The English Teacher (29 page)

A police car pulled up beside her and put an end to her daydream. The cop certainly wanted to help, but he had some difficulty locating himself on the English language map, so he suggested she follow him out of the neighborhood, and Rachel had no choice but to accept his help.

She didn't put the light on when she returned to her room. The last rays of the sun grazed the window and burst inside. She lay on the bed and looked at the pictures she'd taken and couldn't but be impressed by the new digital technology. Here's Rashid coming out of the mosque, and here's a short video that she shot when he was putting his shoes on after the prayers, and here he is going to his car and in the background, as if by chance, the might and grandeur of the mosque. Rachel touched the screen and her finger covered his face. She longed for him and wanted him beside her, as it was before Rachel Brooks disappeared, and with her all that she used to have.

A
ND AGAIN SHE WAS STALKING HIM,
and she knew it wasn't right. It's no way to act with the people you love. I should have approached him yesterday, he'll be angry if he knows I followed him like a hunter, and observed him while I was deciding what to do. If he asks, I'll have to tell him I found him and I was waiting for the right moment—if there is such a moment, when two hearts beat as one and the clocks show the same time and the same desire. The morning traffic was sparse, and she kept some distance behind the Toyota until the car was swallowed up in the dark parking space of a gray office building. A smile and five dollars were enough to persuade the security guard to disclose that the effendi wanted his car brought out to the main entrance at four in the afternoon.

Rashid came out to the car that was waiting for him at the door and she wiped the sweat from her brow and stopped drumming on the wheel. He merged into the slow traffic and she latched on to him, following him until he stopped at the front of an old, timeworn café. Rachel overtook the Toyota, stopped around the corner, and hid her face with a scarf. She wandered back and forth for a few moments, and
entered only when she saw him sitting alone at an inner table. She sat in the corner and watched as he drank his coffee. Drops of sweat streamed down her back, ignoring the ceiling fans that were working on full power, and she wiped her hands on the fringes of the tablecloth and waited. There was something familiar about this, unpleasantly so. She's been in situations like this one before. This is not the first time she has taken a seat close to a target and planned her next move. She remembers all the stages, knows how to lead him toward the trap that's waiting for him. Outside, hidden from her eyes and very real, other combatants once lay in ambush and waited for their prey. Not this time, she whispered to herself, the hunting season is over.

She removed the scarf, took a mirror from her handbag, and adjusted her makeup. Old habits weren't forgotten, and she used the mirror to check out the sparse clientele of the café and the few pedestrians outside. Rashid sat with his back to her, and if she were to get up at this point and leave, he could simply carry on with his life as before.

Rachel can't carry on living as before. That's why she's here. She has to get to the bottom of the well she is falling into since the day she left the city on a morning flight. Something inside tells her that only with Rashid can she climb from the depths and reach for the sky again. She knows that in all the things she has done and in all the years that have passed, Rashid has had a place all his own, and now there's a chance to reach out to him, the barriers are down and the way is open. She feels she has the strength to stand before him now, fill in for him what's missing, and help him find the way back to her.

He's still reading the newspaper when she approaches and stands beside him. From above he looks even shorter and there's a round bald patch on his head. This eternity lasts for only a moment, but she still has time to turn around and leave. Eventually he looks up, as if ready
to pay, and his eyes go first to her slim ankles, the fringes of her dress, climbing up to the neckline and the face. He can't be expected to recognize her at once. She sees surprise, the hesitation, the question.

“It's me,” she says. He says nothing and she takes the chair opposite his, sits and waits. The thin gold ring on his finger is the only thing she sees. This is a pointless exercise, she thinks, and she's about to go, and then he says, “
Hello, Rachel,
” and smiles a thin smile, a smile of triumph.

“
Hello, Rashid,
” she says, her eyes still fixed on the ring.

“Yes, that happened too,” he said.

“And is she good for you?”

“As good as she can be.”

“And are you happy?”

“As happy as I can be.”

They fall silent. What else is there to say? She sees his eyes wandering over her face, dropping to her ringless finger, and she wants to tell him this doesn't matter. She doesn't consider the possibility that what burns in her has burnt out in him long ago, because after the distance she has traveled to reach him it all seems to her bright and transparent, as if there's only one way and it's clear what its end will be. She is sure that he is preserving the seed of their love within a hard shell, waiting for water and light that she is bringing with her. This won't be easy, she knows. It's not certain that he's happy to see her. Not right now. He's angry with her for appearing so suddenly, without giving him time to prepare. But all of that will fade away when she tells him what's ready on her tongue and what's been buried in her for so many years. He'll understand that she had no choice, and although she betrayed him she didn't betray her feelings, and he'll forgive her. Not in a moment, not before he hears her out, but he will forgive her, and they will start again.

In the café too there is silence, and she feels they have turned into actors on a stage, trying to play the roles they took on, and reciting the texts they're supposed to remember. There are moments when it seems everything depends on one definitive statement that has been chosen and rehearsed endlessly, practiced in front of the mirror until it can't be improved. It's hard to invent statements like these, harder still to infuse them with the right color and tone, the weight that might make a difference. And she wonders if her journey has come to an end. Suddenly it all seems to her strange and surreal, as if she's looking at herself from another place, from a distant vantage point, and examining what she sees. Who is this strange woman who sits down uninvited at the table of a man who is accustomed to drinking his evening coffee here, alone? Who and what has she left behind to turn up again in the heart of a hostile Arab capital? What does she expect to gain? What is she running away from?

The lightbulb that was hanging on a long lead above him stirred gently in the artificial breeze generated by the fans, and the shadow on his face moved as if scanning him. She knew he was thinking of the journey she had traveled to get to him. God knows how hard it was. God knows how easy it was. That's the way it has to be, the one who abandons is the one who must return.

“I love you,” she said, “and I want you to take me away from here.”

“Where to?”

“To the hill.”

“Like before?”

“Like before.”

“Y
OUR
E
NGLISH HAS I
MPROVED,” SHE TOLD
him as he started the motor.

“Especially when I'm quiet,” he replied, and drew a smile from her.

Rashid drove with confidence and she was glad for the silence between them. When they came to a red light that refused to let them through, he turned to her and smiled. She smiled back at him and sneaked a look at his lap. The car reeked of cigarettes, and even the scented stick hanging from the mirror couldn't hide the smell. Rashid took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and, without offering it to her, lit one for himself and threw the match out of the window. “I've acquired some bad habits,” he said when he saw her look. She put her hand on his and said this was the least of her worries. The wind through the window blew on her face and messed her hair. She gathered it up into a ponytail. “That looks suits you,” he said, and she blushed.

He parked the car at the side of the road. The lights of the city and the antennaes on the summit winked at them as if greeting old friends. “Those are the antennaes you were so eager to see, and this is the road that takes you all the way to the army camp. And if you look carefully,” he said, pointing to the Presidential Palace, which was brightly illuminated, “you can see who's going in and who's coming out.” She didn't respond and clasped her hands together to stop them from shaking. Her heart was beating hard, and she knew her face had turned white in the dark.

“What are you called these days?” he asked, and added, “As if it makes any difference.” She turned to face him. “
Rachel, I
've always been Rachel . . .” she said, and wanted to add something, but he cut her off. “Later,” he said. “Allow me to speak first. When you didn't turn up for school that morning, I asked the school secretary to contact you, but there was no reply. I thought you'd gone out with the dog and been held up, or you'd disappeared on one of your little adventures. In the evening I went to your apartment. I had to wait a long time before one of the residents let me in, and I cursed you for not
giving me a key. Later, I understood why. And I knew something was wrong when I saw the cat curled up on the outdoor mat and I remembered you never used to let him out, because he didn't have the life skills he needed to survive, and you were always telling the story of how you rescued him from the jaws of a dog on the street. He whined and wailed as if he knew me, and stood beside me while I knocked on the door, desperate to return home. I knocked again and called your name, till the neighbor opposite came out and said your car had gone too. I was furious. Whatever had happened to you—I was the one being dumped. The cat touched me with his paw and I did something I never meant to do. I took him with me.

“A few days later they told me at the school that your father had died and you weren't coming back. Barbara wanted to contact you and offer condolences, and she tried the numbers you left, but of course they were no good. She told me she figured you'd run away. She suspected drugs, though she wouldn't have believed it of you, but whatever it was, in the end she realized that you weren't such an innocent after all. ‘She fooled you too?' she asked me.

“I carried on studying and I took lessons from Barbara too, so I knew the day your flat was being cleared and I joined her. Barbara presented the letter that you sent the landlord. Apparently you trusted her stupid innocence so you hoped that she wouldn't figure anything out. The landlord opened the door. I thought you were still in there, in a box. All kinds of ideas go through your head at times like these. Maybe for a moment I wanted this to be what happened—at least I'd know you hadn't abandoned me. I hoped perhaps you had left me a letter, and I wanted to pick up my toothbrush before Barbara inspected the bathroom.

“We packed up your possessions, and I even found one cuff link.
I remember you buying the pair. I threw it away, one of those things that only works in pairs. When we finished up Barbara asked me if I wanted to take the amplifier. ‘You play a bit, don't you?' she asked me, and though I didn't need an amplifier, I thought I might as well take it. I also took your album of dried flowers, which gave you the excuse to go to places all over our country. It surprised me that you left that behind but took your electric guitar with you to your father's funeral—”

She interrupted him: “My father died last week. I buried him in London and came back to you.” He said he was sorry to hear this, and she suspected he didn't believe her.

“On your birthday I tried to play something that would remind me of you. The amplifier wasn't working and I dismantled it to see if I could fix it. Something about it looked strange to me and I compared it with the small amp that I have at home. Even today it's hard to imagine your technical staff making mistakes like that, but the fact is they did. One of the unfamiliar components was marked with the logo of Israel Aeronautical Industries. And then I understood it all. The extra weight. The fact that you never really enjoyed playing and hardly knew anything about music. I took out the component and smashed it.