Look for Me (16 page)

“Would you like to watch television while I work?” she suggested. “You can lie in bed and relax.”

I moved obediently to the bedroom and switched on the television. An old movie,
Sunday, Bloody Sunday
, was on. I’d seen it years ago, when I was still in high school. I hadn’t understood it then; I had no idea what it was about or why people liked it. Now it was transparent to me, and even though some parts were a little clumsy, I liked it. Once I had
wondered what it would be like to be an adult. I thought, like all children, that adulthood was accompanied by esoteric secrets, complicated insights, mysteriously acquired skills. But it turned out to be very simple: you were exactly the same, you were still a child, but you had to find a way to look after yourself. And trying to look after yourself was a full-time job. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t. And that was it.

When the movie ended I watched a talk show. I watched it for half an hour before I realized that I had no idea what anyone was saying or even what the topic of discussion was. I picked up the remote and began flipping channels. I stopped at a music video in which a store-window mannequin was singing. After a few seconds she turned into a beautiful woman and broke out of the store.
You thought you could control me, but you see that you were wrong.

“Ready for a snack?” Mercedes asked me. “I’m just about finished, I only have the bedroom and bathroom left. I scrubbed every corner. You won’t recognize your own flat.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“I’ve prepared something for you, come. I had to buy a few things, your fridge was empty.”

I joined her in the kitchen. She’d made salad and a spicy bean and vegetable stew. “Are you feeling better?” she asked, serving me and then herself. “I didn’t buy any meat—I don’t trust the stores around here.”

“I’m not really sick, I’m just anxious. My husband’s been missing for eleven years and yesterday I met someone who said he can get me his address. I have to call at six. I’m just nervous, that’s all.”

“Really! After eleven years, no wonder you’re excited. But if he ran away, he may not want to be found.”

“He didn’t really run away.”

“That’s what we all tell ourselves. Men are men, though. They run away all the time.”

“He was burned in a fire. He thought I wouldn’t love him anymore.”

“Oh! Jeez, men are dumb. They think we’re like them. They care about looks, so they think we do. They care about women going gray, so they get all upset when they go gray. As if something like that mattered to us! Still, I can understand you. I’d wait too, for a man I loved. In fact, I’m still waiting, in a way. Not really, but in a way.”

“Someone who left you?”

“Not exactly. Just someone I met when I was fourteen. We only spent one afternoon together. I’ll tell you the truth, but please don’t judge me.”

“I won’t.”

“Yes, I can tell you’re not the type to judge. The truth is, I was doing a bit of prostitution. I had no choice, believe me. Anyhow, I only did it very part-time. We were really poor, and I just couldn’t bear not having money for anything. So I met this guy. When I think about it now, he was just a kid, not even in the army yet. But I still think of him as a lot older than me. I can’t think of him as young, you know what I mean?”

“Yes, it’s the same when I think about my kindergarten teacher. She was only twenty, but she’ll always seem old to me.”

“Well, he was so nice. He bought me ice cream, and I fell in love with him, because he was so incredibly nice and also very good-looking. He refused to sleep with me, he made up an excuse and I pretended to believe him. At first I thought he was turned off by me but then I saw that it wasn’t that at all. I just wasn’t special enough for him. He wanted someone who was special, even if he was paying for it. He told me I had a lot of talent as an actress, he said he could tell, because he was in acting
himself, and he had a good sense for who was talented. I said to myself, One day I’ll be a famous star, and I’ll invite him to my opening show, and maybe then he’ll like me. I also wanted to pay him back. He gave me a loan, and he said I could pay him back when I became a star. For years I kept hoping I’d run into him, and I still keep hoping. In ’67 and ’73 and ’82 I checked every single casualty, I looked at the names and I checked all the photos, so I know he didn’t fall. Two of my brothers fell, and my favorite cousin, but he made it. Anyhow, it was ages ago, but I’m pretty sure I’d recognize him. He’s probably married and has kids, but I’d still like to meet him, just to tell him that I had a few parts, here and there. I was Honey in
Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
When I said ‘Violence! Violence!’ everyone had hysterics. I was almost the star of that show. We were just an amateur group, but we got a review and they said I was a natural. Too bad I married the guy who played George. The director had this idea that George and I should be Sephardi and Martha and Nick would be Ashkenazi. Anyhow, me and George, I mean Victor, we started going out during rehearsals, and by the time the show was over, we were engaged. But all Victor wanted me to do was have kids, one after another. I don’t mind, I love kids. Still, I wish I could meet that guy, and tell him about Honey. He’s the one who gave me the courage to audition. I was in love with him for years, and I still am, a bit.”

“What about your husband? Did he go on acting?”

She laughed. “No, unless you call having affairs and then lying about it a form of acting. No, he’s had all sorts of jobs, but acting isn’t one of them. He’s all right. Considering what’s out there, he’s okay. Well, back to work. I’m almost finished. I’ll just fix the bedroom. What do you think so far?”

“It’s great, Mercedes. I really appreciate it. I have to go check on my neighbor, and then I might take a little walk. You can let
yourself out, you don’t have to lock the door. What do I owe you?”

“Rafi already paid me. I’m here instead of at his place. I don’t think his wife likes me very much. I hope I can come here again.”

I went to check on Volvo, even though it was the last thing I felt like doing. I knocked on his door softly. Luckily, he wasn’t answering, and I didn’t persist. Possibly he was out: Tuesday was his day alone, without volunteers, and he often went for long strolls down the most crowded streets of the city, hoping to upset as many people as he could, and perhaps also secretly hoping to be hit by a car as he wheeled himself carelessly into heavy traffic. On the other hand, maybe he was secretly hoping to find love. It was hard to tell with Volvo.

I still had an hour until six. I walked along the shore, my phone tucked in my front pocket. At a quarter to six I sat down on the sand, pulled out the phone, and dialed Aaron’s number. I couldn’t wait any longer.

“Hi,” he said. He didn’t sound very happy to hear from me.

“Hi, did you get it?”

“No. I don’t have anything for you. Dana, listen to me, I’m telling you this as a friend. You have to forget your husband. I know it’s hard, but you have to forget him.”

“What are you saying? Oh God, is he dead?”

“No, he’s not dead. I can’t tell you anything. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“You don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me?”

He didn’t reply. He was an honest person, he found it hard to lie, and I could tell he was trying to decide what to say. But just the fact that he was hesitating was in itself an answer.

“So you know, you know where he is, but you don’t want to tell me, is that it?” My voice was trembling but I was trying to
stay calm; I was afraid he’d hang up on me if I became hysterical. Besides, there were people on the beach and I didn’t want them listening in on my conversation.

“You have to forget him. That’s all I can say. You have to move on, find someone else.”

“Has he? Has he found someone else?”

“No, he’s alone. Please don’t ask any more questions, because that’s all I can say.”

“Why? Why can’t you tell me? Why?”

“I have to go now,” he said. “I’m very sorry. I wish I could help you, but I can’t.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s okay, thank you, you did your best. At least now I know that everyone’s lying to me. That’s something.”

“Well, bye for now. Take care of yourself, Dana.” He hung up.

I had told Rafi I would be at the demonstration in front of the Ministry of Defense, but I couldn’t move. I held the phone in my hand, stared at the waves, and tried to understand what had just happened. I couldn’t think straight: I was in some sort of trance. I shut my eyes and remembered a veiled and bangled belly dancer I’d once seen at a party, long ago. The chiming gold bangles had hypnotized me, and Daniel had laughed as he called my name to bring me back to the real world. I roused myself and phoned Rafi.

“It’s me, Dana,” I said.

“Dana who, please?” he teased.

“I’m on the beach.”

“What’s going on?”

“I found out something about Daniel.”

“Really?”

“I can’t tell you on the phone. Are you going to the demo?”

“I have to, I’m bringing the signs, remember? We can meet after.”

“No, okay, I’ll come. I can’t just sit here staring at the sea. I’ll be there soon.”

Usually I enjoyed walking and it was only on rare occasions that I took the bus. The entire city had an unsettled look to it, as if the small angular apartment houses and the people walking puposefully through the streets and the cages filled with empty plastic bottles for recycling were all aware that they were part of a theatrical production—though whether farce or Greek tragedy, nobody knew. This was a world that made no effort to seduce you, for it was too caught up in its own satisfied, uncertain presence. I was particularly attached to the little stores and kiosks that sold newspapers and snacks. They never changed, the kiosks and small stores; the world advanced around them, but they adhered to their own time zone. It was hard to believe that these bottles of grapefruit juice and rows of salted bagels could keep these enterprises going, but so far they had. Lately, though, the kiosk operators and store owners had been looking very depressed, and I wondered whether they would finally cave in and vanish.

But now as I walked down the familiar streets, the city could have been invisible, I could have been sleepwalking through it.

The Ministry of Defense was inside a military complex surrounded by a tall wall and barbed wire. Demonstrations against the ministry were held on a small raised lot facing the entrance to the complex. A few bored soldiers were stationed on the sidewalk in order to protect us from ruffians, though if a drive-by shooter decided to target us, there was nothing they’d be able to do. The odds were against a violent attack, though. Most of the lunatics lived in the territories and they spent their energy tormenting Palestinians.

Rafi was already at the lot, standing next to a stack of signs. Sixty or seventy protesters had come to demonstrate, and they
were milling around in their usual bewildered way, holding signs that condemned the latest bombing attack on a Palestinian town.

I climbed up to the lot and approached Rafi. I noticed when I stood next to him that we were exactly the same height. He didn’t have his hat on, and he wasn’t wearing sunglasses.

“What did you find out?” he asked, as though we were in the middle of a conversation.

“I’m not sure. It’s very strange.”

“Do you want to go for supper after the demonstration? You can tell me about it then.”

“Yes.”

Down below, on the sidewalk, a few women dressed in black had wrapped their heads in kaffiyehs and were holding stones in their hands, to show solidarity with the Palestinians. Not everyone approved of the women and some demonstrators grumbled, but there wasn’t much they could do. One of the women had a can of orange spray paint. She came up to us and offered to spray our IDs orange; she also handed out little stickers for the inside flaps that said
MY DEATH MAY NOT BE USED FOR ACTS OF REVENGE
. My ID was already half orange (some of the paint had come off) but I took a sticker and so did Rafi.

A soldier from Army Radio came over to Rafi and asked him to say something about why people were demonstrating. She had round puffy cheeks and bangs that reached her eyebrows. I took several photos of her young, open face; she was gazing at Rafi like someone caught in limbo, on the verge of entering either heaven or hell: it wasn’t clear to her which one it was likely to be, so she was hedging her bets. When Rafi was through, she thanked him and moved on to someone else.

The demonstration lasted an hour. Cars passed by on the street and the drivers looked at us with interest. Some of them
shouted out insults, and some honked. A long honk meant they were angry and a few short honks meant they agreed with us—at least that was my interpretation.

At eight o’clock everyone piled the signs in a heap and went home. Rafi carried them to his van, which was parked nearby. I followed him and helped load the signs in back. Then we left the van where it was and began walking toward a street with a lot of restaurants. As we walked, Rafi phoned Graciela on his mobile phone.

“I met Dana at the demonstration and we’re going to have a bite,” he said. “I don’t know how long I’ll be. Do you need anything?”

But Graciela didn’t need anything.

“She doesn’t mind?” I asked.

“Not at all. She likes having the place to herself in the evening. She takes a long bath, listens to requiems and operas. She’s a solitary person.”

“How did you meet?”

“At the supermarket. Do you want to eat here?” He stopped at a sidewalk restaurant. We bought sandwiches and french fries at the counter and sat down with our trays at one of the tables. The metal lattice tabletops had tiny diamond-shaped gaps between the strips and I ran my fingers along the pattern.

“Mercedes came over,” I said. “She cleaned up. And I had my fortune told by Tanya, who lives upstairs.”

“What did she tell you?”

“It was a scam. She gives massages.”

“Well, at least you got something for your money.”

“I dreamed you were trying on outfits,” I said.

“Did I find one?”