown.

He produced a pack of cigaret es from his back pocket and with the casual urgency of an addict placed a cigaret e in his mouth while looking around for matches. I stared at his hands, his mouth, and remembered Daniel’s hands turning the key to his grandmother’s flat.

“You smoke.”

“Less than I used to. Does it bother you?”

“No, I just hate it when people smoke. I had a friend who died of lung cancer, someone I met in the army. She gave me this locket when our sergeant hurt my feelings.” I showed him the tiny gold heart, my mother’s smiling face nestled inside. “It’s a miserable way to die.”

“You’re right,” Rafi said, inhaling deeply. “What happened with the sergeant?”

“She said it was a good thing my mother was dead, so she wouldn’t have to see what a loser her daughter was.”

“I guess since she couldn’t make you dig a hole.”

“I did clean a lot of toilets.”

“Toilets plus insults.”

“But at least no holes. Did you dig holes?”

“But at least no holes. Did you dig holes?”

“No, not even once. I was a model soldier.”

“Daniel was a dysfunctional soldier. They got so mad at him they almost kil ed him.”

“They were so happy with me they almost kil ed me,” Rafi said, laughing.

“I realize now that I’ve seen you lots of times,” I said. “I just got confused because you didn’t have hair back then. You used to shave your head and you wore sunglasses.”

“I stil wear sunglasses.”

“Also the red basebal cap is new.”

“It was lost. I just found it the other day. It was lost for years.”

“Where did you find it?”

“My brother had it al along. I left it at his place once, and it got stuck in a drawer. For several years.”

I said, “I don’t know why you asked me here.”

“This is not what you think,” Rafi replied. “Things aren’t always what they appear to be. As you of al people know.”

“Don’t confuse me.”

“But you’re not easily confused.”

“No, so don’t try, it’s a waste of time.”

He laughed again. He was in a good mood.

“I don’t know why you’re here,” I repeated. “I’m married, I love my husband, I’m loyal to him.”

“I’m married, too,” Rafi said.

“I shouldn’t be sit ing here with you.”

“I guess I’m going to have to report you. I don’t want to, but I real y have no choice. It’s my duty.”

“I don’t know anything about you. I’m afraid of you.”

He said, “Don’t be afraid, because I’l protect you and I won’t let anything or anyone harm you, not my wife, not myself, no one. And this fear of yours, fear of your own vulnerability, this is one of the things that’s making you so unhappy.”

“I am vulnerable. It’s not an irrational fear. But I believe you. Say it again.”

“I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you. I wouldn’t al ow it.”

“Are you so protective of everyone?”

“I do have a bit of a maternal streak. And you could use some cheering up. Come over for dinner tonight, and we’l invite a few more friends.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to say.”