The Remains of Love (16 page)

Four years now, he’s my first boyfriend, she says, and I was the one who put pressure on him to marry, how strange it is, the way things change, but since we decided it’s been closed as far as he’s concerned, and suddenly for me it’s open. How do people know what is the right thing to do? She turns her wide eyes to him, full of tense enquiry, and he grins, that’s the question of questions, Anati, but there it is, we don’t know, aside from a few lucky people who see everything clearly.

The invitation still in his hand, he creases the edges of it distractedly, how do people know what is the right thing to do? Does he have any role in her life at this moment, should he be warning her? And he mutters hurriedly, as if he fears he’s going to say the wrong thing, listen, I married my first girlfriend and all my life I’ve regretted this, although I’ve taken no steps towards freeing myself from this marriage, and although obviously there’s no knowing how a different life would have worked out. Of course, this doesn’t teach you anything about your life, he’s quick to point out, you can’t draw a conclusion on the basis of another’s experience, but if you’re not sure then wait, sometimes it’s worth waiting for love, even if it comes when you’re already at death’s door; when I was with my mother in the hospital I saw love, and it’s a sight you don’t forget. His hands, feverish from the confession, fiddle with the cardboard as the phone rings and she gets up to answer it, and he’s surprised to hear how cold her voice is, I told you before, I want to be alone today, that’s enough, Lior, stop pressurising me, and Avner perks up quickly as if the words were addressed to him. I must go, they’re waiting for me at home, he says to her as she goes back to standing at the kitchen door, we’ll meet tomorrow in the office, he adds almost sadly, because for a moment he finds himself hoping he’ll never see her again, never see her and the agonising question on her face, what’s the right thing to do, and as he leaves the building, the car keys in his torn pocket, he crushes the invitation and throws it in the overflowing bin, with its garland of little bushes of garbage.

Chapter Five

It isn’t a matter of contemplation and cogitation, deciding who was in the right, she repeats, it’s determined by history. It was reality that left no room for doubt. The critical hour of the expulsions drew a distinction between the traditional way of adherence to the God of Israel, in defiance of rigid official decrees, and the spiritual-philosophical way of life that led towards change of religion. The question that has been debated incessantly since the twelfth century – whether it is permitted to dabble in extra-Judaic philosophies – was resolved not by reference to the precepts of the Talmud but on the basis of personal choice. In the opinion of the sages of the expulsion generation, this choice clearly proved who was sketching out a way of life and thought that had status in Judaism, such that Judaism could exist within it, and who was showing the way towards betrayal of faith and loss of identity – but a guttural sound like the cooing of a dove interrupts the flow that is so familiar to her; year after year she’s been trying to infect them with her enthusiasm, with steadily diminishing success. Is she to blame for this, or are successive generations losing interest?

Any questions so far? She turns to face the class, noticing one of the students who sits beside the window, the sunlight flooding her face and a tiny baby at her breast, making rhythmic gurgling sounds. Usually they ask her permission, and usually she doesn’t object. Congratulations, Abigail, she says caustically, only just born and already he needs to know about the Spanish expulsions? Irritation flushes her face and she continues her lecture in a severe tone as if trying to scare him off, there were two sides to the crisis created by the expulsions, the crisis of those who were expelled and the crisis of those who weren’t expelled. In the last years of the fifteenth century these two were combined into one deep crisis, which undermined the self-perception of Judaism as it had prevailed in Spain for hundreds of years, and demanded new solutions. Her eyes are fixed on the spectacle and the pain is thumping between her ribs: one body with two heads, one small and one large, each nourishing the other, a sight simultaneously wondrous and monstrous. The dark shadow of the nipple as it slips from the infant’s mouth, the sheer delight on his mother’s face, the cooing and gurgling sounds emanating from the tiny body as it fills up with milk, all these things rekindle her wrath at the young student who isn’t concentrating as he should, and his mother, who is subjecting her to an unbearable experience, presenting her with sights and sounds which like the act of love itself are not appropriate in public places.

Abigail, I’m sorry, this crying is a distraction for all of us, she hears herself saying, perhaps you should make other arrangements for lectures, and Abigail starts as if she’s been plucked from sleep. But he isn’t crying! she protests, her lips quivering in resentment, and Dina declares, of course he’s crying, it’s impossible to teach like this, all these noises are upsetting our concentration. Impatiently she watches the movements of the student as she gathers up her belongings and leaves with the baby in her arms. He utters a loud valedictory cry, and Dina smiles at the remainder of the class. I’m sorry, usually I have no problem with this but today it’s been really annoying, don’t you think?

It seems she will wait in vain for their endorsement; how transparent she must be in their eyes, a desiccated woman on the verge of the menopause expelling a young and fertile mother from her class. In the aftermath of the expulsion there was a boost to the Messianic principle in Jewish belief, she goes on to say, not only survival of the soul but also earthly redemption of the body, ingathering of the exiles and resurrection of the dead, all of these became values of immediate significance, and a tight connection was forged between awareness of destruction and hopes for salvation. Abigail’s empty chair rears up before her, flooded in sunlight, and is that a dummy that’s been left in the corner of the seat, perhaps she’ll pick it up after class and hide it in her pocket, confiscate it to teach the girl a lesson, but what will her students think of her, even the way things are now they’re looking at her suspiciously, and she cuts the session short a little ahead of time and escapes to the staff room, hoping to meet Naomi there, and sure enough here she is, poring over an open Bible and making notes in an exercise-book.

What are you still looking for there? she smiles at her, you must know it all by heart, and Naomi raises tired eyes to her, dark bags hanging under them, I wish, it’s been years since I taught this story and I don’t remember it at all. What story? Dina asks, filling a cup with cold water, and Naomi says, Hannah and Samuel, I forgot just how shocking it is, how could anyone give up a child like that, especially after she wanted him so much? And Dina listens without much interest, here’s another shocking story for you, she says, just now I threw a student out of my classroom because she brought a baby with her to the lecture.

You have the right to do that, it bothers me too if babies cry, Naomi says, and Dina confesses in a whisper, so her colleagues won’t overhear, but that’s just it, he wasn’t crying, it was out of jealousy I expelled her from the room, don’t you get it? I couldn’t bear to see this, and Naomi lays a hand on her arm, oy, Dini, what have you got to be jealous about? This baby will abandon her in the end too, even if you have ten children you’ll be left alone in the end, believe me.

Thanks, but that isn’t quite the point, she sighs and sits down facing her, there’s a difference between a large and a small family, there’s a difference between being left alone at the age of forty-five and at the age of sixty-five, and Naomi says, of course there’s a difference, but not a substantial one, and perhaps it’s even healthier to get your life back at an early age and not at the last moment, look at me, by the time my brood grows up and leaves the house I’ll be an old woman.

The later the better, Dina insists, wiping the sweat from her face with a paper hanky, you don’t know what it’s like when you want to give and you have no one to give to, when suddenly no one needs you. Not long ago I heard about a woman who killed herself because of a mid-life crisis, and I really understand her.

Take it easy, really, you’re exaggerating so much, Naomi scolds her. Gideon needs you in his own way and you can be sure Nitzan does too. She’s barely sixteen, you’re taking too much notice of the faces she puts on, and Dina grimaces, what faces? I’ve hardly seen her in ages, her life is completely full, and I’ve no idea what’s happening to her, she doesn’t tell me anything.

Fine, so she’s a typical adolescent, Naomi declares, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t need you, you’ve just been shifted a little to the side, that’s the whole story, she says, moving the Bible and the exercise-book apart by way of demonstration, and Dina says, I know all about that, and I’ve come to terms with it, I just can’t forgive myself for not having another child, if I was like you and I had a young child like your Ro’i in the house, everything would look different.

What’s going to become of you, you’re already sounding like Hannah praying for a son, Naomi smiles. Perhaps your prayers will be answered too, but look what a price she paid, she takes a quick gulp of her coffee and gathers up her possessions, we’d better move, we’re already late, aren’t we? And Dina says, I’ve finished for today, I’ve had two hours of tuition cancelled, my class is ahead of schedule, and Naomi draws her close and into a sweaty embrace. Don’t be upset, Dini, apparently you didn’t want it enough, and you can’t judge things from a perspective of hindsight, just look at the advantages. I live in a madhouse, nothing but chaos and quarrelling all the time, and you have a quiet life, that’s not a small thing.

But I’m not looking for a quiet life, she protests, and watches her friend as she enters the classroom she just vacated, small and dumpy as a she-bear, and her four children are the same and so is her husband, a family of bears Nitzan used to call them derisively. What, are they having another cub? She was surprised when Naomi got herself pregnant again, four years ago, haven’t they ever tired of making cubs? Of course they all look exactly the same. How lucky I am to be an only daughter, she used to declare now and then, it’s more fun this way. If I get bored I can invite a friend round, and if I get tired of company I can be alone, and I have Mummikins all to myself, I can nestle against her and purr like a kitten.

Yes, that’s the way things looked, and she mustn’t forget, different rules applied in their small family in those days, this was separate territory, independent and proud; from their superior vantage point they looked down on the uncouth behaviour of other families, bowed down under the burden of complaints and quarrels. I’m enjoying bringing up Nitzan more than Naomi is enjoying all four of her offspring, she used to remind herself repeatedly, I have time for her, I have patience, I can give her so much, without feeling guilty for neglecting another child, and for Gideon this was definitely enough, his needs were modest, as was his talent, and it didn’t occur to her that all this was bound to change, nor did it occur to her that this equable state of hers depended on the assumption that she still could, if she only wanted to, bring another child into the world, but all at once, within less than a year, like a war breaking out on several fronts simultaneously, Nitzan moved away as if they had never snuggled up together in a fluffy blanket of intimacy, and instead of the warmth that the girl had bestowed on her all those years, her body was attacked by ferocious waves of heat, accompanied by bouts of giddiness that brought her close to fainting, and as she was knocking, cluelessly, on the doors of Gideon’s heart and on the doors of the fertility clinics, it became clear to her beyond any doubt that her prospects of once more attaining that harmonious fusion were nil; she would never regain the holy spark that she saw in the face of her student, that aroused her to anger and pain.

On leaving the college car park she sees her waiting at the bus-stop, still ungainly in the aftermath of pregnancy, holding with an unpractised hand a pram, a briefcase and a baby, and an extra blanket draped over her arm, and she pulls up, somewhat shamefaced, just short of the stop. Like a lift, Abigail? Come with me and I can take you wherever you need to be, I have time, but her student shakes her head, there’s no need, my bus will be here in a moment, and Dina tries again, I’m sorry, it was upsetting my concentration, even if he wasn’t actually crying, and Abigail clutches the baby to her breast. No problem, she says, forgiving her loftily, I won’t bring him into class again.

But even when forgiven she can’t let it go, feeling an obligation to accommodate the mother and baby if only for a short time in the void of the enclosed car, holding them prisoner. Let me make it up to you, she flashes her a smile and Abigail gives in finally, loading her heavy and copious gear in the boot, as if she were a refugee fleeing from a war zone.

With the baby asleep in her arms she sits down in the back and fiddles with the safety belts, and Dina watches her in the mirror while putting on speed, hypnotised by the clumsy movements, the neglect and the slovenliness, how well groomed she was just a few months ago, with fitted clothes and high heels, but now she’s many times more beautiful, because there’s a higher purpose to all her actions: when she eats her eating is designed to satisfy her baby, and when she sleeps her sleep is for the benefit of her baby, and this purpose, which has been gradually eroded over the years, will any substitute ever be found for it?

Where do you live? she asks, in fact ready to take her anywhere just to draw into herself this agonising experience; previously she couldn’t endure it and now she can’t endure the idea of separation from it. No problem, my mother lives there, and I was going to visit her today anyway, she says hurriedly, secretly despising herself. Why not be her driver, offer her your services as a nanny, and not only her, you should put up a sign in the street, responsible and experienced childminder, academic with a doctorate, almost, college lecturer, a glittering career awaits you, and as she drives down the streets with their sparse traffic, scraped by the noonday sun, watching her prisoner in the mirror, her face radiant and her breasts full and the baby asleep in her arms, an idea comes into her head, cruel but not without appeal, how she will rid herself of the young mother, throw her out of the car in the middle of the desert and be left alone with the baby, surprise the others when they come home, new baby, new life. Nitzan will coo around him in great excitement, extending warm and emotional contact to her as well, and Gideon will smile his restrained smile and raise the camera that’s a permanent fixture on his chest, and they’ll be so close together one kiss will be enough, and she shakes her head again and again, trying to dislodge the hum of the malign fantasy. Yes, in a corner of the mirror happiness dwells, unbearably close and distant, and she doesn’t dare address it with words; what will she say to the young mother, saturated as she is in that sublime state of individuality and unity, will she ask how old the baby is, and what is his name, and how does he sleep at night? A croak of envy will escape from her throat if she opens her mouth, and how paltry are these minor details which will be forgotten anyway, does she remember the precise history of Nitzan’s infancy? Only their love, when it was born and when it expired.