Don't Ask Me If I Love (31 page)

“She didn't.”

“I was not sure at the time,” she said, “but it didn't matter. I knew you could find me if you wanted, so I realized you probably didn't want to.”

I was silent.

“Where were you?” she asked.

“I left. I quarreled with my parents.

“Why?”

“I don't know, I was angry.”

Three long-haired, flamboyantly dressed people came toward us. They stepped off the curb into the street when we passed them.

“Boys or girls?”

“Girls,” Joy said.

“How do you know?”

“Intuition,” she said, “and this.” She passed her hand along the round lines of her body.

“I don't know,” I said. “Trying to pick up girls here could result in some funny situations.”

“I believe most men wouldn't mind,” she said. “Where did you go when you left home?”

“I found a room.”

“And you didn't return home?”

“I went into the reserves three weeks later. I did afterward.”

“Oh.”

Our eyes met as we passed under one of the street lamps.

“You look different,” I said.

“Worse?”

“No. Different.”

“What made you come?” she asked.

“I wanted to see you,” I said. “It was the only thing I was sure I wanted.”

She kept staring at me.

“I hoped you would be here,” I said.

“And are you satisfied now?” she asked quietly.

“Are you?” I asked.

She laughed softly.

“This is it,” I said, pointing to the red building that was my hotel.

“Let's go in, then,” she said.

We passed by the lounge, where a few of the residents were sitting watching the sports news on TV, and we walked up to my room. I put the lights on and closed the door.

“Not bad,” she said, and sat in the only chair.

I took off my coat and sat on the floor.

“I'm afraid I can't offer you anything to drink except water.”

“You mean you have no Coke around?”

“I'll see to it tomorrow,” I said.

“So what are your plans?”

“I don't know.”

She got up and walked to the window.

“Are you working?” I asked her.

“No,” she said, without turning, “not yet. I might be starting in a week.”

“Oh. Listen, I can rent a car. I would like to go somewhere, to travel.”

I stopped abruptly. I suddenly felt a pain in my side.

“Yes?”

I put my hand on my stomach, underneath my shirt and moved it slowly over the skin.

She turned from the window and looked down at me.

“I thought maybe you would be willing to come with me,” I said lamely.

“Of course,” she said.

“You will really? For a few days?”

“Sure.”

“That would be beautiful.”

She walked over to me.

“It will be beautiful,” she said. “Won't it?”

She moved over to the bed and sat down on it.

“I have missed you,” she said.

She crossed her legs and leaned back resting her elbows on the mattress.

“I felt awful that evening after you left. Nothing made sense to me.”

“A friend of mine was killed the day before.”

“You didn't tell me.”

“No.”

“Don't you want to come here?” she asked quietly.

“Yes.”

I got up and walked to her. I sat close to her on the bed and looked down at her legs. I felt dizzy.

“Assaf?”

She was leaning forward, with her face near mine. I felt her warm, scented breath on my cheek and her blue painted eyes seemed to fill my view. I moved closer and pressed my mouth on her lips, closing my eyes.

She sat up gently and put her arms around my neck, kissing me softly. Then she pushed me down on the bed.

“I missed you,” she whispered hoarsely in my ear, “I missed you.”

I wrapped my arms around her waist, squeezing her fiercely.

“You are not sad,” she whispered in my hair, “are you?”

“No,” I said.

She pulled back slightly and started unbuttoning my shirt. I lay on my back with my hands clinging to her hips and didn't open my eyes.

“I hope that you would come,” she whispered, “but I knew that you wouldn't.”

“But I did.”

“Yes.”

Then I heard her gasp, and her hands froze on my chest. I opened my eyes.

Seeing the startled expression on her face, I knew what she was looking at. I wondered how I had forgotten before. I sat up and pulled my shirt back. I could feel her eyes shifting away from the scar and moving to my face although I wasn't looking at her. I sat staring at my hands and my face was hot with anger.

She put her arm on my shoulder and touched my cheek with her hand. I moved away, unwillingly.

“I am sorry about that,” I said hollowly. “I forgot.”

“How did it happen?”

“In the reserves.” I paused. Her hand was hanging loosely on my shoulder. “We were chasing guerrillas, one of them was hiding outside the cave. So …”

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

She moved her hands slowly down my chest and then apprehension crept into her eyes. She reached down with her fingers and pulled gently at my shirt, not moving her eyes from my face. I grimaced.

“Does it bother you?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Why?”

“It's ugly,” I said, looking down. “It's red and big and ugly.”

“Oh.”

Then she laughed.

I looked at her, flushing.

“What's so funny?”

“You. I wondered once what kind of things would bring you down, but I never dreamed it would be as stupid as that.”

“Yes,” I said, “I know all about it. The nurse in the hospital said it was sexy.”

“Did she seduce you?”

“No, she wasn't that generous.”

“You are missing the main point,” she said.

Her breasts heaved at me under the thin cloth of her dress. I wanted to touch them but I didn't.

“What?”

“That it
is
sexy. That's all there is to it.”

She stared at me and somehow I knew she meant it,

“You think I'm lying?”

“No,” I said, “no.”

“Then, it's all right?”

“Yes.”

I put out my hand and touched her warm, silky knee,

“Is there anything else?” she asked softly.

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

I stared at my hand until it disappeared underneath her dress. I felt her quiver, and raised my eyes to her face. Her cheeks reddened a bit, and she looked at me almost coyly.

“Make love to me,” I said. “Please.”

“I think I won't refuse this time,” she said, and gently pushed me down again.

“Will you come back to Israel?” I asked.

“Mmmmm,” she said, undoing my buttons, “if you ask me to.”

“You would really if I asked you to?” I asked breathing heavily at her breast.

“Mmmm,” her voice said, above me. “You'll have to help me with my dress.”

Her body slipped into my arms and curled lightly on my chest.

“It's in the back,” she said.

I unzipped the dress and she wriggled out of it, kicking away her high-heeled shoes. I put my hand on her smooth hips. Her soft breasts bounced gently against my face.

“You'll come back with me?” I murmured. “Really?”

“Sure,” she said, digging her fingers into my hair, “I'm crazy about you.”

Her dark nipples pressed against my head and then they slipped down.

“Now, shut up,” she said, pushing her lips fiercely on my mouth.

My hands moved down from her hips to her thighs and again I felt a tremor pass through her body. She pulled her knees back and enveloped me with her long warm legs.

“Are you really?” I asked her afterward.

“What?”

“Crazy about me?”

She looked at me mischievously.

“What does it look like to you?” she asked.

I smiled.

“I like your new hair style,” I said.

She frowned.

“It must be in a mess now. Took me a couple of hours to have it arranged.”

“It makes you look like a movie star,” I said.

“Is that important?”

“It is attractive.”

“I should hope so,” she said, arranging the pillow underneath her head. “They have nice beds in this hotel.”

“Listen,” I said.

“Yes. I am.”

“We can go to Wales or Scotland. Drive through to the coast or something.”

“Yes,” she said, “sure.”

“We could go for a few weeks, until we've had enough.”

“Sure,” she said, “as long as we want.”

“And then we'll go back to Israel.”

“Yes.”

“And then.”

“Yes?”

I looked at her. She had an amused expression on her face, as if she were watching a comedy she had seen before and knew that what was coming next would be really funny. She drew her hand from under the sheet and scratched her nose.

“Say listen,” I said.

Her hand went back underneath the sheet.

“Yes?”

“I've been thinking.”

“Good,” she said.

“Why not?” I said. “Why not?”

“Who said not?” she said.

“Will you?”

“Will I what?” she said.

“Marry me?”

“Oh, of course not. I'd love to though.”

I looked up at the ceiling.

“You won't?” I said.

Joy put her hand on my arm.

“Why should you marry me?” she said. “It would only complicate things for you. I'll live with you, if you want.”

I kept staring at the ceiling.

“What's the matter?” she asked.

“It's the first time I've ever proposed and been turned down. I'm trying to get over it.”

She played with my fingers.

“Do you really mind?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Why?”

“I don't know. I guess I just want to marry you.”

“Why?”

I considered the question.

“I just want to,” I said.

“Why don't you say that you love me?” Joy asked.

“Well,” I said, “I thought …”

“I think you do,” she said, her upper lip twisting with amusement. “Does it embarrass you to say it?”

I shrugged.

“Do you love me?” she asked.

I passed my hand over my forehead.

“Yes,” I said.

She laughed.

“Most people who have proposed to me before,” she remarked, “mentioned that at an earlier stage, and quite voluntarily.”

“Were there many?”

“No but enough to teach me the routine.”

“Well,” I said, “with a routine or without a routine, it seems we all got the same results.”

“Some of the others tried harder.”

“Yeah.”

“What, for instance, would your parents say?”

“I have though about that,” I said. “I don't care too much about their reaction.”

“Oh.”

“After all, it wouldn't be their wedding.”

“Yes, that is a point.”

“But I don't think they would be against it.”

“I don't know,” she said doubtfully.

“You see,” I said, “I think I have told you, once. When I was small, I had the world figured out. It was wrong of course, but it was beautiful, and nothing turned out to be like it, nothing ever looked like my dream. But you would have fitted. You would have fitted into what I saw then.”

I looked down at my side. She was lying with her face turned to me, and her eyes closed.

“That was a nice thing to say,” she said softly.

I put out my hand and stroked the light hair that fell across her brow.

“The girl I saw in my imagination, I always thought of her as my wife. I'd like it to be like that, because it makes it more real. Then it isn't just a play. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Yes.”

“Would your parents mind?” I asked her.

“I don't know,” she said, “not much.”

I looked at her toes peeking out of the other end of the sheet.

“Maybe you should try to ask again,” she said softly.

“Will you … ?”

“Yes,” she said.

“You mean it?”

“Sure.”

“Well,” I said.

She smiled.

“Are you happy now.”

“Yes,” I said. “I am happy now.”

“I'm glad.”

“Listen,” I said, “so when do we do it? Tomorrow?”

She watched me, amused.

“You don't want a nice Jewish ceremony?”

“No,” I said, “I wouldn't want you to convert. And anyway, I'd like to get married here. I don't really need anyone except you at the wedding.”

“Two witnesses,” she said vaguely, “and a registrar. I wouldn't mind converting. I don't care one way or the other.”

“No,” I said, “I'd rather you didn't.”

“All right. Now I want a nice kiss for my efforts,” she said.

I pulled her to me and kissed her.

“You should be careful not to break my jaw,” she said, drawing back and pulling the sheet away from us. She moved her finger along my ribs, studying the scar.

“What happened to him?”

“He's dead,” I said. “I killed him.”

“I THINK you have to be residents at a certain address in the borough for two weeks or something like that,” Lynda told us. “I don't really remember, but after that it's just a matter of a few minutes and a few shillings.”

We were sitting in the kitchen having breakfast. It was around eight o'clock in the morning.

“Ahha,” Joy said.

“John!” Lynda yelled.

His voice came through the corridor. “Yes, love?”