Open Heart (31 page)

Maybe this was the right moment to get up and leave her, in goodwill, in friendship, putting my hands together Indian fashion in the middle of my face. I expected nothing of her. But the contract had been signed, the keys had been handed over, and in the apartment where we were sitting, I was the host and she was the guest—and you can’t get up and leave a guest to her own devices. So I sat petrified in my place, listening to the rain
dripping
slowly outside and the strong wind trying unsuccessfully to blow it away. She still hadn’t said anything. Was she stunned, or had she been prepared for my confession? Perhaps she was
surprised
in spite of being prepared, for she went on sitting curled up in the corner of the couch, her fist still pressed against her mouth as if to protect herself from some galloping, inexorable catastrophe. Her plump face was tense and burning, but behind the lenses of her glasses her eyes were full of serenity, if not profound satisfaction. In the end a radiant smile broke through the barriers of her resistance. She took her fist from her mouth and loosened her fingers into a light wave, as if beckoning an obedient pupil or a beloved pet, and whispered, “Come here.” I rose immediately to my feet and approached the corner of the couch, but I didn’t wait to hear what she wanted, because I knew what I wanted, and I bent down, took her by the shoulders, and raised her to me. Just don’t hesitate now, I said to myself. And without asking permission, with the same movement by which I had lifted her to her feet, I began passing my lips over her
forehead
, her cheeks, her lips, and stroking her soft, creased neck. She began breathing heavily, struggling and trying to push me
away, to say something. But I didn’t let her talk; I pressed my lips hard against hers, smelling the faint aroma of the cigarette she had recently smoked, and gave her a long, eager kiss, until I felt her hand pulling my hair. “This isn’t right,” she murmured,
trying
to push me gently away. “It doesn’t make sense, it’s just silly.” But I only tightened my embrace, because I knew that if physical contact was broken off now, the magic would be
dispelled
. Nothing had actually happened yet. I had to gather my courage to touch the body itself, to take hold of a few memories for the empty days ahead. I was desperate to hold her round breasts, which I knew were more substantial than any I had ever touched before. With desperate, childish determination I tried to pull off her velvet top, excited by the thought of glimpsing again the map of beauty spots scattered over her pure white shoulders and arms. But my hand, carried away by its own momentum, drove on, seeking a first contact with that beautiful, plump
stomach.
And when I touched it, I was flooded by a strong sensation of pleasure and satisfaction. Between my fingers I felt the glow of a cushion of natural warmth, which I had been seeking for years in order to lay my forehead or cheek upon it and melt the iceberg accumulating within me.

Then, though she had been the one to call me to her, I felt that it was up to me to give her the absolute advantage of the beloved over the lover. I let go of her and with lightning-swift movement took off my shoes and socks, rapidly removed the rest of my clothes, and, indifferent to the cold and before she had time to protest, I stood before her as naked as the day I was born, like a man about to step into a long-sought-after river. I wanted her to see me as I was, and to see that I had no shame before her, so that she could decide whether my love and desire were worthy of her. And despite the astonishment that seized her at the sight of my unfamiliar body, or at my suddenly offering myself to her, I saw her fears dissipate as they were absorbed into her rising
desire
. But she held up her hand in a quick, nervous gesture. “Not here, not here,” she said emphatically, and walked slowly to her mother’s bedroom. There she absentmindedly swept my black crash helmet off the bed, where it had for some reason been
forgotten when we were examining the closets. Then, sunk in reflection, she cast a backward glance at me as I walked naked behind her, and as if afraid that I might try to undress her myself, she raised her hand in a plea which still contained some hidden anger, and said, “No, please, let me.” She sat down on the edge of the bed and slowly and with difficulty removed her long boots, after which she hesitantly and awkwardly undid a few hidden buttons on her unyielding jumpsuit, and began working her head through the narrow opening, emerging flushed, with her hair
disheveled,
still full of deep shame at the situation imposed on her by my sudden nakedness. With a strange obedience, like a good, loyal wife, she took off her bra, removed her panties, and lay down on the bed, resting her head on a cushion that was still covered with the grandmother’s floral cushion cover. Now she was displayed before me like the heavy naked women in art books, posed before baskets of fruit in their dark, shadowy
reproductions
. But the look she sent me was neither submissive nor indifferent. Still perturbed and even angry, as if I were some
inexperienced
young animal, she raised her hand again to warn me: “No scratches or bites.” I bowed my head compliantly, and full of love, I knelt down next to the bed and began to kiss her plump little foot, in which I discovered a dimple like the one on her face. I immediately sensed that these opening kisses were very pleasing to her, but I was afraid that in my eagerness I might come too quickly, and I stopped myself and stood up to remove the glasses from her eyes, and lowered myself carefully onto her, suddenly aware of a coolness in every limb I touched except for that plump, pampered stomach, which radiated a steady, powerful warmth, as if it possessed an independent source of heat. I kissed her again on her mouth, and on her big breasts, and I laid my forehead and cheek on the roundness of her belly. I still had no idea why she had given in to me so easily, but I suddenly felt that she was losing patience with my love games and was not
prepared
to let me dawdle any longer, for a confident hand was already grasping my penis, to guide it to the place that was no less on fire than I was.

She was the fourth woman I had been to bed with, but she was the only one who gave me the feeling that I was guiding a great sailing ship into a deep-water harbor. In contrast to the others, who alarmed me with sudden cries and deep sighs, throughout
our lovemaking she did not utter a single sound; even her
breathing
remained quiet and gentle, as if the surprise at her
acquiescence
blocked any wish for a more intense pleasure. It turned out that this was the first time she had ever cheated on Lazar. This was a fact she felt she had to confide in me the moment she freed herself from my arms and stood up hastily to put on her clothes. I believed her, and in the pride that filled my heart there was also some sadness for what had happened to her. In order to prove to her that she could always trust me, I didn’t go to look for my clothes, which were lying on the floor in the other room, but remained naked, sitting on the bed with my legs crossed. “You’re like that crazy German pilot who went up in a light plane,
penetrated
all the radar screens, and landed in Red Square in
Moscow
,” she said suddenly, with a slightly resentful smile, gathering her hair into a bun on top of her head. “I don’t understand how you succeeded in penetrating the inner sanctum of my
respectable
married life.” Did she really expect an answer from me? I thought as I drew in my head between my shoulders and held my tongue, afraid to say something that she might interpret as
contemptuous
of her and Lazar’s marriage, the beauty of which I had observed at close quarters during our trip and whose secret I had wished to crack by touching her body. She pulled her boots onto her long, slender legs, and when the telephone suddenly rang she said in a matter-of-fact voice, without a trace of anxiety, “That must be Lazar,” and she hurried into the next room. She didn’t shut the door behind her, although she spoke in a very low voice. But I had no desire to overhear their conversation as I sat on a corner of the bed alone and naked, like a fakir leaning against a temple wall, and contemplated the darkness spreading through the bedroom of the old lady who might be sitting and drinking tea in her old-age home at this minute, with no idea of what had just happened on her bed. Then she came back,
stepping
briskly, with her coat on and her face made up. “It wasn’t Lazar,” she said with a serious expression. “It was a friend of my mother’s. You’ll have to be prepared to take calls from her friends, and give them her number at the home. Which I don’t have to give you, since you already know it.”

“But what’s going to happen to us?” I asked in a tone of
despair
, suddenly feeling that there was no heavy gold chain here but only the thinnest of threads, which was liable to snap at any
moment. “Nothing will happen to us,” she answered seriously. “Forget it. It was an episode. You know that it’s total madness for me. There’s no future in it. You can afford it, you’re still free—I can’t. You’re a bachelor, and a bachelor is much more dangerous than a married man.” I kept quiet, because I sensed that whatever she said now had no power, for if I had begun it—only I could end it. But my heart contracted in pain for her, and I couldn’t help reaching out to her. She hesitated, thinking that my lust had overcome me again, and then she gave in and took my hand. “Are you surprised I fell in love with you?” I asked her. She thought for a moment, her head slightly bent at a charming angle, and then said, “Yes. It’s strange and it’s superfluous. Even though I’ve heard of similar things happening to people I know. But you’re so young, really—what do you need a woman like me for? Tell me, aren’t you cold sitting there like that?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to get dressed yet and lose the smell of your body.” She blushed, but the smile didn’t leave her eyes, and she came closer and lightly kissed my eyes and stroked my hair. “If the phone rings now, you don’t have to answer. But if you pick it up by mistake and it’s Lazar, tell him I left a long time ago, and be very careful not to give me away, or we’ll both be in trouble.”

As soon as she left I began to miss her. I unwillingly left the empty bed, and in the darkness that had descended on the
apartment
I went to gather my clothes, still lying in a heap on the carpet, and discovered to my delight, between the roofs and the ugly TV antennas, a modest blue strip of the nearby sea, which I had already given up hope of seeing from here. The fragrance of her perfume lingered on my hands, and I raised them to my face to smell them. The telephone rang, and I knew at once that it was Lazar, looking for his wife. I said to myself, So what, what do I have to fear? I picked up the receiver, and his voice sounded as close and concrete as if he were standing on the other side of the wall. “She’s already left,” I said quickly, before he even asked about her. “So you finished everything you had to do?” he asked. “I think so.” I hesitated, not wanting him to think that from now on they could forget about me completely. “And did she show you that valve you were looking for, or did she forget about it in the end?”

“She forgot about it, of course,” I said with a faint sigh,
laughing
with him at her absentmindedness. He immediately explained to me where to find the valve, which really was hidden in an illogical place. Suddenly I was seized with anxiety. With my free hand I began hurriedly putting on my clothes, as if he could see my nakedness through the telephone. Behind the wall, in the next apartment, there was a sound of footsteps, and a shiver ran through me, as if his ghost were haunting me while his voice kept me talking. Fear and remorse welled up in me for what I had done to him, and I wanted to put the phone down. But Lazar was friendly, and with his natural sensitivity he sensed my
embarrassment
and wanted to calm me. “Tell me the truth,” he dared to ask, “are you angry with me?”

“Angry?” I choked on the word. “Why on earth should I be angry with you?”

“How should I know? Maybe you think I could have
persuaded
Hishin to keep you on in the surgical department. But believe me, I can’t interfere in such matters, and I haven’t got any pull where appointments are concerned.”

“I know, I know.” I hurried to reassure him. “And I’ve never been angry with you. Just the opposite.” But Lazar was not yet satisfied. “Anyway, tomorrow you’ll meet Professor Levine, and he may agree to give you the temporary residency in his
department
.”

“Tomorrow I’m meeting Levine?” I said in astonishment. “Has he recovered at last?” Now it was Lazar’s turn to be surprised. “But how come Dori didn’t tell you? I told her to tell you that you’ve got an appointment to see him tomorrow morning. She forgot that too? What’s the matter with her today?”

And after they have torn to shreds and smashed to smithereens everything that bound them together, the couple makes haste to part from one another, and with the wild leap of an arrow shot from a mighty bow each of them soars into the depths of the radiant void, to retrieve the freedom stolen from them and to prove that they have always been worthy of it. And it has never been so precious as now, with cool breezes swirling around and caressing their wings, guiding the erstwhile pair gently to the place where each of them wishes to be all by itself, and to gain this end they are prepared to forgo the age-old route marked out by the flames of flying dinosaurs, to reject the safety and warmth of migrating flocks crossing oceans with the help of tried and true ancient codes, and to allow chance winds to carry them to a place where they will never meet the mate from whom they have at last succeeded in separating themselves.

From time to time the bird lands to recover its strength, by the side of a river or in a yellow field, dipping its beak into the fresh water, and with tiny steps it circles in an imaginary ring around the mate who was and is no more, delighting in its absolute absence. But still that pale green eye—whether it is male or
female
is impossible to tell—calmly inspects its immediate
surroundings
, to make sure that no one is lurking there to take it by surprise. But there are no surprises, only a peasant plodding heavily between the plowed furrows with a long irrigation pipe on his shoulder, and a little girl in a school uniform with a heavy satchel on her back returning home along a brown footpath. Even if a tiny snake tries to surprise it in the low grass, the snake will be snatched up immediately in an agile beak and disappear.

And so it continues to wander, landing from time to time on a roof or an electricity pole, dipping its head into a fragrant puddle 
to fish up a red worm or a trembling gnat, but all the time it keeps its eyes open, to see if someone who was once part of its soul is flapping its wings on the edge of the horizon. For it still does not believe that solitude has truly been restored to it, and that its dead freedom has been resurrected. And so, when the day fades, despite the heaviness it feels in its wings, it soars strongly up into the sky again, to find a west wind which will carry it to the desert, for only there, it believes, will it be able to find a real refuge. It crosses into the twilight at a low altitude, gliding slowly over the pale emptiness in the red evening light. Then, with the same willpower with which it and its mate tore the mystery that joined them, it goes on flying for hours on end over the absolute darkness, occasionally disturbed by the hot breath of a beast of prey. At midnight, tired and content, it permits itself at long last to plummet to a solitary tree or bush in the heart of the plain, there to passionately embrace the freedom which has been fully restored. But immediately it knows that the gleam which greets it in the midst of the foliage is not a firefly or a splinter of broken glass—it is the open eye of its mate, which has been trying to escape it all day long, with the mystery close
behind
.

Even after the conversation with Lazar was over and the receiver had been replaced on the cradle, my sense of alarm did not fade, for I realized that I had penetrated the intimate nature not only of his wife but also of Lazar himself, who was so deeply attached to her. I also knew that what had just happened between us, even if she really succeeded in keeping it an isolated episode, would not liberate me from her but instead would only increase my attraction to her. My feet were already carrying me, half dressed, back to the bedroom, to throw myself yearningly onto the
love-bed
, which from this moment became my own personal bed, and to imagine my face buried once more in the powerful heat of that solid white stomach. I pulled the uncovered pink comforter which the granny had left me over my head, and in the total darkness I thought sorrowfully about how my chances for
marriage
, which my parents had hoped for, and which I had wanted too, were receding from me. When I woke up a few hours later
and remembered what I had managed to accomplish, my heart flooded with joy. I put the two pairs of keys to the apartment in my pocket and went outside, because I couldn’t contain the sense of wonder by myself and wanted to share it with the reality
outside
of me, which had turned into a wet and empty night. I got onto my motorcycle and rode around the streets for a while, and then I went back to my old apartment, to spend the rest of the night there; and it was a good thing I did, because early in the morning someone from the internal medicine department phoned to summon me to an urgent meeting with Professor Levine. Was it Lazar and Hishin, I wondered, who had urged him out of guilt to lose no time in holding the interview, or was that blood
transfusion
of mine still bothering him, and now that he had
recovered
he was in a hurry to confront me with his arguments? With this in mind, I asked to put the interview off till noon and
decided
to spend the intervening hours in the hospital library,
reading
everything in the medical computer about hepatitis. I also looked up the article by Professor Levine himself, the one I was supposed to have read before leaving for India, which Hishin had forgotten to give me, but it wasn’t there—perhaps Hishin hadn’t brought it back yet. In spite of everything I read in the library that morning, I had no idea what direction Levine’s attack would come from. On a piece of paper I wrote down in clear figures the exact values of the results of the blood tests in Calcutta, which I still knew by heart. If I had wanted to I could have made the results a bit more drastic, in order to justify myself even further, but anything like that was so foreign to my nature that the thought was banished as soon as it appeared. At midday, armed with freshly honed facts, I entered Levine’s office, which looked smaller and gloomier than Hishin’s, perhaps because it was so untidy and crammed with books and papers. To my surprise he greeted me with a friendly smile and locked the door so we would not be disturbed. He rolled his chair to the front of his desk and placed it close to mine, as if he intended not just to talk to me, but to perform an internal examination on me with his own hands.

“I understand, Dr. Rubin,” he began, speaking quietly and so slowly that I had wondered whether he was still under the
influence
of psychiatric drugs—maybe anaphranil—or whether this
was his normal way of speaking, “that we have a patient in
common
.”

“A patient in common?” I repeated, baffled, until I suddenly remembered. “Of course, the granny.”

“The granny?” He looked confused. “Sorry.” I blushed hotly. “I must have been influenced by Mrs. Lazar; I just signed a
contract
with her yesterday to rent her mother’s apartment.” And I burst into a short, embarrassed laugh, which was evidently
superfluous
in his eyes, for he did not join in, or even smile, but began to examine me with curiosity and even concern, as if I had surprised him with some shrewd and practical aspect of my
character
for which he was not prepared. “In any case,” he
continued
, “I spoke to our patient about you this morning, and she appears mostly satisfied with the service you performed for her, just a little anxious about the changes you made in the
medication
I prescribed for her. And while I failed to understand exactly the nature of the changes you wished to make, I reassured her that it was all right. If the new regime recommended by Dr. Rubin helps you, I told her, we’ll all be happy; and if it doesn’t, it’s no tragedy either—as long as he doesn’t intend to give you a sudden blood transfusion, you have nothing to fear from him.” At last a faint smile crossed his face, though he had a somewhat suffering look. I nodded my head with a smile, ignoring the heavy hint about the transfusion, since I was eager to explain why I had wanted to change the old lady’s medication first. But I immediately understood that he wasn’t interested in hearing my thoughts on the question of the medication but wished to go straight to the matter of my candidacy for the position that had become available in his department. First of all, to my surprise, he questioned me about my medical studies in Jerusalem,
especially
the first year, and he even wrote down on a piece of paper details of the general courses I had taken in the natural sciences, chemistry, and physics. Then he questioned me in detail about my experience as a doctor in the army. In the end he asked about the experience I had acquired during the past year in the hospital, both in the operating room and in the surgical ward. And he asked me a number of times why I thought Hishin had chosen the other resident instead of me. I tried to answer all his
questions
not only thoroughly but also openly and honestly, being careful only, despite his attempts to draw me out, not to criticize
Hishin, who I knew was a friend of his in spite of the
competition
between them. But I said nothing about Dr. Nakash’s offer of private work as his assistant, since I didn’t want him to think that I would have anything to distract me. Finally his questions came to an end, and he crossed his hands on his chest and sank into a long and gloomy silence. For a moment he raised his big blue eyes to me as if he were about to say something, but then he changed his mind and lowered his head, pressing his fingertips to his forehead as if in some kind of conflict. I understood that he was hesitating or even embarrassed to broach the subject of the blood transfusion, perhaps because he didn’t want to spoil the good impression I had made on him up to now, especially since I had come with the recommendation of the administrative
director
, who turned a blind eye to his regular absences from work on psychiatric grounds. I felt a burgeoning pity for this bleak,
unhappy
man, who was the same age as Hishin but looked so much older and wearier. I wanted to help him unburden himself of his doubts, and if he attacked me, I would have the opportunity to defend my action, which after my visit to the library seemed to me brilliant in its simplicity. Accordingly, when he seemed about to stand up and put an end to the interview, I said in a soft but self-confident voice, “I’ve been told, Professor Levine, that you have some reservations about the blood transfusion I performed on Lazar’s daughter in India, and I would very much like, if you’re interested and if you still have a little time, to explain what I did.” I saw that I had hit a bull’s-eye. First he blushed; then he recovered, raised his head, and unfolded his hands, his eyes lit up in astonishment at my openness and courage, and he began to speak with a new excitement in his voice. “To tell you the truth, Dr. Rubin, I had decided not to mention the incident, but since you’ve brought it up, I really would like to hear how you justify the blood transfusion you performed over there, which was not only completely unnecessary but also
irresponsible
and perhaps even dangerous.” I had not expected such a vigorous attack, but I resolved to keep calm and continued
quietly
: “But why not a transfusion? There was a real danger of internal hemorrhage. In less than twenty-four hours there were three severe nosebleeds. I also got very poor results on her liver functions. Just a moment—excuse me, have you seen the data?”

“This may come as a surprise to you, Dr. Rubin, but the data
are of no importance whatsoever here,” he replied immediately, in a tone that was beginning to sound threatening. “Of course I’ve seen them. Here they are,” and he whipped a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket and spread it out in front of me. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of the gray Indian paper with the curly logo which I had brought from Calcutta. I wondered where it had disappeared to, and now I knew. Lazar and his wife had kept it to show to their professor friends, to check up on me behind my back and see if my panic in Varanasi was justified. “But why aren’t the data important?” I was no longer calm, and sensed that the attack was about to come from a completely
unexpected
direction. “If there were such high values of liver
damage
, if the transaminases rose to levels of a hundred and eighty and a hundred and fifty-eight, it’s clear that the clotting factors were also impaired. And I’m not even talking about the bilirubin, which reached nearly thirty. So why not strengthen the poor girl with some fresh, safe plasma, from someone as close as her mother, to help her overcome the bleeding? And the fact is, after my transfusion the bleeding stopped.”