The Book of Trees (22 page)

He stroked my cheek for a moment. “Come.” He held out his hand and pulled me up. Only yesterday we’d never even kissed. I reached for my bandanna to wrap around my hair, but Andrew pulled it out of my hands. I let it fall to the floor.

On a tray on the living-room coffee table, Andrew had set out toast, scrambled eggs, hummus, cheese and an Israeli salad of cucumbers, tomatoes and peppers.

“Do you drink coffee?”

“Yes.”

I sat quietly on a cushion. Andrew kept busy dishing out food for me, getting coffee from the kitchen. I thought he suddenly looked shy, a little eager to please. I kept my eyes on my plate. I was ravenous.

“So, whose house is this?”

“My manager at the museum. He and his family are away in Europe for a couple of weeks.”

We ate in silence, avoiding each other’s eyes. The eggs were delicious, the toast a little burnt.

When we were finished, Andrew held my hand across the table. I could tell he was studying my face. When he traced my cheek with his finger I leaned into his palm and sighed.

“What’s the matter?”

“People will be worried about me at school.”

“There’s a phone in the kitchen.”

“I’m not sure what to say… ”

“Say you’re not coming back.”

I paused, staring at him, trying to read his face. I could feel my pulse throbbing in my temples. He looked calmly back at me. “You don’t want me to go?” I asked.

“Do I have to say it?”

I tugged on the ends of my hair. “Yes.”

“Don’t leave.”

I looked at his eyes, trying to drink in what I heard. Tears filled my eyes.

“Don’t go anywhere. Why are you crying?”

“I’m not sure who I am anymore. I mean, I’m supposed to be this religious girl, but look at me.”

Andrew leaned back in his chair. “What do you want?”

“To stay here with you. And play guitar.”

“We could write some songs.”

“Okay, but—”

“But what?”

“You don’t understand. I’m supposed to be waiting for my
b’shert
, my one true love. And when I find him, I’m supposed to get to know him, then get married.” It was too ludicrous to say aloud. “I don’t even know you.”

Andrew laughed. “I guess you’re sort of off track.”

“It’s not funny.”

But it was, and I was laughing and crying at the same time. I shook my head in my hands.

Andrew took my hand and laid it on his. “Let’s go away together for a while. You can think about your school while we’re gone.”

“Where would we go?”

“Somewhere we don’t know anyone, where we can swim and just hang out and get to know each other. You can think things through.”

And have sex—lots and lots of it. As we were talking, my eyes stroked the curve of his shoulder. I wanted to plant kisses in the hollow of his collarbone. What would it be like to lie on his back and let him take all my weight?

“Yes, let’s go away. Somewhere far.”

“Dahab?”

“Sure. Where’s that?”

“Egypt. The Sinai peninsula. There’s diving and beer and pot. You probably aren’t into that…”

My mouth started to water at the thought of a joint. “I might be.” Yes, that’s what I wanted: drug-induced oblivion, not to have to think.

We kissed across the table. Andrew’s hands moved across my skull, clasping my hair. I could taste the garlic from the hummus on his lips. Andrew leaned back against the cushion. “So what do you want to know about me?”

“Um, what do you sing in the shower?”

“‘The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down.’”

“Really?”

“Sometimes. Other times it’s Nirvana. How about you?”

“I don’t sing in the shower.”

“Then why did you ask me?” Andrew folded his arms across his chest.

“I don’t know. Let me try again. Favorite ice-cream flavor?”

“Rocky Road.”

“Okay. Chinese or Indian?”

“Chinese. You?”

“Sushi.” I sat smiling across the table.

“C’mon, hit me again.” Andrew gestured like a boxer.

I cocked my head to the side. “Do you have a dad?”

Andrew sat up a little straighter. “I did. A long time ago.”

“What happened?”

He exhaled a long breath. “He left my mom and me, and then he died a few years later in a car accident.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

We were both quiet for a moment.

“How about you?” Andrew asked.

“I’ve got a dad. He’s…elsewhere.”

“Is he coming back?”

“Not sure.”

“You care?”

I nodded and felt tears bulging behind my eyes. “More than I should.”

“No such thing.”

“You think?”

“Otherwise you’d be dead inside.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Let me ask you one.”

“Okay.” I felt a little nervous.

“Best meal.”

“Oh, easy. Scrambled eggs, toast, a little burnt is okay, Israeli salad with lots of tomatoes, and coffee. Strong and sweet.”

Andrew batted me with a magazine.

We went outside to a small backyard garden shaded by high walls, an orange tree and jasmine. I could hide here forever, I thought. We settled into wicker chairs and I sang the chorus from my New Jerusalem song. We worked out a melody for the verses. As I sang,
trees like
lovers, roots clasping deep
, I imagined myself singing in a smoky bar wearing jeans, cowboy boots and a skinny tank top. A shiver ran down my spine and I couldn’t tell if it was attraction or revulsion or a bit of both.

We stayed in the house for the next couple of days drinking beer and playing old Beatles’ songs, Simon and Garfunkel and U2. I played Andrew rockabilly songs from the Neon DayGlos and listened to him sing Elton John songs from his childhood. I played until my fingers blistered, until I was hoarse.

Andrew left to get groceries and to book our bus tickets to Sinai. I went for a run in the unfamiliar neighborhood and did sit-ups and push-ups on the cold stone floor. One afternoon Andrew took me to the school where he’d been volunteering in East Jerusalem. The boys jumped on him and the girls smiled shyly. They all sang a song about peace they’d written with Andrew. Then he taught them the chorus to my New Jerusalem song. Andrew recorded it on a mini tape recorder. We played the scratchy recording over and over again in bed that night, listening to the children’s voices singing my words. I held my breath each time.

The next day I went back to B’nos Sarah to get some of my stuff. It was midmorning and I thought everyone would be in class, except—shit—it was Friday and I’d forgotten about Shabbos
.
The dorm hummed with girls getting ready for the weekend. I hesitated at the entrance, surveying the girls chatting and lugging backpacks through the lounge. Already I felt different from the girls in their denim skirts and pastel T-shirts.

I ducked my head and scurried to my room. Aviva wasn’t there and some of her makeup was gone from the shelf. She’d probably gone for Shabbos to Dan and Leah’s.

Our room looked like I’d never lived there. Only some books and a tube of hand cream lay on my side. I grabbed the crossword puzzle from a newspaper on the desk and lay down on my bed.
An Indian nanny: ayah. Three letters
for brown-eyed girl: Van
. I lay listening to the sounds of girls talking in the lounge outside my door. Somewhere girls were singing, “
Lo yisa goy el goy cherev.
” Nation shall not lift up sword against nation. I was alone again. No, I had Andrew. It wasn’t the same. I wanted to be part of a choir, not a soloist. Could I stay for Shabbos dinner with the other girls and then sneak back to Andrew’s bed? No, it didn’t work that way. If I wanted to be like Aviva, then I couldn’t be with Andrew. I sighed. I wasn’t going to have Shabbos with a family that night. Would I ever again?

On my side of the desk was a postcard from Don with a picture of a canoe bobbing on a lake. It must have arrived while I was with Andrew. I grabbed it off the desk.

Dear Mia,
Long weekend at the cottage?

Love Dad

I thought about sitting on the saggy front porch of the cottage and looking down at the water rippling beyond the trees. Maybe I could just move my flight up and go home right now. I imagined getting in Sheila’s car and driving up north and doing nothing but sitting on the dock with my legs in the cool water.

I left a note for Aviva saying I was going away for a week and asking her to let the school know I was fine.

When I got back to Andrew’s I decided to make Shabbos dinner: salad, chicken and rice. Andrew tidied the living room and made brownies. It almost felt like Shabbos—the house was clean, there was plenty of food and we had showered for dinner—except there was just the two of us, and we were strangely quiet. As I started to serve the food, Andrew asked, “Aren’t you supposed to bless the bread or something?”

I’d already lit the candles in the kitchen alone. I didn’t have a
challah
and we were drinking beer, not wine. I shook my head. Andrew studied my face. I bit my lip and then started eating. We didn’t talk much during dinner. I wished we’d gone to Tel Aviv instead of acting out this charade. We were done eating before sundown, when Shabbos actually started. After we cleaned up, I sat on the low couch in the living room, aware of the silence around me. It didn’t feel like Shabbos quiet.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Andrew suggested.

Outside I could feel the expectant quality of the day of rest: seeing friends, dinner with family. The streets were almost empty of moving cars. Families walked to
shul
, dressed in their clean, fancy Shabbos clothes. I clung to Andrew’s hand and tried to focus on the trees lining the streets. We started walking toward the Old City. I let Andrew lead me through Jaffa Gate and then through the narrow city streets toward the
Kotel
. The sky had turned a beautiful mix of blue and pink. Huge floodlights lit the packed plaza below.

As we walked down the stairs, a circle of yeshiva boys burst into a singing and stamping dance, their arms wrapped tightly around each other. A group of girls formed a more sedate circle, singing a song to welcome in Shabbos. I thought I saw Chani and Rifka dance by. My heart ached to dance and sing with them. In only forty years the Jews had established such a beautiful country. Why couldn’t I enjoy the mix of ancient and modern history and feel proud to be a Jew? Why couldn’t I turn off my brain for five minutes and do a
horah
with everyone else?

Andrew nudged me. “Why don’t you join them?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t. Not when I knew what was going on in this country. I slumped down on a bench. I wasn’t one of the B’nos Sarah girls. I never would be.

Off to the side a group of women started singing
Lecha Dodi
, a song to welcome the Shabbos queen. I quietly joined them. I didn’t think about the meaning of the words, just let my heart fill with all my wishes and hopes: for a feeling of peace, for guidance for my divided heart. I wanted to be back at yeshiva praising God, with Andrew harmonizing Beatles’ songs, and also with my parents at the cottage, roasting un-kosher marshmallows over a campfire.

After the prayers I found Andrew patiently waiting for me on the bench. He raised one expectant eyebrow at me, as if to say, how was it?

I sighed and took his hand. “Let’s just go.” And we started the long walk home.

When we got back to the house, all the lights were out and the garden was dark except for faint shadows from the waning moon. We stood on the front walkway between the thick bushes. Andrew reached for the key.

I grabbed his hand. “Let’s just stand here a moment.” I leaned into him and he leaned back. I had a sudden urge to push him hard, or smack my knuckles into the trunk of a tree. I gave him a shove with my palm, more forceful than playful.

Andrew stumbled backward. “What are you doing?” He gave me a slow, concerned smile.

“Push me back.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Push me back.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

I wanted him to shove me out of my funk. I came up close to him. “Just push me.”

He nudged me with his shoulder, more a tickle. “Is this a game?”

“Yes.”

“Should I let you win?”

“No.”

Andrew took a step toward me and pushed against my shoulders with both hands, not forcefully, but with enough effort to send me backward. He grabbed my hand before I landed in the bushes. “Don’t do that again,” he said as he pulled me to him.

Andrew unlocked the door and held out his hand to stop me from entering the house. “Wait, I’ll find the switch.”

I slipped around him, blocking the light switch. “Don’t bother.”

“You’ll trip.”

I slid my palms up his arms and left a rough wet kiss on his chin. He kissed me back, leaning me up against the wall. Then I slipped out of his arms.

“Hey, where you going?”

“I’m right over here.”

“Where?”

I hovered near the couch.

My eyes adjusted to the light and I could see the outline of Andrew across the room. He moved toward me and stumbled on the carpet. “Shit.”

“Are you okay?” I started to giggle.

I heard him swear again under his breath. I darted into the kitchen.