Open Heart (67 page)

“Symphocal is good for children,” I responded quickly, even though it was effective with adults too. “I’ll bring you something better. When are you leaving here? Because I haven’t got the car.” She touched my arm lightly with her fingertips to bring me to my senses. She didn’t have a car either. Someone from the office would take her home, or perhaps Hishin would pick her up, because he wanted to come over and look for some papers Lazar had taken home with him. “So if not here,” I said,
retreating
, “I’ll take it around to your apartment.” And with those words I took the keys out of my pocket, to show her that I was serious.

Upon seeing them, she uttered a strange cry of relief, as if she had been looking for them everywhere, and reached out and snatched the key ring nimbly from my fingers. In spite of her patience with me, in the face of the growing irritation of the other people in the room—and her confidence that my youth would prevent the inquisitive secretary from guessing the nature of our relationship—she wanted to restrain me and draw clear limits, which I immediately showed myself willing to accept, and in spite of my disappointment at having the keys taken away from me, I said good-bye pleasantly and left. Outside, the rain had stopped, but I opened the umbrella anyway. I soon found a pharmacy, where my physician’s card enabled me to obtain a powerful cough medicine from the restricted-medicines cabinet, a drug that Nakash liked to use to nip colds and influenzas in the bud. Although I could have gone back to Dori’s office and left
the cough medicine with her secretary, I felt a strong urge to return to the Lazars’ apartment. Seeing that the lull in the rain was continuing and the radiant, sparkling air was bringing many people out to walk happily in the streets, even though they had to negotiate between the puddles, I decided to continue on my way, taking a shortcut across town and thinking of the letter I would leave for my love along with the medicine. Soon, as if I had been coming home here for years, I could recognize in the white light the distant silvery tops of the trees in the boulevard next to the house, and even though the slot in the Lazars’ mailbox was big enough to accommodate the package, I folded my umbrella and took the elevator to the top floor, knowing that perhaps in doing so I was entering a battle for my love against its most fanatical, if still unknown, opponent.

But he had not yet come home from the army. The door was opened by Einat, with the sound of the washing machine
spinning
in the background. She had come home to do her laundry, and she now stood in the doorway, surprised and even a little alarmed to see me holding the medicine bottle in my hand, not only because she did not know her mother had been ill but also because she had thought that her father’s death would put an end to my relations with the family, not the opposite. Now that her face was so pale and her beauty had faded, I noticed a
resemblance
to Lazar that had not been evident before, as if the painful memory of seeing her father die before her eyes had carved his image secretly on her face. She was sloppily dressed in a greenish sweater and a pair of jeans that were too big for her. When she took the bottle hesitantly from my hand, careful not to touch me, I was afraid that in her distraction she was liable to send me away. I asked her if I could call the hospital. Without a word, still fearful, she showed me the way to the living room, which was now perfectly clean and tidy—no doubt the work of the maid. Einat went into the kitchen and shut the door behind her, ostensibly to give me privacy but actually to quickly finish eating the improvised meal I had interrupted. I phoned the internal medicine ward to ask about the patient whose surgery I had
prevented
at the last minute. Although I didn’t know his name, the
nurse immediately knew who I was talking about, not by the details of his medical condition or his age but by his red hair, which had apparently made an impression on her too. It turned out that he had been returned to the operating room after a heated argument between Professor Levine and Professor Hishin, who had suddenly appeared in the ward and insisted that the operation take place. “So they did it anyway,” I said softly, thinking remorsefully that my excessive anxiety had led to a
renewed
outbreak of the rivalry between the two friends. “Did they mention my name, by any chance?” I asked. “Yes, Dr. Rubin,” said the nurse. “They’re angry with you and with Dr. Vardi for playing hooky.”

“Playing hooky?” I giggled at the use of this childish term. But was there any point in trying to explain my real motives? I put the phone down and went to ask Einat, who was sitting at the kitchen table polishing off a carton of cottage cheese, if I could make another phone call. The kitchen too was clean and tidy, and between the flowered curtains on the big window I saw that it was beginning to rain again. Einat smiled shyly. “What a
question
! As many as you like. Make yourself at home,” she said, and as I turned back to the phone to call Hagit and ask Michaela to come and pick me up here and take me home, she asked if I had time for a cup of coffee before I left.

I was of course happy to accept her offer. In the first place I intended to wait for Michaela to come and pick me up anyway, and, more to the point, I still hoped to see the mistress of the house when she came home. I wanted to try to get to know Einat a little better, and also her soldier brother, who suddenly arrived, soaking wet. Since I had last seen him in the corridor of the internal medicine ward he had exchanged his khaki uniform for the pale gray of the Air Force and his gun for a small, light submachine gun, no doubt thanks to the intervention of
influential
friends of the family, who had succeeded in getting him transferred to a service unit close to home and his widowed mother. Despite his surprise at my presence, which bordered on hostility, I tried to be nice to him. When I told Einat about Michaela’s plans to return to India, it was as if this simple
announcement
transformed her, rousing her from her apathy and even restoring a little of her previous beauty to her delicate face. “I knew it!” she cried enthusiastically, although she also
expressed
some doubt about how much fun it would be to wander around India with a baby. But when I told her that a good friend from London would be accompanying them, she was reassured. A good friend could be a great help. If only she could, she too would gladly join them, but nobody would give her permission to go now, especially after what had happened. It was impossible to tell whether she meant the hepatitis or the death of her father. “You need permission?” I cried in astonishment. “Who from? Your mother? I’ll give you permission.” And although I didn’t say in whose name I was giving her permission, she understood that it was in my capacity as a doctor, and her eyes lit up with a rare, provocative gleam. “And if I get sick again,” she asked, “will you come by yourself to fetch me?”

“You won’t get sick again,” I said confidently, “and if by any chance something does happen to you there, don’t worry. We’ll come to the rescue again. Why do you still want to go there, Einat? Wasn’t the first time enough for you? What draws all of you so much to India?” She was surprised at my question. “I thought Michaela had already infected you with the India bug.”

“Michaela is a lost cause. She’s already half a Hindu herself,” I replied. “That’s why she’s incapable of explaining anything to an outsider like me.” Einat looked at her brother, who was standing in the doorway listening to our conversation and eating a thick slice of bread. Then she bowed her head, trying to meet the
challenge
of finding a convincing explanation for the fascination with India. In a quiet, halting voice she began to formulate her thoughts. “A lot of things are attractive. But the most compelling is the sense of time. Time’s different there—it’s free, open, not harnessed to some goal. Without any pressure. At first you think it’s unreal, and then you discover that it’s the true time, the time that hasn’t been spoiled yet.” When she saw that I had not
succeeded
in understanding the depths of this other sense of time, she added, “Sometimes it seems there that the world’s stopped turning, or even that it never started turning in the first place. And every hour there is enough in itself, and seems final. So nothing ever gets lost.” A faint sneer now crossed her brother’s face, but when he saw that I was nodding my head in profound agreement, he crammed the rest of the bread into his mouth and went to pick up his submachine gun and duffel bag, which were lying in the middle of the living room floor.

But the shrill whistle of the front door bell interrupted him, and he opened the door to his wet, shivering mother, both of whose hands were full—one with a cake box and the other with a shopping bag and a dripping umbrella. Although she knew that her son was due to arrive, she broke into loud cries of joyful surprise and hurried to put down her packages and embrace him as if he had just come home from the wars, forgetting that there were other people present. In the end she gave Einat a quick kiss too and asked her to help her unpack her bag. When at last she turned her attention, with a suspicious smile, to the medicine I had brought her, the bird-cry pierced the air again, and Hishin appeared at the door in a heavy, waterlogged coat and with the old baseball cap once more on his head, carrying another
shopping
bag. He too was glad to see the soldier, slapping him on the shoulder and saiding, “I see we pulled it off” as if he had had a hand in the boy’s transfer. Without asking permission from
anyone
or taking any notice of me, as if I were some kind of ghost, he took off his coat and hurried over to the big desk standing in the corner of the living room. This was apparently the true
purpose
of his visit, for within a few minutes he had succeeded in identifying the documents he was looking for and separating them from the rest of the files and papers. Then he announced to Dori, with a satisfied look, “Now I can rest easy.” A violent attack of coughing prevented her from reacting, and when all her smiles did not succeed in calming the spasms racking her, she picked up my medicine and showed it to Hishin, who said
nothing
except that it was a strong cough medicine favored by Nakash, which did nothing to recommend it to Dori. “Wait, don’t go yet,” she said to her old friend, who showed no signs of intending to leave. “Let’s all have tea.” And after asking Einat to put the electric kettle on and see that the plug wasn’t loose, she went into her bedroom to take off her wet, muddy boots, to which a few autumn leaves were sticking. Hishin finished reading what was written on the label of the bottle and without saying a word sank into an armchair, the files in his hand, still ignoring me pointedly, as if I really had turned into a ghost. During the past month he had grown a little thinner, and there were new lines on his face, which still, in spite of everything that had
happened
, fascinated me. From the bedroom the sound of Dori’s coughing reached us. Hishin stopped reading and listened, a faint
smile crossing his face, as if he did not believe there was an organic cause for her cough. His eyes finally met mine, and he suddenly said in a natural tone of voice, as if he were continuing a conversation that had already begun, “What happened this
afternoon
with Levine? What exactly did you discover that made you phone him from the operating room?” But before I had a chance to answer he silenced me with a rude wave of his hand. “Never mind. Never mind. Don’t start reciting numbers again. I know. You’re right. You’re always right. But for God’s sake, leave Professor Levine out of it. What do you want from him? Why did you call him?”

“I didn’t call him,” I said to defend myself. “I called the ward, and he picked up the phone and told me to send the patient back upstairs.”

“Okay, okay.” Hishin waved his hand again and continued in a harsh voice, “Forget it. But in future leave him alone. He’s having a very rough time at the moment. He’s afraid of his own shadow, let alone the faintest hint of criticism from anybody else, especially you.”

“Me?” A cry of amazement escaped me, which in spite of its genuineness held the knowledge that Levine was now afraid of me. “Yes, you, you,” said Hishin impatiently, even angrily. “What have you got to be surprised about? Ever since the
operation
and what happened, with all the diagnoses flying around, you somehow managed to get stuck inside his head, and he can’t stop thinking about you. So until he calms down, do me a favor and just leave him alone. Don’t talk to him about anything,
medical
or anything else. Just keep out of his way. He’s completely out of control. We had a terrible fight today.”

The excitement that gripped me now was so great that I didn’t know where to begin. Alongside the intense embarrassment Hishin’s words caused me, I also felt pleasure and satisfaction. I should have protested against Hishin’s strange outburst, or at the very least been astonished, but given his serious expression I knew that he’d appreciate it if I held my tongue. We both turned to Dori, who now entered the room still coughing, as if
everything
she had choked back when she was with her clients were now coming out. She had changed and was dressed in a strange assortment of garments: a white embroidered blouse and thick woolen trousers, old slippers on her feet and a muffler around
her neck, as if she did not yet know what to expect from the evening or the people now gathered, who were dear and close to her. I rose from my place, flushed with lust and love, impatient to begin my battle here and now, but I was surrounded by people who were obligated to protect her and send me away. I waited for Michaela to join us, which she soon did, with Shivi in her sling, alert and curious in spite of her long, active day, as if she had already begun the trip to India. Michaela’s great shining eyes scanned the room and looked so penetratingly at Dori that I was afraid she was about to make a public declaration of my love, and suddenly I felt terrified and wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. Einat urged Michaela to sit down and have a cup of tea, but I firmly declined her offer. “Enough. We have to go. Shivi’s been away from home all day, and your mother should be in bed.” I looked at Dori, who broke into a cough again but still obstinately refused any medicine. Einat would not take no for an answer, however, and implored Michaela, almost tearfully, not to leave. Was it only Michaela’s intention to set off for India again that so excited Einat and drew her to my wife, or was it something else? There was something that wrung my heart in the way that Einat took Shivi out of her sling and began
rocking
her in her arms. Michaela was in a quandary. She was
perfectly
willing to accede to Einat’s pleas and sit down for a cup of tea, especially since it would give her an opportunity to satisfy her curiosity about the woman I had made love to twice the night before. But she sensed my agitation and my unwillingness to
remain
at their home. Since she was so happy and satisfied with her preparations for her journey, she decided to be nice to me and gave in to my demand to leave at once. And I was right to insist, for when we got home and I removed Shivi’s diaper, I saw that the long day had left its mark in a red rash between her legs and around her tender little groin. I decided to bathe her myself, and when I had finished getting her ready for bed and Michaela was sunk in a profound reverie in the tub, I picked up the phone and called my parents. It was intolerable that twenty-four hours should have passed since I had issued my challenge to the world, and nobody had yet noticed it.