The Remains of Love (37 page)

When the crowd that has thickened around them surges forward and besieges the couple with blessings, he clutches his wife’s hand, come on, he says, there’s nothing else here we should be looking for, and to his surprise she doesn’t argue and doesn’t demand an explanation, sitting beside him in silence in the car that’s still warm, looking straight ahead at the winding road with pursed lips. Has she too realised something this evening of incomparable importance? Even when he says to her a few minutes later, after they’ve arrived at home and relieved the babysitter, I won’t be here tonight, I’ll be staying at my mother’s apartment, she glances at him with a defeated look and doesn’t say a word.

He has never looked at her like this before, as if she were dangerous, and not only he, it seems the entire universe, between the treetops and the stars, between roofs tinted pink by the sun, the windows, the shutters, is peering at her with scores of suspicious eyes, tracking her activities. Even when there’s no one there beside her she’s subject to unrelenting scrutiny, like now, for example, when she’s standing on a chair and reaching up for the top drawer of the cabinet, where she keeps Nitzan’s childhood clothes, and some toys which a child might still enjoy playing with: building blocks and dolls and battered furry animals. One after another they tumble down from the cupboard, a deluge of toys, a cataract of sweet memories, and she sits on the floor, glancing around her again to be sure no one’s there and eagerly emptying the bags, as if it’s in the power of these ancient objects to carry her far away from here, to other days.

Here’s a grey velvet kitten, with a gloomy look on his face; she bought it her as a present for one of the festivals, and together they made up a story about the kitten who lost his mother and nearly died of hunger but then was rescued and taken into their house and became a happy little cat, and they really were convinced his expression had changed for the better too, but the long years of confinement in the cupboard haven’t been kind to him, nor to the other creatures which have lost their vitality, like her in fact, but now she has good news for this hopeless company, a child will be coming soon, a little boy who will cuddle you in his arms, let you sleep in his bed; it’s possible, she talked again today with some people, pleasant voices answered her, explained things in detail, she knows what she has to do and she will do it, the moment she’s confident enough that things will work out, she feels this power, strong and inexorable as the very laws of nature, she feels it passing through her at times, checking her capacity to contain it; is she capable of turning into an unstoppable person?

Meticulously she examines the toys, it seems every one of them is telling her in its own way a simple story of love and intimacy, and that’s what she longs for, love and intimacy, these are her needs and she sees no reason to apologise. There are some who need freedom, achievements, excitement, whereas her need is different, but no less profound, and although at the moment it’s still hard to achieve it, this doesn’t mean the idea is flawed, and she gather the toys in her lap and buries her face in the fur. You are witnesses, she whispers, you are the only witnesses to those days, long days of love and intimacy that I believed would last for ever, and it seems to her they are sighing at her until she hears his cold voice at the end of the sigh, good, I see you’ve decided to clear out the cupboard at last.

Not exactly, she mumbles, dropping the furry animals from her lap, what’s happened? You’re home early, and he sighs again, I don’t feel well, my head hurts, and she gets up hurriedly, have you had enough to drink? Maybe you’re dehydrated, it’s terribly hot today. You’re telling me? he grumbles, I was taking pictures in the valley. On his sweat-soaked T-shirt is the image of a man’s face, and he too is looking at her askance, as if detecting some dangerous illness in her, and she asks, who is that on your T-shirt, and he replies, just a face, I think, stretching it and looking down into the ever more distorted features, while she puts the toys back in the bags. I’m going to the territories this week, he says, I can take that stuff with me and hand it out to the kids.

Come and lie down on the bed, she suggests, I’ll get you a drink of water, and he takes off his shirt, only one pair of eyes staring at her now, and he’s never looked at her like this before, I need a shower first, he says, and she’s shocked, seeing the state of his chest, how thin he’s becoming these days, and she watches him with concern as he disappears into the shower. This is her fault, she’s the one who’s disturbing his peace of mind with her crazy ideas, that’s why he doesn’t feel well, that’s why he isn’t eating, she’s imposed too heavy a burden on her little family and the results haven’t been slow in coming. Nitzan is spending the night somewhere else, and Gideon is getting weaker, they need her more than she realised, need her to be steady and calm so they can live their lives, ignore her in other words, and she ties the laces of the bags and then changes her mind and retrieves the grey velvet kitten, yes, by all means, take it all away, she says to him although he isn’t listening, I have enough for one, and she strips off her clothes and gets into the bed, laying the kitten on the pillow beside her, what a cruel contest this is, Gideon, my need against your need, my happiness against your happiness, what a mistake it was to assume they were identical.

Are you asleep? he asks, stretching out on the bed beside her, his skin smelling of pungent herbal soap, and she lays her head on his chest, talk to me, Gideon, we hardly ever talk, you’re so distant from me, and he grins, I’m distant? I’m always in the same place, you’re the one who’s suddenly changing with this new lunacy of yours, look at yourself objectively for a moment: a radiant and attractive woman, with a successful family, who suddenly needs to bring up another child, just at the age when most people reckon they’re through with the responsibilities of childcare, sometimes I think we need an exorcist to uproot this crazy demon of yours.

Don’t exaggerate, she protests, it’s true it sounds extreme but in the end it’s a simple story, even an ancient one, a woman wants a child, no more and no less, and he straightens up and leans against the wall, taking off his glasses, the question is how far is she prepared to go, this woman who wants a kid, in most cases it’s the degree of the obsession that counts, that’s the difference between sanity and madness. It isn’t every woman who would endanger herself and her family to fulfil this aspiration, and if you don’t even see the danger, it proves there’s something about you that’s fatally flawed.

Of course I see the danger, she says, leaning on the wall beside him, sending out the words without checking them first, but I also see the prospects of happiness, and the danger of giving up I see as well, and he interrupts her, giving up, what are you talking about? How can you mourn for something that doesn’t exist anyway, that you never had? I really don’t understand you.

I did have, she mumbles, that is we had, another child who wasn’t born, have you forgotten him? And he groans, oh Dina, really, why is that relevant? No child you give birth to or adopt can compensate you for what you lost then, it’s twisted logic, can’t you see that? And she protests, why are you choosing such harsh words, that really isn’t what I need now, and he says, sorry, I can’t give you what you need, I’ve already told you, maybe you need a new man and not a new kid.

I don’t need a new man, she hisses angrily, I want you the way we once were, there’s no longer any warmth between us and no intimacy, that’s what I miss, perhaps if we’d been closer I’d have found it easier to give up, and he grins, what is this, cosying up to me this time, are you? You’re always complaining I’m too cold and hard, I can’t be your baby, and I’m sorry about that, but I’ll be very happy if you bring me a bottle of water, and she gets up from the bed and goes to the kitchen in bra and knickers. It’s hopeless, completely hopeless, he’ll never give way on this, and he’s right, from his angle, he can live without her, the threads binding them together are steadily unravelling. When she returns to him he’s lying there with his eyes closed, how vulnerable he looks without his glasses, what does she expect of him, it’s not in his power to give her what she wants, and she sits beside him at the end of the bed, have a drink, she says, how’s your head? And he says, no change, and opens his sunken eyes to her, I’m tired, I don’t have the energy for your dramas, I’ve worked hard all my life and I’m not looking for new challenges now, I’m sorry, if you’re incapable of letting it go we’ll have to separate, and you must decide if it’s really worth your while, dismantling your daughter’s family for the sake of some caprice.

I don’t want to dismantle anything, I want to build, she protests, why do you make everything so negative? Since when has a new child dismantled a family? A child means life and love, but he cuts in at once, no, a child means worry and exhaustion, and that doesn’t suit me now, I want a quiet life, and she mutters, in your grave you’ll have all the quiet you want, I promise you, your approach is so depressing, as if at our age a quiet life is all we have to look forward to, I don’t want to live like that.

So don’t live, he throws back at her, I’m speaking only for myself, this doesn’t oblige you, just don’t force on me extreme changes that don’t suit me, and she counters with, aren’t you forcing your quiet life on me, when that doesn’t suit me? And he says, maybe, but what I want is more conventional, I’m following the natural course of life and you’re the one trying to do something abnormal.

Since when have you been a paragon of normality, she complains, being left with one child isn’t such a normal thing either, and he snaps, why do you think I came home early, I wanted to rest and you’re doing my head in again, there’s no point in talking about this any more, I’m telling you, it isn’t going to happen, and now I need some sleep. She says, wait a moment, let’s agree on something. I’m prepared to let it go, but only after you’ve given it serious consideration. Let’s meet some people who’ve adopted, or just read about it in the blogs, after that you can decide, and he says, Dina, I’m not meeting anyone, I’m not reading anything, I’m not the one who’s agonising about it, I’m not interested, end of, and she clutches his hand, but how can you dismiss outright something so important to me? You owe me this much at least, to look into it before you decide.

Tell me something, he straightens up and sits beside her, pushing her hand away, if I announced I wanted us all to convert to orthodox Judaism, would you agree to that? Would you agree to run a kosher kitchen and cover your hair, move to a religious neighbourhood and teach in a religious college? Would you be prepared to look into it, or would you kill it stone dead? What you’re trying to force on me and Nitzan is much more extreme, don’t you see? I have nothing to look into, do you hear?

How can I help hearing when you’re shouting, she says softly. I really believe I would do that for you, perhaps not all the way, but I’d find some compromise that would allow us to stay together, and he grins at this, well, thanks very much, really, but what kind of a compromise can you make with a kid, be half a dad? A child means absolute commitment, either it’s there or it isn’t, and she says, I believe it is possible to find a solution and that’s precisely what I’m talking about, oy, Gideon, lighten up a bit and come with me along this road, at least let’s look into it together, and again he shoots her a glance of intense hostility. Listen, he yells, waving his arm at her, you’re so detached from reality you don’t understand what people are saying to you, I’m not interested, subject closed, find yourself another partner for this adventure, and he turns on his stomach and pulls the blanket over his head, leaving her without air, without hope, shaking her head this way and that.

Oy, Gideon, she mumbles, I understand you completely, but what’s to become of me, this cold taciturnity of yours is killing me, and she stares resentfully at his coiled body, a heap of lifeless bones; in spite of everything the thought of leaving him has never occurred to her, it seems he’s succeeded in keeping her by his side with precisely calculated measures of frustration and satisfaction, keeping her busy with the effort to extract warmth from his iciness, to identify cracks in his shell, not to miss out on moments of grace, which never depended on her but which he was always happy to share with her, and he manipulated her with the ploy of really not asking for much, just the opportunity to live according to his lights, to sanctify his freedom, expressing himself not in grand gestures but in the very simplest ways.

If he had been warmer and more enthusiastic towards her, she wonders, if he had offered her the delights of married life more generously, would it have been easier for her to give up on the idea of the child? Perhaps so, although it’s always been the notion of the threesome that appealed to her, she and he and the child, the reflection of love, as it was in the early days with little Nitzan, when the warmth that he lavished on the girl rubbed off on her too. Is this the focus of her desire for a child, the need to rekindle his love? No, she says aloud, such things are bonuses and minor ones at that, the focus isn’t there, but in the pulsations of life and the beating of the little heart, that’s what she wants and how can he prevent it, how can he stand between her and her objective. It isn’t logical and it isn’t decent, the Moloch of marriage isn’t supposed to demand such huge sacrifices, sacrifices of life almost, as he’s expecting her to sacrifice for him the child who’s waiting for her in the distance, and if she refuses she’ll be forced to sacrifice their small family. Nitzan will never forgive her, and so she has no choice, she must choose the real and living girl over the little boy she’s dreaming of; there’s only one way open to her and that’s the way of capitulation, not with bitterness but with love she has to capitulate, and not expect anything, as they won’t thank her for it or show any appreciation of her self-denial.