A Wall of Light (26 page)

S
ONYA

We left Eli’s building and walked single-file down the garden path to the dark street. “The night is young,” Raya announced. She rarely went to bed before two or three in the morning.

“I’m wiped out,” I said. “I need to head home.”

“How long will you keep me waiting to hear about today?”

“I’ll call you tomorrow. I’ll know more tomorrow, too. But one thing’s certain: I’m moving out, Raya. I can’t go on living with Kostya.”

Raya nodded but didn’t comment. She never interfered in other people’s lives or passed judgment on the decisions they’d made; she was too modest, and she also believed that we were such complicated and stupid creatures, so helpless in the face of both our own impulses and those of the people around us, that none of us really knew what we were doing. It was all a pretense, she said, acting as if we had some sort of plan. She felt that people who went into math knew this, and were looking for escape into a world where everything was allowed, without consequences or danger. In math you didn’t pay a price for promiscuity, lawlessness, the rejection of all you had been taught. Those things were expected.

On the dimly lit street her little green Honda looked like a patient turtle. Lily let herself in the back, even though I was getting off first. My ninth and last drive today, I thought, as Raya took me home. She hugged me hard before I left the car, and I saw that she was crying.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing. PMS, that’s all. You know how emotional I get. This morning I cried because someone’s dog tore up a few violets in the garden downstairs.…”

“I hope you’re not sad for me! I’ve had the happiest day of my life. I don’t care that Eli’s such a weirdo. Who isn’t?”

She sighed. “That’s true enough.”

I turned to the back of the car. “I’m glad we met, Lily. Are you living here now, or is this just a long visit?”

“I don’t know.” She smiled and placed her hand on my shoulder.

I climbed out and waved good-bye as Raya drove off, the way Khalid had waved at me a few hours before. Had it really been only a few hours? It seemed as if several light-years had passed since then. I felt a stab of pain so harsh it was almost physical. Parting was not sweet sorrow. It was sorrow, period.

Kostya opened the door as I came up the walk. He’d heard the car pull up; he must have been waiting impatiently all evening.

“The prodigal daughter is back,” I said.

“So I see,” he replied happily. He didn’t ask any questions; he didn’t want to pry.

I dropped my shoulder bag on the floor and headed for the kitchen. It occurred to me that I had not eaten since breakfast, apart from the little snack at Lorelei’s store. I opened the fridge, took out a bowl of potato knishes.

“I can heat that up for you,” Kostya offered.

“No need, thanks.” He sat down at the table and watched me as I ate the cold knishes. He seemed very relaxed. I’d imagined him tense and worried, but he was neither. He was just happy that I was back.

“I had a good time in Jerusalem. I found Khalid, though I had to get past two walls. The first one was a temporary wall, I climbed over. Look.” I showed him my scraped palm. “The second one was a thing from hell. Even in hell it would stand out. A million feet high, you can’t even see the top. It’s like the Tower of Babel, the successful version, the one that manages to reach God. But I was lucky, it’s still not finished—the door inside the wall wasn’t locked. It doesn’t have a locking mechanism yet. Then a soldier drove me to Khalid’s house. Everyone was nice to me. I love Khalid but I don’t know whether I’ll ever see him again. I don’t know if he slept with me because he felt sorry for me or whether he’s attracted to me.”

“I’m sure he’s attracted to you, Sonya—who wouldn’t be? But he may think it’s too complicated to have a relationship with you.”

“His mother had just died, but he hadn’t done anything about it. I decided to leave because he didn’t seem interested in me and he had to look after her. When I kissed him good-bye he jumped. Why? He says it was because he didn’t want to hurt me.”

“In some cultures kisses are taken more seriously than here.”

“Oh, that’s just ridiculous! Kisses are kisses the world over. It doesn’t matter where you go. I hate all this anthropology. It’s so distancing.”

My brother laughed. “Okay,” he said.

“I left, he came after me, he brought me back in. Maybe he felt bad for me. Why would he want to be with a woman he’d have to learn a whole new language for? A language that takes years to master? Or maybe I’m just not his type. Just because he’s my type doesn’t mean I’m his type, unfortunately. I figured out about Eli on the bus. I had a dream.… Anyway, I figured it out.”

“How did he take it?”

“He was drunk, I’m not sure it really registered. But he was happy. He said he was proud of me. He told me I could stand to lose two or three kilos. He said I sprang fully formed.”

My brother laughed again. He was in a very good mood, for some reason. “You don’t need to lose any weight.”

“I wouldn’t mind being one of those thin, slinky women, but I don’t think it would suit me. You should have told me, Kostya. I almost had sex with Eli! How would you have felt then?”

“Very bad.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why?”

“We were planning to tell you when you were twelve. We figured you’d be old enough then to deal with rejection, if that’s what happened. But then you lost your hearing and we just didn’t have the heart. I’m sorry. Maybe it was the wrong decision.”

“It was. It was the wrong decision. And what about now? Why not tell me now?”

“I don’t know, Sonya. You already had such complicated feelings about men because of what happened. At least, that’s how it seemed to me. I thought knowing about Eli would just make it worse.”

I had finished with the knishes, and I got up to pour myself a glass of grapefruit juice. “What happens when you mix Valium and whiskey?” I asked.

“Depends entirely on the amount,” Kostya said.

I leaned against the counter with the glass in my hand and peered at him. “You should have told me. You were wrong not to tell me. And I want to know who killed Iris, too. Noah and I deserve to know.”

“Kimror or one of his cronies killed her. But you’ll never prove it, Sonya.”

“Kimror! Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. This whole country is being run by thugs. Do you still have the death threats?”

“One was on the phone. One was in writing and it’s in a safe at the bank.”

“She got death threats all the time, though. ‘Thus shall all your enemies perish, O Israel’—remember that one?”

“Yes, but this was different. These two threats specifically warned her to drop that case if she knew what was good for her and her family. She would have sent that entire gang to prison. They’d have been finished in every way.”

“What did they do?”

“Faked intelligence reports, endangered the state. Maybe out of misguided ideology, but more likely to save their arses. They were up to their necks in corruption. Drugs, weapon sales, bribery, forgery—it was a real party.”

“How could you have kept quiet about it all these years!”

“I’m pessimistic, Sonya. I don’t think there’s any point.”

“Do you still have the files?”

“Yes. They’re in the safe along with the letter.”

“I’m going to publicize this. I’m phoning Ella tomorrow.”

“I’m not ready to lose you, too.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! It was a fluke with Iris—people here don’t get killed for that sort of thing. Scandals are exposed every day—I don’t see the corpses of journalists and lawyers lining the streets. Iris was just incredibly unlucky. She shouldn’t have worked alone, for one thing. Is that why you didn’t pursue it? Because you were intimidated?”

“It just didn’t seem worth it. Nothing will change. You get a brief uproar, and then a year later no one remembers and everything goes on as before. The problems are just too deep by now, and too widespread.”

“No wonder nothing changes, with everyone taking that attitude.”

“It’s true. We’re tired out. You know, when I was twelve I wrote an article for
Ha’aretz
, and they published it. I pointed out all the things we were doing wrong and how we should change our approach. I gave this long detailed step-by-step plan for peace. And the amazing thing is that now, over forty-five years later, I wouldn’t have to alter a single word. I’ve given up hoping that there will ever be sanity in this place.”

I sat back down at the table. I was suddenly very tired. “I saw a demonstration today,” I said. “A rabbi was being dragged away on the sidewalk. At least some Israelis are doing something!”

“Yes, and getting shot at in the process.”

“That was only once or twice. Maybe I should get a bit involved.… Do you know the Palestinians think Iris died for them?”

“Yes.”

“I have something else to tell you: I decided that I’m moving out, Kostya. I’m too old to live with my brother.”

“No, no. I’ll move out.”

“This place is too big for me. I’d be lonely here.”

“I suppose we can sell it. The market isn’t great right now, but if we both buy flats it might even out.”

“Have you ever thought of moving in with Tali?”

“Tali won’t even let me see her when she wakes up. I’m only allowed to view her when she’s fixed herself up—though I’ve told her a million times that it doesn’t matter to me. But that’s not the only reason. It wouldn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry. Will you be okay?”

“I’m not sure what I’ll do when I have to tie my shoelaces.”

I yawned. “I have to get to sleep. By the way, I hear you have a date with Lily.” I smiled slyly at him.

“Not a date—I’m taking her to the Cinemathèque library, she wants to do some research.”

“Will Tali mind?”

“I don’t know, Sonya. I’m not a prophet. I don’t know what’s going to happen in the next five minutes, never mind the coming months. Oh, I almost forgot. Someone dropped by with a package for you. One of your students, Matar. I put it on your bed.”

“Matar! He was here?”

“Yes, he showed up around suppertime. He was disappointed that you weren’t here. He left a small box for you.”

“He’s the student I’ve been telling you about. With the eyes.”

“I thought it might be him.”

“Did you notice his eyes?”

“Yes. He reminds me of someone, but I can’t for the life of me remember who.”

“I can’t believe he came here. He’s the one who has a crush on me. They’ve become really strict at the university, I told him that.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” my brother said, looking amused.

“What are you so happy about?”

“I’m just glad you’re back.”

“I’m going to bed. But first I have to send an e-mail.”

I went into the computer room, opened my e-mail and wrote: “I came home safely. Please write only if you want to see me again. If you don’t write, I’ll understand. Love, Sonya.”

I sent the message to Khalid.
Send.
The hopes and dreams and fears contained in that short, flat word printed inside a tiny rectangle on a computer screen.

Then I walked to my bedroom and shut the door. There was a small white cardboard box on the bed. I sat down on the crumpled sheets, the sweet sheets that had held me and Khalid this morning. Inside the box was a delicate hourglass filled with white sand and set in a beautiful blue ceramic holder. A gift from Matar.

He was waiting for me.

If Khalid didn’t contact me, if Khalid didn’t want to see me again, this would be my consolation prize: a few months with Matar. Matar would seduce me—with his charm and youth and beauty he would make me fall in love with him and then he’d tire of me and leave. If I couldn’t have Khalid, I would have a baby, I would have Matar’s baby, and I’d raise my child alone. Matar would take her to the park every now and then, swing her on swings while his wife or girlfriend sat on the bench and watched. The sky would be blue, it would be very sunny; he’d swing her up and down in the baby swing. She’d know who her father was.

I began getting ready for bed. I threw my clothes on the floor; I was too tired to hang them up. Then I pulled a clean pair of pajamas out of my dresser drawer. They were white with blue swans, like the blue swans on Eli’s shower curtain. But suddenly I decided not to put them on. They didn’t belong here in my room, they belonged in a convent, on the body of a woman who had given up entirely. I stuffed them back in the drawer and chose instead a long lace nightgown that had belonged to my mother. I turned off the light and stretched out sleepily in bed. Yes, at least on the surface of things, my future was set clearly before me: the options, the choices, the decisions I’d make. It was all very simple, really.

But underneath, in the tumult of my emotional life, nothing was clear at all.

Edeet Ravel was born on a Marxist kibbutz near the Lebanese border and lived there until she was seven, when her parents returned to their hometown, Montreal. Edeet returned to Israel to study English literature; she also holds an M.A. in creative writing and a Ph.D. in Jewish Studies. Ravel is the author of three interconnected novels about life in Israel:
Ten Thousand Lovers, Look for Me
and
A Wall of Light.
She lives in Guelph, Ontario, with her daughter.