Edeet Ravel: Look for Me

“Yes, it’s true. You let me know.”

“I was very loved as a child. I guess it wasn’t hard for me to believe that you adored me, too. Your parents were a lot tougher with you.

They’re tough people, like everyone in this country. My parents were imports, they never fit in.”

“I don’t know what to feel.”

“You made a mistake, Daniel. A very sad mistake, one which caused everyone a lot of pain. Touch me.”

“Your skin was always as smooth as silk.”

“Like that song.”

“Yes, like the song.”

“I think it’s stil smooth, you’l have to see for yourself.” He placed his hand on my bel y. “What does my hand feel like?”

“Like it used to, only bet er. Remember how you always came up to me when I was washing dishes, and put your arms around my waist?”

“At rst it hurt me to touch people, after the re. It felt like physical pain, but I think it was psychological. Anyhow, it passed. I don’t mind now. I look up porn on the computer sometimes, but it’s so unaesthetic, it gets in the way.”

“Unaesthetic! You’re so funny. Even porn has to be beautiful.”

“Unaesthetic! You’re so funny. Even porn has to be beautiful.”

“Wel , why shouldn’t it be?”

“Glory be to God for dappled things,” I quoted.

“What?”

“That’s from a poem I like. Though the guy who wrote it didn’t have porn in mind, to say the least.”

“I’ve kept a diary, not that detailed, just basic things.”

“I took photographs.”

“If you show me yours, I’l show you mine.”

“Okay.”

“I’m starting to feel more relaxed.”

“Me too.”

“I’m starting to get excited.”

“Good. I’m ready for some action.”

B

. I had my job, my friends, the sea. I took photographs, I wrote junk novels, I waited for my husband.

BEFORE, MY LIFE WAS ORDERLY. I had my job, my friends, the sea. I took photographs, I wrote junk novels, I waited for my husband.

Now everything has changed. I live near the sea and I speak to Daniel on the phone every day and look for ways to see him. Maybe one day he’l move back here. Maybe one day the roads between us wil be open and I’l be free to see him whenever I want.

Beatrice, Benny, and Vronsky have disappeared from my life. I told Beatrice I couldn’t sleep with her anymore, and in honor of our new status as ordinary friends she invited me to her place for dinner. It was a strange, hectic evening. Dudu, who to his own amazement had made a fortune in real estate, was mildly stoned. With his hippie beard and a scrawny joint held precariously between his artistic ngers, he looked lost and dazed, as if he were stil trying to understand how he’d landed on this planet, in this particular house and family. Beatrice was on the phone half the time, and the children bobbed incessantly through the evening with tenacious requests. When Beatrice and I said good-bye at the door, we both knew I would not be back.

Benny met a student, Rina, who hailed him in the middle of the night after walking out on her boyfriend, and the two of them connected immediately. Rina is skinny, high-strung, and chronical y petulant, but Benny loves her, and he’s happy. He moved in with her almost immediately, and I hear the two of them are now engaged. I smile in his direction when I pass him on the beach with his children and young fiancée, but we don’t speak. He’s stil a lit le angry with me, or maybe just embarrassed.

Vronsky and I have lost touch.

Volvo is stil here, and Jacky, and Tanya. Volvo has an American boyfriend, Tom, and he now wears long denim shorts and sleeveless tops.

He and Tom ght regularly, and sometimes everyone in the building witnesses their stormy dramas, which they both appear to enjoy.

Tanya’s going out with the locksmith, and they seem to be get ing along. Sometimes I hear the locksmith whistling in the hal way as he descends the stairs and heads out to work. Tanya says it won’t last. “Stil … live for the moment,” she adds.

I talk to Ra on the phone, but he no longer visits; I need to be loyal to Daniel. Only once, when we were helping Palestinians pick olives and two insane set lers began shooting at us, and we al lay down on the ground, terri ed, Ra crawled over to where I was and we held one another. We curled up against the wide, gnarled trunk of the tree and he placed his arm around my waist. If we were going to die, we would at least not die alone. It took the army a very long time to come—nearly an hour. A few feet away from us, Odelia was trying to help a woman from London, who had been hit in the leg.

The army arrived, nal y, but they let the set lers go free, and they refused to stay with us, so we had to abandon the trees. Ra and I drove away from the olive grove in separate cars.

I am also expecting; I’m in my eighth month. Is it Rafi’s baby, or my husband’s? It doesn’t mat er. I love them both, I can have neither.

Stil , I am lucky. I am surrounded by love. Even if I can’t touch it or see it, I know it is there, waiting for me.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

FOR THEIR HELP AND SUPPORT in the writing and publication of the Tel Aviv trilogy, I am deeply indebted to Meir Amor, Yudit Avi-dor, Yardena Avi-dor, Miki Bit on, Alison Brackenbury, Alison Cal ahan, Stacey Cameron, Nada and Jihad Charif, Marwan Charif, Anne Col ins, Pam Comeau, Richard Cooper, Jay Eidemil er, Rezeq Faraj, Rachel Goodman, Mary Harsany, Christopher Hazou, Eric Hamovitch, Michael Heyward, Malcolm Imrie, Matan Kaminer, Rut ie Kanner, Yitzhak Laor, Shimon Levy, K r Madjar, Mark Marshal , Michael MacKenzie, Rachel a Mizrahi, Moshe, Adrienne Phil ips, Beverley Slopen, Ken Sparling, Gila Svirsky, Yafa Wax, Claire Wil iamson, Margaret Wolfson, Miriam Zehavi, the Headline crew, the sta of the Metropolitan Hotel in Tel Aviv, and the many fel ow activists who have given me the strength to maintain hope in the midst of tragedy. Fil ing my life with fun and love, my daughter, Larissa, continues to inspire and enchant me.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

EDEET RAVEL was born on an Israeli kibbutz and completed graduate studies in English at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. She now divides her time between Canada and Tel Aviv, where she is involved in peace work. She has been publishing stories and prose poems in English and Hebrew since age sixteen, and is the recipient of several writing awards, including the Hugh MacLennan Prize for Fiction, the Norma Epstein Award for her poetry and a Quebec Council for the Arts writing award. She holds a Ph.D. in Jewish Studies from McGil University and has taught creative writing, English literature, Holocaust studies, and biblical exegesis. She has one daughter. Edeet Ravel’s website is www.edeet.com.

VINTAGE CANADA EDITION, 2005

Copyright © 2004 Edeet Ravel

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Published in Canada by Vintage Canada, a division of Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto. Originally published in hardcover in Canada by Random House Canada, a division of Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto, in 2004, and simultaneously in the United States by Harper Perennial. Distributed by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

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