The Remains of Love (22 page)

This woman for example, who calls herself Izdarechet, at this moment living completely alone in a remote village in the Ukraine, and waiting long days for an invitation to see the little girl allocated to her, and all her friends are sending her messages of encouragement and hope, although they have never met her, telling her about their experiences, about listless, dispirited children who came to life, a new light in their eyes, and all at once her mother’s arid words take on a disturbing substance, yes, this is possible, it lies within the scope of reality, which is the reality of her new brothers and sisters, in this fellowship to which she now belongs, these people who have clasped an abandoned child to their bosom, even if most of them are younger than her, even if most of them have no children of their own, they understand her heartache, and she’s so absorbed in reading that she doesn’t notice the darkness coming down, or his entry into the house, until he approaches her, standing in the doorway of her study, in shorts that expose powerful legs and a faded T-shirt; he always puts on the first thing he finds in the wardrobe, deliberately downplaying his appearance but still managing to look stylish.

I see you’re finally going back to your thesis, he smiles at her with satisfaction, it really is about time, and she hastily turns the screen off. I’ve got a million exam papers to mark first, she mumbles, I’m fed up with this burden at the end of every year. If you’d stayed at the university your teaching assistants would be marking the exams for you, he reminds her, you’ve got to go back there, unbelievable the way you let that mistake destroy your career, and she protests, that’s enough, Gideon, it’s over, I’ve no prospect of going back to the university.

I’m sure you could if you wanted to, he persists, you don’t value yourself highly enough, as soon as you have your doctorate they’ll be running after you, and she grins, I don’t doubt it, but in the meantime do you feel like eating out tonight? Nitzan’s sleeping over at Tamar’s, and he says, I know, I just spoke to her, and immediately he adds, I’m really not in the mood for going out, and she rises from her seat unsurprised, this is the normal response, fine, so I’ll fix something for us here. A surge of vitality rises in her, she must succeed tonight in drawing him into her still hazy scheme; the beginning is unclear but the end is love.

Optimistically, she puts a bottle of white wine in the fridge to cool and slices green vegetables, she’ll serve cold yoghurt soup, appropriate in the current temperature, and omelette well seasoned with herbs, he likes simple food, as does she, and this time she won’t be upset by Nitzan’s absence, since he is the only one she needs this evening, his agreement to breathe new life into their little family, to give it taste and hope, and when he comes into the kitchen the upper half of his body is bare and she notices for a moment how much he’s aged, greying tufts of hair on his chest, and his attractive full lips have thinned a little recently, but she won’t let this trouble her just now, and the child won’t mind either, better a middle-aged father than no father at all, and he inspects her with an air of satisfaction, a little patronising, you look so much better, he says, I’ve been telling you for years to get to grips with your thesis, I knew it would do you good, and again she’s surprised to hear he’s been looking at her at all, even if his conclusions are completely wrong.

With a thin smile she sets the slightly rickety wooden table on their balcony, an evening breeze from the hills wafts into her face with a conciliatory touch, lending significance to every movement, as it seems to her this very night she has conceived, by the power of thought and desire alone, and therefore this night is different from all other nights, the spirit of God hovers over it, and she pours wine into the glasses, ladles the yoghurt soup into dishes and slices bread. She loves to watch him eating, his movements elegant and measured, and Nitzan is the same – unlike her; she still snatches at her food as if she’s having to share it with twenty other children, and now she looks at him pleasurably and asks, so where have you been shooting today?

I was in that hostel for the children of migrant workers, real sweeties they are, and it’s disgraceful the way they’re being treated, and she can’t believe her good luck, it seems this is the signal she’s been waiting for, the green light to broach the subject with him, but how to begin, she hasn’t had time to plan properly, to mould her words into a really persuasive set of arguments. She takes a hasty gulp of wine; her face is drenched in sweat and she wipes it with a red tissue that disintegrates on her cheek and leaves thin red strips behind, resembling scratches.

Gideon, listen, she has to sound rational, responsible, and not flaky and obsessive, the way she probably looks now with her face flushed by sudden heat, and he looks up at her, what’s the problem? he asks, but there’s no curiosity in his face, only fatigue and perhaps a touch of fear of what’s coming, and she smiles tensely, no problem, everything’s fine, I’ve just had a thought, an aspiration I should say, I’ve suddenly realised what we need to do to have a really good life, but she’s already grinding to a halt, as it seems to her that the yoghurt and the carefully sliced vegetables are climbing up her throat and threatening to spew out of her mouth in disgust – what a lame sentence! And evidently she isn’t the only one who has this impression, since he says in a chilly voice, but we’re doing all right, I am anyway, more or less, of course it’s all a matter of expectations, you’re not planning to drag me to a holistic self-help workshop or a Buddhist meditation class or something like that? And she breaks into forced laughter, perish the thought, she hastens to reassure him, although it occurs to her that photographing one variety of unconventional workshop or another is just the kind of original idea that would appeal to him, and he’s probably already regretting the loss of the opportunity.

Listen, Nitzan’s already a big girl, she tries again, but this statement in itself is enough to bring tears to her eyes, as if she had said, Heaven forbid, Nitzan is ill, or worse still, Nitzan is dead, and she continues in a tearful voice, the tissue drenched with her sweat now dabbing at her eyes, and you know how sorry I am we didn’t have another baby, but suddenly I’ve realised perhaps this is for the best, because this enables us to do something even nicer, do you hear?

I’ve always told you one child is quite enough for me, and I’m glad you’ve realised it’s for the best, he nods while she flinches as if she’s been hit, and then she stands up and moves across and sits in his lap, laying her head on his shoulder, needing a comforting touch. You don’t understand, Gideon, she whispers, it’s suddenly clear to me what we need to do. I know this will seem crazy to you at first but when you think about it you’ll see how wonderful it would be for all of us, and he shifts uneasily on the weather-beaten chair, what on earth are you talking about? he asks and for the first time she’s having to confront the explicit words, not the disjointed words floating around in her mother’s room, not the silent words on the computer screen, and she hesitates for a moment and says in a low voice, I want to adopt a child.

What? he roars, or perhaps it only seems that way because his mouth is close to her ear, and immediately she jumps up from his lap, or perhaps he’s the one who pushes her off, and so he’s looking up at her from below, the lenses of his glasses flashing with astonishment, adopt a child? Where did that idea spring from? You’re not normal, Dina, are you kidding me? And she sits down facing him, where has her incisive intellect disappeared to when she needs it most, why can’t she state her case with the same fluency that she deploys when explaining the background to the Spanish expulsions, and she says, listen for a moment, why are you reacting so aggressively, we have only one child and she’s growing up, a few years from now she’ll leave home, and I feel I’ve got a lot more to give, I love being a mother so much, so why not rescue a little child who doesn’t have a home, and rescue ourselves as well, put some meaning into our lives, instead of growing old and empty, don’t you see how wonderful this could be?

Not in the least, he retorts morosely, I don’t need rescuing and I’m sorry to hear you’re so afraid of being left alone with me in the house after Nitzan leaves, you’re just talking bullshit, I don’t know what’s come over you suddenly. It’s nice to know you love being a mother, but when Nitzan grows up that isn’t going to stop, she’ll still need you. All right, I know how much you’ve enjoyed being Nitzan’s mother, but how do you know you’ll love a child who isn’t yours, with all kinds of problems that you’ve never had to cope with? Adoption is a minefield, I’ve heard some real horror stories about adoption, a friend of the son of my editor killed himself not long ago, just eighteen years old, an adoptee from Brazil, you have no idea what kind of hell they went through with him, is that what you want, to turn our lives into hell?

You’re always telling me about suicide cases, she mutters, bemused by this unexpected onslaught, are you trying to plant that idea in my head? She chuckles hurriedly, to show she’s only joking, although the heated conversation is grieving her to the marrow of her bones, and he says, you’re completely crazy, Dina. Obviously I’m not against adoption in certain cases, but you need to know it’s a mad gamble, only people prepared to handle huge problems can take this on themselves, and I know you’re not looking for problems. You’re looking for happiness, he declares bitterly, and you won’t find it there. Take a lover if you’re bored with me, that would be a lot simpler all round, believe me.

How can you say that, she gasps, lips quivering, what do I want with a lover? I want to bring up another child in partnership with you, I want us to be as happy as we were when Nitzan was born, a child means new life, new meaning, especially if this is an orphan who would otherwise stay in a children’s home, and he interrupts her, leave it, Dina, you’re just spouting clichés. You have no idea what’s involved, there are more parents than children in this equation, demand exceeds supply, so don’t kid yourself that you’re rescuing anyone. If you don’t take the child someone else will, hopefully someone who can provide a home in a normal and less dangerous country.

You’re wrong, I would be rescuing, she insists. I believe we have so much to give a child, I’ll rescue him even if someone else would have taken him, we are experienced parents, our economic situation is stable, he’ll have a wonderful sister, and I’ll have plenty of time to devote to him.

When they sack you from the college because you haven’t got your doctorate you’ll have plenty of time, I don’t doubt it, he sneers, but you don’t take on a child to pass the time. I understand people who want to be called Mum or Dad, but you already have a daughter, don’t you see the difference? You’re a mother, and you should be content with that and not want more than you have. You’re just going through a midlife crisis, and in your typical way you’ve chosen a very original direction, so get this into your head, he leans towards her over the empty wine glasses and soup dishes, a kid won’t make you any younger, a kid won’t compensate you for the mistakes you’ve made, you can’t take a poor kid and load him down with crazy expectations which have nothing to do with him. In short, Dina, instead of trying to relive an old happiness that will never return you should come to terms with what you have and see if you can find a focal point in this life as it is, understood?

How can you speak with such finality, she protests, her hand massaging her aching ribs, you’re taking the easy way out, saying I’ve gone mad and you’re not even trying to examine this, and he interrupts her again, there’s nothing to examine, your motives are all screwed up, and you know what, even if they were impeccable, this still wouldn’t suit me. I have enough love in my life, I feel like a father even though my daughter has a life of her own, and I’m not young any more, you’re forgetting I’ll soon be fifty-five and the last thing I’m interested in is running after a child who isn’t mine. Anyway, what would we have in common?

And what do you and I have in common, she wonders, staring with hatred at his lips as he sets out his arguments fluently; it seems to her he’s never before spoken so volubly, and ironically he was better prepared for this conversation than she was, what do you and I have in common, really, and she gets up angrily from her chair, longing to pick up the glasses and dishes and hurl them down into the next door neighbour’s back yard, to hear them shattering on the paving stones, but no, she’s not going to let him break her down that easily. I’m not giving up on this, Gideon, she says, knowing her lips are trembling, the fragments of the paper tissue still clinging to her face. She knows he’s convinced she’s gone out of her mind and there isn’t even a smidgeon of compassion in his heart, I’m going to do this, I can’t let go this time, and he gets up and stands facing her, you need urgent treatment, Dina, you’ve gone completely crazy lately. Don’t go thinking I haven’t noticed it, I just didn’t think it would go this far.

How easy it is for you to accuse us of insanity when our aspirations contradict yours, she declares scornfully, although deep down in her heart she isn’t sure that so many women would actually be standing beside her in this particular case, and he looks at her coldly, you know what? Maybe you’re right, I really shouldn’t be analysing your mental state, so I’ll just tell you what I feel: this does not suit me. I’m not interested now in bringing up a small child, you can’t force this on me.

And to add substance to his unspoken threat he stands up and walks out, in one moment; it seems to her he hasn’t even paused to put a shirt on his bare chest or shoes on his feet, he just disappears in a flash, while she’s carrying the quivering tableware to the sink, leaning over the taps, and she stares at the empty balcony, at the empty chair, she hasn’t even heard the door slam, so perhaps he’s still in the house after all, but what difference does it make, really, the question isn’t, where is Gideon at this moment, but what is she going to do now he’s made his position clear, what will she do with the remains of her love, the remains of her life.