Edeet Ravel - Look for Me

We ate at a falafel stand down the street and then we strol ed along the boardwalk. Some people smiled at Volvo and others averted their eyes. No one was indi erent. When I grew tired of pushing the wheelchair, I parked Volvo at one of the semicircular shelters scat ered along the walk and sat beside him on the curved bench. The sun was set ing behind us and the sea turned gray with streaks of orange and white.

Then it was dark green and the orange changed to scarlet. And then slowly blue came back, blue with specks of gold.

“You’re very distracted,” he said. “Are you premenstrual?”

“What’s the connection? Or were you just looking for an opportunity to say that word?”

“What form of contraception do you use, if I may ask?”

“You may not ask. Volvo, look how nice the sea is. Look how nice it is here, and everyone’s relaxed—why don’t you try to relax too? How can you be cranky near the sea?”

“I’m not a happy man, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Wel , I’m not happy either, but it’s stil possible to appreciate some things. I was incredibly sad this afternoon, but I feel bet er now, thanks to this walk, and the sea, and having a falafel with you.”

“The di erence between us, Dana,” he said, “is that you have hope. I, on the other hand, wil never wake up one morning to nd that this was al just a bad dream.”

“Why don’t you try to meet someone? If you weren’t so grumpy and negative, you could fal in love, you know.”

“Bril iant idea,” Volvo said. “The best idea I’ve heard al week. A plan for my rehabilitation. My spiritual rehabilitation.”

“Why don’t you give your family another chance? I’m sure they miss you.”

“I already told you. We’ve been through this.”

“Yes, you said they were religious, but—”

“Not religious, fanatic. We no longer have anything in common,” he said with self-satisfaction. “I have liberated myself from the chains of superstition and zealotry. I am a free man.”

“That’s no reason not to see them.”

“Their interpretation of my personal disaster l s me with dismay and revulsion,” Volvo said. “I wil never forgive them for giving God the credit.”

“Yes, I know that’s frustrating.”

“Frustrating! Try twisted, pathological, and betraying a degree of imbecility that staggers the mind.”

“You know, Volvo, you’re intel igent, you have a lot of talent, why not use it? Why not see a therapist? Or go back to school?”

“I’m too depressed to see a therapist and too smart to go to school,” he said, bursting into his wild hyena laugh.

“What exactly did your parents say?”

“I’d rather not dwel on it.”

“I’d rather not dwel on it.”

“Come on, tel me.”

“I don’t want to get into it. But I’l tel you this: they got a perverse pleasure out of what happened to me. They took a graphic photograph of me while I was stil unconscious and they made a big poster, until I threatened to sue them if they used it. I hired a lawyer, he sent them a let er.”

“Wel , who cares? Who cares what they think? It’s not important. Anyhow, I can’t believe your entire family al feel the same way.”

“You’re right, it’s real y only my parents, siblings, six aunts, eight uncles, and forty-seven cousins.”

“You must have one person you feel a bit closer to.”

“I do have one sister I miss,” he admit ed. “She’s fourteen by now. Just turned fourteen. In August. Sara.”

“Why not see her?”

“First, she’d never be al owed to come see me on her own. Secondly, the less she travels, the bet er. Those roads from the set lements are too dangerous.”

“Write her a let er. I’m sure she’d be delighted to hear from you.”

“Let’s drop this subject. It’s kind of you to bring it up, but I’d rather move on to a more stimulating topic. So what’s that Ra guy like in bed? And does his wife know?”

“There’s no point trying to annoy me. You’l never succeed.”

“I was only asking. He seems nice, actual y, if a bit on the touchy side.”

“We have to head home, I have to get back to work.”

“Ah yes, Dana and her mysterious job. Do you write pornography?”

“No, but you’re not that far of .”

“Seen Vronsky lately?”

“You know I see him Wednesdays.”

“I thought you might be of -schedule just for once. Why always Wednesdays?”

“I told you, Vronsky likes it that way.”

“Where do the two of you do it, in his car? That must be awkward, and a bit public.”

“We do it right there on the table, in the restaurant. Between courses.”

“Yeah, wel . He’s probably too old to get it up anyhow.”

The hospital waiting room. Flowers. The nurses intimidate me. Daniel’s parents are spending the summer in Greece, and we can’t reach them. They left the name of a hotel, but the hotel doesn’t exist, they must have spel ed it wrong. The travel agent can’t be reached either; she’s even farther away, in India. We keep trying hotels with similar-sounding names, but we can’t track them down. Nina joins me and starts chanting, Wa-heh guru, wa-heh guru until the nurses ask her to leave. She doesn’t return, she only phones. My father ies in from Belgium, keeps me company. More owers, lots of owers. Daniel’s friend Alex brings them. My father is reading Nadine Gordimer. I am happy, happy, I want to dance in the waiting room. Daniel is alive, and every day the news is bet er. No internal damage, he’s going to pul through, and soon I’l be able to see him. In the meantime he’s asked not to have visitors and anyhow he’s al drugged up. I stand by his closed door until they chase me away. Final y they tel me I can see him the fol owing day. I go home to shower and change and then I look for a gift.

And while I’m gone Daniel slips through my fingers.

I had now reached the hardest part of my novel: the obligatory sex scenes. I always left those for last, because they were the only passages that required concentration: the publisher’s rules were stringent and you had to get it just right. Apart from that, the sex scenes involved a catastrophic col apse of logic, because I had to convey the man’s thoughts without switching to his point of view. Entering the hero’s mind was strictly taboo. I braced myself, and started writing.

She felt his strong, con dent ngers tracing the outline of her exquisite throat and sublime exposed shoulders. He held her wel -

proportioned body to his and his lips brushed her divine skin. She was resplendent in her bril iant blue gown and dazzling sapphire necklace, which glinted enticingly on her swan-like, curvaceous throat. She shivered as his hands slowly, boldly, caressed her back and the gown fel in a heap around her dainty ankles. Her excitement rose to soaring heights as she stood before him, trembling in her modest lace underslip.

I needed six sex scenes, but I was exhausted by the time I’d nished the rst two. I cal ed it a day and went out for my evening walk. The man from the special unit was waiting for me.

“I was hoping you’d be here. I sought her, but found her not,” he said, slightly altering the quote.

“Wel , you’ve found me. You can walk with me, if you like. But please don’t ask me to sleep with you. It’s not something I do. Besides, I’m very busy. I can’t take on anything else.”

“Why? Why isn’t it something you do? A young woman like you …”

“I seem to remember that you’re married.”

“Married …” he said vaguely, as though he wasn’t sure what the word meant. “Funny, you supporting the Palestinians, me in a special unit.