I know it sounds funny, Amir said, but neither one of us feels connected to our family. Maybe that’s what made us bond so tightly.
But there’s something I don’t understand, I said and stopped walking in the hope that he’d stop too.
What? he asked and stopped.
When you came here, you were like two lovebirds. So what … what happened? I hope you don’t mind my asking?
Amir looked at me with the same expression Noa always had when she started talking about him. The truth is, Sima, that I don’t know.
Strange, I thought. Usually, couples with problems know right away what the reason is. Mirit blamed it on her husband’s cheating. My cousin Ossi always said, even before her divorce, that she and her husband were both very stubborn. But with these two, Amir and Noa, you ask for a reason and their eyes start flitting around all over the place. What is it with you two?
I don’t know, Amir said again, as if answering the question I’d just asked in my mind, maybe … maybe we’re too perfect for each other.
I wanted to ask him, what do you mean, too perfect for each other? But he started walking again and looked away from me, as if he was tired of talking, and a minute later, we could already see the people crowded around Yotam’s house. This wasn’t the right time for more questions.
They asked for you not to come in, said an aunt I remembered from Gidi’s shivah. The doctor said that Yotam has to rest for a day or two without being disturbed.
Will he be all right? Amir asked, taking the words out of my mouth.
Yes, his aunt said. He was very lucky. That house where they found him was part of an Arab village that used to be here. They say that Arabs from the area still roam around there with their goats. I don’t want to think about what would have happened if they’d found him there now, what with all the terrorist attacks.
He really was lucky, I said. And his aunt said, God must have been watching over him. He’s just a little dehydrated. And the doctor said that he doesn’t even need a drip. He just has to keep drinking and rest.
That’s good, Amir and I said at exactly the same time, and then he said, so just send him hugs and kisses.
From who? the aunt asked.
From the neighbours, I said.
We said goodbye and started home. I walked slowly because I wanted to have a few more minutes with Amir. He didn’t walk fast either, and I hoped it was for the same reason. When we got to our door, I stopped and said, all’s well that ends well, and he smiled: yes, you can say that again. And I thought to myself that he has a really beautiful smile and that Noa is really a fool to let him go. If I had a man like him, who knows how to talk openly like that and who has broad shoulders like his, I’d keep him close to me and I’d never leave him the way she did.
OK, see you, he said, looking straight into my eyes.
I felt like telling him that he didn’t have to wait for Yotam to go missing again for us to see each other. I felt like telling him that I’m alone in the house in the morning. And so is he. But right then I heard the voices of Lilach and Liron through the window, so I just took a deep breath to keep myself from speaking those thoughts and said: if you need something, don’t be shy. Knock on my door, OK?
*
Yotam’s father is sitting in his car, crying bitter tears. Crying as he hasn’t cried in many, many years. If his employees could see him now, all they’d be able to say is wow. Their big boss is crying like a little child. He hasn’t cried since Gidi was killed. All he did was cough. But yesterday, when they found Yotam, he was flooded by tears he couldn’t choke off. Earlier, at work, he’d had a lump in his throat that wouldn’t go away. Don’t be such a baby, he kept telling himself all day. Be strong, he told himself again and again; without you, the business doesn’t have a chance. But the lump kept growing and growing, and by lunchtime he was feeling unwell. He couldn’t eat, and his partner said: go home Reuven, you look like hell. But he yelled at him, I’m not leaving till I’ve finished my work. He forced himself to keep at it till exhaustion was all he felt, hoping that hard work would make the lump in his throat melt. But it only got bigger and bigger. Late at night, on his way home, he felt he couldn’t take it any more. So he stopped the car on the side of the road, turned off the lights and leaned against the door. He hid his face with his hands and began to shake. And cry as if his heart would break. He cried about so many things. About the morning he took Gidi to the bus station and they hugged goodbye with so much love. About the night he touched Nechama and she recoiled as if he were an enemy she wanted no part of. And about yesterday, when he found Yotam in that Arab shack. Lying there as if he were dead, on his back.
He wept and wailed for what seemed like a year, until a police car pulled up and someone yelled into a megaphone: Get going. You can’t park here. OK, he signalled to the policeman and turned on his lights. He let a few cars drive by, then merged into traffic, trying not to cry.
But all the way to the Castel, the tears kept flowing. He cried so hard that he could barely see where he was going. And he thought: Nechama was right the other day when she said that things can’t go on this way. I can’t drive on these roads any more. Every traffic light brings up memories. And I can’t stay at home, there’s so much tension in the air. No, we have to take Yotam and run away. But where can we run to, where?
Right before the Mevasseret bridge, an idea popped into his head, but he said no, it’ll never work. What’s wrong with you Reuven, are you nuts? But the idea was persistent, it wouldn’t retreat. It stayed in his mind when he drove up to the house, when he parked on his street. It was still there when he took a handkerchief out of the glove compartment to wipe his face before he went into the house. (He’s a man, after all. The whole world doesn’t have to see him bawl.)
He climbed the stairs considering whether to tell Nehama about the new idea he had.
And before he put his key in the lock, he decided not to tell her yet. It might make her upset.
*
It’s as if I cried a lot, and now I feel relieved.
I flow with the streets leading to Frishman beach and think: it’s so great that I don’t have to be careful. That I don’t have to feel Amir’s pain enter me through a hidden tunnel that connects us. That I don’t have to keep his hurt feelings deep inside my stomach. It’s incredible how much room it leaves in my body. But on the other hand, at night, it’s exactly that empty space that gets hungry and shouts: Amir! Amir! I try to fill it with peanuts or ice-cream, but it doesn’t help. I walk around Aunt Ruthie’s apartment terrified that Amir will give up on me and go to some other girl. I can see them together, hugging and touching each other, as if I’m standing at the window of the apartment in the Castel and taking pictures. She’s a little shorter than I am. Her tits are nicer. And if I’m not mistaken, she’s not as sad as I am.
Enough, I say, trying to push that scene out of my mind, you have to focus on the project, Noa. Go out. Look for interesting places in Tel Aviv. There must be some. All you have to do is raise your head.
*
I hear Sima washing dishes. Frying something. Talking loudly to Lilach. I hear her walking around the house in high heels (she has nice ankles. I noticed when we were looking for Yotam together). I hear her go out. Come back. Open the cover of the water heater switch, turn it on. Take a shower. I picture her body naked, very different from Noa’s body. When Noa showers, the water flows from her hair down to her feet without interruption. When Sima showers, or so I picture it, the water pools in the indentations of her body. In the space between her large breasts. In her deep belly button, which she loves to expose. In the hills of her buttocks. I hear her step out of the shower and can actually see, through the wall, how she brushes her long hair, untangling the knots until it’s smooth. I hear her talking, I can’t tell to whom. I don’t understand a word, but I like the tone. Full of energy, opinionated, always ready to burst into laughter. I think to myself: she’s home alone too. Just like me.