Edeet Ravel - Look for Me

“Real y!” He seemed very surprised.

“You don’t happen to know anyone in Intel igence, do you, Vronsky?”

“I’d be happy to know someone with intel igence,” he said, smiling wryly.

“Something else happened. I met someone.”

“You mean a man? That’s good news, Dana.”

“It’s terrible news! I’m married. And so is he.”

“Ah,” he said, disappointed.

“I feel I’m get ing closer to nding my husband. I just need to nd someone in Intel igence who can look up the information. I feel I’m

“I feel I’m get ing closer to nding my husband. I just need to nd someone in Intel igence who can look up the information. I feel I’m real y get ing close. What timing!”

“You’re in love?”

“No, I love my husband. You can only love one person.”

“That hasn’t been my experience,” Vronsky said, but he wouldn’t expand.

“Vronsky, how about today after dinner we go for a walk along the boardwalk?”

“I can’t, I promised my sister I’d be home.”

“You always have an excuse.”

“There’s a television show she wants to watch, I sign it for her.”

“She’s lucky she has you.”

“I’m lucky I have her.”

“What’s she like?”

“Sonya? She has a good sense of humor, she’s fun to be with.”

“Do you think we should go on having dinner?” I asked him suddenly. I didn’t plan to say it, the words just came out on their own. They had a color: deep blue, like the sky at night in the middle of a field.

Vronsky nodded. “I understand,” he said.

“I was just asking. Because, you know, you don’t real y open up to me.”

He looked stunned, and very hurt. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“I don’t. I didn’t mean it.”

“I thought you enjoyed our meetings. I enjoy them immensely. But if you’re get ing bored, that’s al right.”

“No, I love our meetings. I love our meetings, I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I’m just a mess!”

“Let’s look at this calmly, Dana. I see I was wrong to take this personal y. You’ve just told me that you feel you might nd your husband in the near future. And you’ve told me that you met someone you’re at racted to, though unfortunately he’s married. So perhaps we can deduce that you want to simplify your life?”

“What’s your first name, Vronsky?”

“Konstantin. Kostya for short.”

“You never told me.”

“You never asked. But as you know, hardly anyone cal s me by that name.”

“Isn’t that a sort of Christian name?”

“My father was Christian.”

“It suits you. You’re pret y constant … Anyhow, it isn’t that, Vronsky. It’s not that I want to simplify my life—it’s not that vague. It’s much more specific. I’m worried that Daniel wil be jealous. I don’t want anything to stand between us.”

“That makes perfect sense.”

“Even though I made it clear in my interviews that you were just one of the people helping me out, nothing more.”

“I remember.”

“But he’d be jealous if I went on seeing you. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Please don’t worry, Dana. You’re right, of course.”

“Thanks, Vronsky. You’re very kind. Wil you miss me?”

“Of course I’l miss you.”

“I’l miss you too. Can I kiss you good-bye today? I don’t mean a nal good-bye—I mean, we’l stay in touch, by phone. But can I kiss you good-bye just for now?”

“We’l see,” he said.

“When our meal’s over I’l walk you to the car, and I’l come inside with you and kiss you good-bye, do you agree?”

“I have to think about it.”

“You have the whole meal to think.”

When we were through at the restaurant, I walked him to his car. He’d parked in a nearly empty parking lot down the street. I sat on the passenger’s seat and he let me kiss him, and he kissed me back. We knew it was our last time together. Tears ran down my cheeks and we both tasted the salt. Vronsky gave me a tissue and then we resumed kissing. He stroked my hair. “Take care of yourself, Dana. I hope you find whatever you’re looking for.”

I didn’t answer; I was very sad. I got out of the car and watched Vronsky pul out of the parking lot and drive away. He didn’t look back.

Only once did I feel that Daniel was hiding something from me.

One day, impulsively, for no reason at al , I kissed his feet. It was the middle of the week, and we were on the sofa watching a dreary lm noir we’d rented from the video store. The overloaded symbols and clever shots were making us both sleepy, and suddenly Daniel’s bare feet looked so happy that I had to lean over and kiss them.

Daniel didn’t say anything, but I could see that something was wrong. He got up and went to the kitchen, opened the fridge door, and stared inside, his mind clearly on something else. Final y he let the door swing shut. He said, “I’m going to the corner store to get pretzels,”

and left. He made that up, about the pretzels; he just wanted a few minutes to himself.

I had no idea what was going on, and he never told me. It was the only time Daniel completely mystified me.

THURSDAY

I ARRIVED AT THE INSURANCE OFFICE an hour late the next day because I’d slept in, but no one noticed or minded. I felt like an actor or a mime as I went about my work: I remembered my lines and the things I had to do, but none of it was related to who I was and what I was feeling. I asked my fel ow workers whether they knew anyone in Intel igence. One had an uncle in Intel igence but he was living abroad; another had a retired grandfather who had once worked on some very secret project. Neither of those leads sounded very promising. I asked my employer, too, but he looked at me suspiciously and asked why I wanted to know. His body became hot and tense; he was familiar with my views and seemed to think I was planning to penetrate state secrets and sel them to the enemy. I dropped the subject before he fired me.

The day had a misty quality to it, but sprang into sharp focus as soon as I entered my building: a shocking smel had taken over the hal way, as if a ghoul from the pit of hel were slowly dissolving in some invisible corner. I ran into my at, grabbed a towel, held it against my nose, and knocked on Volvo’s door to see whether he knew anything. But he was out, probably shopping with Rosa.

I climbed the stairs and tried Tanya’s at. Tanya opened the door immediately. She looked like a character in an old Italian movie, with her eyes widening above a delicate white handkerchief which she held dramatical y to her nose, and with her equal y dramatic out t: tight black lace dress, red high-heeled shoes, shiny red bead necklace.

“We can’t gure out what that smel is,” she said. “And we’re afraid to nd out! It’s de nitely coming from Jacky’s place. What if he’s hanged himself! What if he’s been rot ing away for a few days in there? That already happened to me once, with my poor friend Irenie. I’m not taking a chance like that again! I stil have nightmares.”

“I’m sure he’s alive,” I said, though I was beginning to feel a lit le worried myself. I rang Jacky’s bel but there was no answer. I reminded myself that this in itself didn’t mean anything; Jacky rarely answered the door.

“Jacky, open up, it’s me, Dana!” I shouted. “Are you there?”

Jacky hardly ever left his at. When he did go out, he draped himself with prayer shawls. He was very gaunt and his shaggy gray beard reached his midri ; he seemed to belong in a Grimm story, except that no one in Grimm walked around with prayer shawls over his shoulders. We never saw him eating and it wasn’t clear what he lived on. There was no point bringing him meals because he’d arrange the food neatly on the hal way oor, where it would at ract every cockroach in the city. Maybe that was his intention, to feed the cockroaches.