Edeet Ravel: Look for Me

“You visit friend?”

“Husband.”

“Yes? Good. Family good.”

He drove to the northern end of the city and stopped in front of an unusual house, oval instead of square or rectangular, with three nearly identical sections one on top of the other, a lit le like a wedding cake.

“This it,” the driver said.

“Thank you.”

“You want I wait?”

“No thanks, I’m staying for a while. Is twenty shekels okay?”

“God protect you,” he said. “You are brave, you help our people. Ma’ salame.”

I climbed the five stairs leading to the door of the house and knocked. I was barely breathing.

Daniel opened the door and let me in. His eyes had not changed, they were exactly the same. His face was unrecognizable, though. He looked like a wrinkled Martian.

I glanced around me. The room was oblong, with gently curving corners and a spiral wooden staircase at one end. It was l ed with sculptures, some life-size and others very smal . The large ones were white stone and the smal ones were painted clay. They were al of me.

Rage swept through my body like something blind that was looking for a way out. I had never felt such anger before. I began hit ing Daniel with my sts. I didn’t care where my sts landed. He put his arms up to protect himself, but I didn’t stop, and nal y he took my wrists in his hands. I pul ed away, turned my back to him. I walked over to the nearest table, picked up a brightly painted clay sculpture and wrists in his hands. I pul ed away, turned my back to him. I walked over to the nearest table, picked up a brightly painted clay sculpture and smashed it on the floor.

“I liked that one,” Daniel said. His voice was also the same: it was the voice I had fal en in love with, loved stil .

“I hate you,” I said. I was crying.

Daniel said, “I’l make tea.”

“No, I don’t want anything.”

“If you want to leave, it’s okay.”

“That’s what you’d like, isn’t it?”

“No, I think we should talk. But if you want to go, I’l understand.”

“How could you have done this to me? How could you be so cruel? And what sort of bul shit is that about being another person! You’re exactly the same person. What’s changed? Nothing! And for some crazy imaginary neurotic insane reason you leave me and hurt me and don’t contact me and don’t phone me and I have to wonder whether you’re stil alive and worry about you al the time and long for you and su er. And not even know that I can write to you and then I nd out that someone is picking up your mail, and I have to go around like some desperate beggar, pleading for your address and everyone saying you have the address, you have it. And you sit here like some sort of Hunchback of Notre Dame and you make statues of me which I never knew you even knew how to do, suddenly you’re a sculptor, and it’s creepy, when al along you could have me, and don’t try to fool me, I know you’re perfectly sane, you don’t fool me. You’re just a fucking asshole, that’s what you are.”

Daniel said, “Come upstairs, Dana.”

He began climbing up the spiral stairs. I fol owed him. I noticed that he’d lost weight.

“You’re thinner than you were.”

“I guess I’m more active.”

There was a kitchen area at the far end of the second oor and a double bed near the stairway. Shelves holding neat rows of books and CDs lined the wal s.

Daniel lit the stove and put the ket le on.

We both sat at the table and stared at each other. Then Daniel smiled. His face changed completely; he looked like a grinning cat. A grinning Martian cat.

“What are you smiling about?” I asked. I was sulking now.

“You haven’t changed at al , Dana. I’m happy to see you.”

The ket le whistled and Daniel placed mint leaves in two glass cups with handles and poured water over them and stirred in sugar. He placed the glass cups on the table and sat down facing me.

I didn’t drink the tea. Instead, I folded my arms and looked at Daniel defiantly.

“How did you find me?” he asked.

“I met a man on the beach. And he said how come you don’t have a family. And I said, I have a husband but he’s fucking hiding and he said wel I’m in a special fucking unit and I have access to every fucking citizen in this fucking country and if you want I’l get his address for you from my fucking computer. Only he didn’t of course. But at least he told me the army knew. So I looked for someone in Intel igence.

That’s how.”

“El a told me you threw yourself on someone under arrest at the checkpoint.”

“Yeah.”

“You must have known it would get you into trouble.”

“Yes, it’s my fault I had trouble get ing here. It’s my fault I never thought to ask El a, hey, by the way, do you happen to have my husband’s address and are you the one who picks up his mail? And it’s my fault that every o ce I went to they gave me that fake address and said you were there. And it’s my fault I spent a year of my life trying to nd you, hiring private detectives, running to every o ce I could, stalking that building so I could see who was put ing those signs on the door, sit ing in the rain an entire night hoping I’d catch them, it’s my fault. What is this, some sort of hide-and-seek game?”

“You know, Dana, that’s not what I meant. I meant that it was very brave of you to do that, knowing you’d get into trouble, and given how badly you wanted to see me. I’m sure those men appreciated it. I didn’t mean that you planned it in order to avoid seeing me. I know you wanted to see me.”

“Why did you agree, al of a sudden?”

“I didn’t have a choice. El a said you’d found me.”

“And if you had a choice I wouldn’t be sit ing here right now?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

He brought a bowl of delicious-looking chocolate squares to the table, but I didn’t touch them either. I said, “Maybe you fel in love with someone else?”

“No, I haven’t been with anyone.”

“And now?”

“I stil love you.”

“No, no—you can’t love me. You’d never do this to someone you loved. You didn’t even leave me a child!”

“I was sure you’d find someone else.”

“I guess you just don’t know anything about me.”

“Lots of guys wanted you when we were together.”

“Who? What are you talking about? What are you saying?”

“Who? What are you talking about? What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I thought you’d have a lot of of ers and that you’d take one.”

“Yes, and that’s al I needed, o ers, and I’d accept them, because anyone wil do, after al , what does it mat er, one man is as good as another. And by the way I had no o ers at al . Because everyone knew how I felt. Because for a year I couldn’t even see straight. Literal y. I thought I was going blind. Every morning I’d wake up with blurred vision. I thought I had a brain tumor and I didn’t care, because I didn’t want to go on living without you.”

“You were angry.”

“No, I wasn’t angry. Because I’m an idiot. I should have said to myself, wel forget him, because he obviously doesn’t love you because if he loved you he wouldn’t do this to you. But al I thought about was how you didn’t understand and I just had to explain it to you. But now I realize that there’s nothing to understand. You knew how I felt and you didn’t care. Those statues, they’re just lies. And since when are you a sculptor anyhow?”

“I always liked doing that sort of thing, as you know.”

“I don’t know anything about you, apparently.”

“Do you want a dif erent kind of tea? Or maybe some hummus?”

“No thanks.” I got up from the table and began inspecting my surroundings. The bed was covered with an elaborate embroidered bedspread.