A Wall of Light (25 page)

“The things people think are rude,” Raya said, shaking her head.

“It’s your cozy apartment, Raya,” I said, switching to English for Lily’s sake. “There’s something irresistible about it. What a strange day I’ve had! I feel like Alice in Wonderland. I saw the wall today, by the way.”

“The
wall. The wall
used to refer to the Wailing Wall!” Raya exclaimed.

“Well, I did wail! At least I felt like wailing when I saw it.”

“How did you get through?”

“I just said ‘open sesame’ and the door magically opened.…”

“You’re charmed, Sonya. Does anyone want the coffee, by the way?”

We shook our heads. “I hope Eli’s okay,” I said.

“He seems fine,” Lily answered in Hebrew. “I used to have one of his books on my reading list, you know. He’s such an original thinker.”

Raya looked unconvinced as she translated for me.

“It’s funny,” Lily continued. “You read someone, and they seem so … together. They seem to have their act together, to be so sharp and clear. And you’re sure that when you meet them, they’ll have this wise, organized life.”

“It’s easier to see things than to do them,” Raya said. “It’s harder to do things, and it takes more damned courage—something Eli’s never had!”

“Raya, please don’t hate him.”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just that he’s so obnoxious!”

“He’s very charming,” Lily said. “Even drunk, it showed through.”

“I guess we can go,” I said. “I just want to leave a note.”

I tore a sheet out of my notebook and wrote in big letters,
Eli, please contact me. I want to meet and talk. Your loving daughter, Sonya.
I placed it on the kitchen table.

Then we left.

N
OAH’S DIARY
, C
HRISTMAS
, 1992.

B
erlin. Snow, Christmas lights everywhere. Marion’s away and I’m feeling a bit lost without her. Not literally, the way I was at the start, because I have a handle on the city now. But in every other way. Especially because I’m not sure she’s coming back.

At first everything was great. We saw a play every three days, went to a gallery every two days, walked around nonstop—I just felt I had to catch up, somehow. Marion’s been here twice before so that helped a lot, plus her German’s not bad. In the beginning it was hard admitting to myself how inferior and backwater I felt in this place. Then I stopped being defensive and started enjoying myself.

The school is great. I don’t know how they accepted me, my portfolio wasn’t that good, but they felt I had potential, I guess. In the beginning, the first week or two, I saw what the other students were doing and I got all depressed, my stuff was pretty pathetic in comparison. But I’m much better now. I feel really inspired, ideas come to me in the middle of the night or while I’m brushing my teeth or taking out the garbage. The hardest part is German, though everyone speaks some English, too. If only I had Sonya’s brain! Luckily I picked up a bit of Yiddish over the years, God knows where. Maybe from Rabbi Spiro, our fourth- and fifth-grade math teacher.
“Yosseleh, gey shoyn aroys fun tsimer!”
We used to laugh so hard at him, imitating his Yiddish all the time. Little did I think how handy it would come in one day. The only thing I still can’t get used to is saying
“platz.”

I’ve stopped having Holocaust creep-out moments. At first I had them a lot, which I never expected. Our second day here we were at this café, surrounded by all these bohemian arty types, very cool. It was so relaxed and nice, the coffee was fantastic, then suddenly I hear someone yelling
“Schnell, schnell!”
I almost had a heart attack. I never knew I had Holocaust phobia! Another time this guy on Roller Blades, who looked exactly like one of those Hitler Youth guys in the movies, ran into me and knocked me over. He felt terrible about it, he literally lifted me up from the sidewalk, brushed me off, couldn’t stop apologizing. He was ready to put me in his will or offer me his kidney or something. But that second when he ran into me, I had this crazy panic—anyway, all that’s passed now. I’m thrilled that no one knows anything about Israel here. The conflict isn’t on anyone’s mind and most people probably couldn’t find Israel on a map. What a nice break. The janitor of our building asked me, when I said I was from Tel Aviv,
“Sind die Palästinenser jüdisch?”
I was so happy, I kept repeating this wonderful question to myself all day.

Oren was here for three days, he and his new wife did a detour on their honeymoon to visit me. She’s not my type. She sat there the whole time talking about her pregnancy, morning sickness, ankle problems, and God knows what—I thought I would die of boredom before the evening was up. Finally, though, she went to sleep and Oren and I went out for a drink. Oren’s back in Israel, setting up this high-tech company with some friends. He wants me to study computer graphics and come in with them eventually.

I said maybe, but I doubt I’ll leave here anytime soon, or if I do it will be to see some other parts of Europe. It’s the art, he doesn’t understand that about me. I guess I never understood that myself. But now that I have it I don’t think I could live without it. The art scene at home is okay but it’s just too small—there’s an entire world out here that I need to be connected to. Of course there are a million problems here—the economy, social problems, racism—the unification is still causing a lot of headaches and disagreements. There are definitely things here I’m not crazy about. The people I can’t stand in Israel are bearable. I mean I hate them but they’re familiar, I can cope with them. But the people I can’t stand here I can’t deal with at all, like this student who walks around with a rat on her shoulder. I actually know her schedule so I can avoid her. That’s just one example, though. There are old people, too, very stiff and sort of fascist looking.… I’m more aware here of having to be selective about who I hang out with. Then there’s the fact that everyone speaks German (or Turkish or whatever) and not Hebrew for some reason ha ha. Every now and then I suddenly hear Hebrew, some Israelis are talking in the lobby of the concert hall or on the bus, and I think I’m going to pass out with longing.

Now that I have some distance I can see a lot of things about Israel I didn’t see before. War keeps you in a time warp, in my opinion. The rest of the world progresses and you’re still stuck in some endless eternal fucking conflict about nothing which is never going to end, ever, it just goes on and on in circles like that poem, “The Kermess,” that Gran used to read about dancers going round and around. That’s what we’re like. Or like those people at the end of that Bergman movie, all stuck to each other. And we can’t get out of it because we’re in that warp. We think that’s what’s important in life, hanging on to some settlement or transportation on Saturday or when to turn the fucking
clock
back. No one has the guts to just get up and say, “Enough, let’s stop being idiots, for God’s sake.” But on the other hand, there’s something missing here. I can’t put my finger on it—some sort of sharpness. It’s hard to explain. Some sort of crazy sense of humor that comes from living in a mad place like Israel. A kind of acceptance, like—what’s the point of pretending, I know who you are, and you know who I am. Not taking yourself too seriously, I guess. I don’t know. Maybe no matter which way you choose there’s always a price to pay.

Anyway, the big problem in my life now isn’t where to live, it’s Marion. I love her and I don’t want to lose her. She went to Sweden because her father was having heart surgery, but now every time she calls she changes the date of when she’s coming back. She pretends it’s because of her father, but we both know it isn’t. I suggested that we marry. I really want children, three or four or even five, and so does she. We don’t have a lot of money but we can manage. Marion suggested the exact opposite, that we break up.

It’s true we’ve started fighting a lot and I don’t want to end up like Mom and Dad, fighting every day of their lives practically. It started with Frederick but got on to other things. She didn’t like Frederick coming over all the time, she was jealous. Even though there’s nothing between us. Frederick is really only a friend and he’s lonely, he’s from Poland and doesn’t know anyone. I’m loyal to her and I’d never lie to her. But she says she can’t cope with the stress of living with a guy who’s got all these male admirers constantly drooling over him, and she doesn’t want to be the person to stand in my way. She says it’s a humiliating role and that one day inevitably I’ll resent her and I’ll also give in and betray her. She’s wrong. She’s not in my way, I want things to stay as they are. But on the other hand I have to admit that at school I’m surrounded by temptation. Lots of gay students and they like me. Maybe she’s right. Maybe she can see something I can’t. But I’m ready to make the sacrifice.

That’s what the fight is about: sacrifice. The fight is that she doesn’t want it to be a sacrifice, and my side is that there’s always a sacrifice—what does it matter if it’s where you live or how you spend the evening or what to have for supper or not sleeping with other people? But she says being attracted to men is a whole different category, and you can’t compare it to whether to have spaghetti for supper. I think she’s wrong.

I talk to Dad on the phone around once a week, sometimes more, sometimes I call him just to find out what’s going on in our messed-up country. He and Sonya boss each other around, I think. I don’t know how healthy it is for them to go on living in the same house. Dad told me she’s still absolutely off guys, she refuses to date or have anything to do with them, and also refuses to go into therapy. I feel so sad about that—what if she never gets over what happened and she never knows what it’s like to fall in love, to be with someone you love? I tried to talk to her about it before I left (which Dad was hinting I should do) but she doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with her or with the way she lives. She says when she meets a man she likes who also knows how to sign, she’ll go out with him. She’s very attractive and she has plenty of offers, that’s not the problem. Though the truth is that most guys probably wouldn’t want to get into a serious relationship with a deaf woman. Maybe she knows that and maybe Dad is the one who is in denial. Or maybe he does know and that’s why he schleps her to all sorts of deaf events, but nothing has come of it, she’s only going in order to please him, I can tell. Poor Sonya. Such bad luck. She seems okay, though. Had another article published last week, which made her very happy.

The really sad news is that King Kong died. Sonya called to tell me. We both cried our hearts out over the phone—you’d think we’d lost our entire family in a suicide bomb. But really that dog was special. She said he died peacefully, in her arms.

I think I’m getting too old for a diary. I think this is my last time. Also, Frederick’s coming over in an hour, I have to start getting supper ready. I promised I’d make him Dad’s potato-and-cheese thing. We’ll go out for beer after. There’s so much to do in this place.

L
ETTER TO
A
NDREI
, A
UGUST
6, 1957

D
earest, I don’t know whether I will mail this letter. I have betrayed you. The man who gave us the violin, whose daughter died, he invited me to his apartment, he’s had such a sad life and I have been feeling so lonely, we talked, I told him about you and about my parents … I am filled with remorse but I am not sorry, can you understand? It was impossible to say no, not for either of us, you said I must find someone, that you would never escape they keep such a close eye on you with what you know they would kill you first but I don’t want to find anyone else, I only want you and that’s not the reason for unlike you I have never given up hope and it wasn’t love or anything close just loneliness.… I will write when I can think more clearly I am adrift

L
ETTER FROM
H
EINRICH
, A
UGUST
4, 1957

D
earest Anna, I am so terribly sorry to be writing to you with tragic news, though perhaps you have already read about it in the papers. I am afraid that our dear and beloved Andrei has passed away. He died of pneumonia in his bed at home, at six
P.M.
on Friday, the second of August. I was with him, as were members of his family. It was a peaceful passing. When we were alone he told me to send you his love and he said you made him the happiest he has been in his life. My dear Anna, this is why your letters never reached me. I delayed my return to Vienna in the hope that I could be of some use, and knowing as well that this might be our last chance to be together in this world. There was a state funeral with many speeches singing Andrei’s praises. He really was a special soul and a friend I shall never forget. Giselle and I both send you our deepest heartfelt condolences and I enclose your last letters, which unfortunately were waiting for me when I returned. However, I have sent the sweater on to little Olga. I am sure she will be delighted with it.

Yours very sadly,

Heinrich and Giselle