Edeet Ravel: Look for Me

“I saved up money so we could go on a vacation, just the two of us. You once said you wanted to see Ireland. We’l stay at the best hotels, we’l go sailing …”

“You saved money? How?”

“I write romance novels in English. It pays very wel .”

“Romance novels …I didn’t know.”

“I don’t tel most people.”

“That’s real y amazing, that you can do that.”

“My hidden talent. Not that it takes much talent!”

“It takes a lot of talent. You have to know what other people’s fantasies are. That takes a special kind of genius.”

“Yes, that’s me. A genius. A genius at surviving.”

“I felt bad not leaving you any money, but I figured your father would help you out.”

“He of ered, of course. As it turned out, I didn’t need him. I’ve put away half of what I made for our trip.”

“I don’t want to travel, Dana. I don’t like people staring at me.”

“Who cares? Who cares? So you look a lit le weird, so what? Haven’t you noticed that everyone is a mis t? We’re al weird! You never cared before what anyone thought, why would you care now?”

“I liked who I was.”

“No one gives a damn. People aren’t interested in anything but their own lit le lives.”

“That hasn’t been my experience, general y speaking. If people weren’t interested in anything but their own lit le lives we wouldn’t have missiles dropping from the sky every second Tuesday.”

“Have you lost any students?”

“Yes. One died, and four are so disabled they can’t real y function anymore. One girl, the one who was kil ed, she was incredibly bril iant.

She was a math whiz, I couldn’t teach her anything. I put her in touch with a mathematician at the university—he was teaching her by email.

She would have been a scientist, or a physicist, she could have done anything with her life. But she was shot down at a checkpoint, on the way to visit her brother. They shot at the car she was in—the whole family was kil ed. Everyone who knew her was devastated, including me. She was something special, not only bril iant but also wise and sweet. But it’s always devastating.”

“I brought you a photograph.” I reached for my bag and took out the photo of the excited religious men and the birds in the sky.

Daniel looked at it for a long time. “Was this a funeral?” he asked.

“It was a memorial. For those thirteen Arabs the police kil ed. It seemed so shocking at the time, kil ing our own citizens. Now nothing seems shocking. We’ve lost the ability to be shocked.”

“This is wonderful. They’re get ing excited about the birds.”

“Yes. Do you think they thought the birds were the souls of the boys?”

“I don’t know. But it’s a great photograph, Dana. Thank you for bringing it. I’d like to see al your photos. You know, I probably wouldn’t have ended up here if not for you. I mean in Palestine. You see how ef ective your lectures were …”

“I didn’t mean for you to go this far …” I said, and we both laughed.

“Has anything changed in the flat? How are the plants doing?”

“They’re thriving. You can’t see the wal anymore. I’m thinking of trimming them a bit, what do you think?”

“Sure, sounds like a good idea …”

“Kit y died last year. She just went very limp suddenly, and I held her on my lap for a few hours, and she died, I guess of old age. Daniel, I’ve real y missed you. It’s been incredibly lonely.”

“Yes.”

“What a waste. What a waste of suf ering. For nothing, for absolutely nothing.”

“Most suf ering is for nothing.”

“It’s true. This fighting …this fighting is for nothing,” I said. “We’re al dying for nothing. Come with me to bed.”

“Al right. But don’t expect anything.”

“Okay.”

Daniel turned of the lights and undressed. He lay down beside me but he didn’t touch me.

“Remember al the things we used to do?” I said.

“Yes. It’s amazing how your body hasn’t changed at al . Your face is older, but not your body.”

“Yes. It’s amazing how your body hasn’t changed at al . Your face is older, but not your body.”

“It’s yours, my body.”

“You were always a generous person, Dana.”

“I’ve been loyal to you. I slept with a kid a year after you vanished, a one-night stand. I didn’t enjoy it, it was real y sad. I had no idea he was so young. Poor guy, I real y hurt him. And I’ve slept with Beatrice. She’s at racted to women, but she isn’t in love with me, it was always very casual, and it’s over now that we’re back together.”

“You don’t have to tel me, Dana. I never expected or wanted you to be alone. I was hoping you’d nd someone. I slept with someone while we were married, you know.”

“What?”

“Remember at that rst place I worked? The other woman who quit when I quit—I had sex with her a few times in the o ce, after hours, and also once at our place, when she did the wal painting in the kitchen.”

I heard the words, they were very bumpy, like a bumpy wagon ride, but I was having trouble understanding them.

“I didn’t do it to hurt you. It was the rst year of our marriage, and I wasn’t used to monogamy. She came on to me, and I gave in. And then I decided it wasn’t worth the guilt and also it wasn’t worth how you’d feel if you found out.”

“How long did it go on for?”

“Just two or three weeks, I don’t remember exactly. I didn’t have any feelings toward her—maybe I just wanted to feel like a macho stud.

Maybe I was at ered by her desire. Maybe I was afraid of how much I loved you and I wanted to cheat on you before you cheated on me.

Maybe I was just a jerk.”

“Does that time with the feet have anything to do with that?”

“Feet?”

“I once kissed your feet, and you got very upset and left the house.”

“Oh yes …I’d forgot en al about that. Yes. I suddenly had an at ack of unbearable guilt.”

“That was the only time?”

“Yes.”

“How did it end?”

“We both left the firm, and she got a job in another part of the country. But I wouldn’t have continued with her anyhow.”

“She was in love with you. She put your initials al over the painting.”

“When did you notice that?”

“Only recently—someone came to visit, another activist, and he pointed it out.”

“I was very angry with her for doing that. She ruined that room for me.”

“Is that why we never ate in the kitchen?”

“Yes.”

“That hurts me. Even after al this time, it hurts. Was she very beautiful?”

“No, she was very, very ugly. She had a mustache and hair on her back and warts on her chin, and she smel ed of old cheese.”

“Tel me.”

“We’re just human, Dana. That means we’re fucked up and we mess up. It means we do stupid and insane things. I don’t think anyone studying the human species would believe the things we do. Maybe you expect too much of people, and also of yourself.”

“I don’t think I expect too much. If you knew what the characters in my novels expect, that would give you perspective.”

“I had to leave because I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

“But what did you think when you saw al those ads I put in the newspaper?”

“I told you, I thought you felt sorry for me and that you felt a sense of duty. You always had a sense of duty.”

“A sense of duty! Yes, toward my country, toward my country’s victims. But do you think I’d make personal decisions based on a sense of duty? How could you have so lit le trust in me?”

“You know trust was never my strong point.”

“We’re such opposites in some ways. I believed you loved me right from the word go, even though you never said it. I just felt it from the way you looked at me and ran your ngers through my hair, and made jokes about me. And you—you didn’t believe it even though I let you know every way I could.”