What transitions? she asks, confused.
The transitions, you know, between me and him, when she comes and goes, back and forth.
Yes, Esti pipes up, that is the most difficult part, the transitions.
That's the paradox, he continues, that because of her absolute honesty she probably has to pursue this lousy situation, because she just cannot be dishonest in her soul, you see, she cannot give up her great love. He stops and chokes down the gall of his words. Look, it's not easy for me to make peace with this, it's hard for me to even think of it, but this love must be worth all the suffering.
It's not suffering, says Esti softly, it's torture-think of how torn she is. Honestly, I can't understand how she takes it.
That's exactly what I'm saying: what she has with him must be worth the suffering for her. And maybe it's me who is the redundant one, he mumbles to himself. But you know her, he adds, she would never take a drastic step that might hurt me-how can I even use the word "hurt"? he sniggers, the bitterness in his mouth tasting like cyanide. It would destroy me. Annihilate me into dust.
In the dense space of the car she feels slightly dizzy, because of the warm streams emitted by the body lying behind her, and because of the inside of that body, which seems to be tearing apart and disgorging its burning contents, and she cannot follow all of Shaul's words. How difficult it must be, she thinks, to live with such a strain. And that is also why being with him always feels so oppressive. She's just so right for him, Shaul groans. Do you see what I'm up against? Esti nods, unable to utter a word-what could she say? What can one say? That's the thing, he whispers, there is something between them that cannot be canceled out or denied. It's as if she were born for him, he says with indescribable effort, and feels contaminated and miserable and yet freed in a way he has never felt before, and he extracts the words from within himself and places them one by one at her feet. Sometimes I think to myself that it was just their bad luck, or even a tragic error of some sort, that she and he did not- Esti lowers her head and silently begs him to take a break and let her breathe. How can he say such things? And how can she sit and listen to them as if nothing had happened? As if she didn't even recognize the words and the pangs and the sting of longing. She lets out a weak, crushed sigh. How could she be acting like Joseph, who de-
nied knowing his brothers even as he yearned to get up and hug them and shout, It's me! And that voice, she listens, it's not at all his normal voice; this slightly reserved, ironic tone is something completely different, from another place. She is almost tempted to shut her eyes to the road: she has perfect pitch, not for music, but for human voices, and with the subtlety of a wine taster she can discern every nuance of tone. His voice is now replete and dark, as he paints for her a distant, wintry place, perhaps a forest covered with a thin layer of frost, a large tree trunk slowly burning in its midst, silently, occasionally making soft crackling sounds of pain.
She becomes more agitated toward him and against him and with him, and knows that she is opening up now in a new place, unfolding to him with the thirst of a student, and even if she does not understand exactly what he is teaching or what the topic of the lesson is, something inside her whispers that she is in the right place, faraway in a school basement, in a dark and vehemently denied little room; only a few believe in its existence, and only they can be drawn to it and are worthy of participating in the class always in session there, at all hours of the day and night, even when not a single student is present.
Tell me, how is it possible, he says-the thought always strikes him in the same way, from the same exact angle and always for the first time-how is it possible to grasp that this woman, my wife, my one and only true love, has not missed a single meeting with the man for the last ten years? Except maybe once or twice a year on her sick days or when there was a family event, a war here and there, trips abroad or out of town-days when she absolutely couldn't go out and maintain her life with him. Shaul deliberately uses that turn of phrase: "maintain her life with him." The words burn every time, but honesty forces him to say them even when he's talking with Esti. He has not believed for a long time that Elisheva was going out only "to meet with him." Because he knew very well that there was something far deeper between them than a mere "meeting," and certainly more than a fleeting sexual encounter-although that undoubtedly does occur almost every day, he notes diligently. After all, they are a normal man and woman, he snickers, and as he speaks those last words, a flame is ignited within him, and for the first time he directs its blaze at another person, and Esti feels it and rushes to protect herself from the sudden violent gust, the likes of which she has never known, as it lunges at her from the fluttering man behind her. She knows she must save herself, but does not know exactly from what, and is not even sure she really wants to be saved and banished this soon from the private master class. She fears that if she does not pull herself together at once, she may not have the strength later on to withstand the strange assault which now attacks her in waves with a kind of impersonal insistence, almost inhuman, or perhaps insufferably human. Practically yelling, she bursts out, I don't understand, Shaul, stop for a minute, I can't grasp anything anymore. I thought for a second that. No, you've got me completely confused. Start over, please.
And now it's a little easier for him. He doesn't know how it happened, but the path seems to have been paved, and all he has to do now is follow it over and over again until it is conquered, and for an instant he even contemplates the possibility that the pleasure of keeping a secret and the pleasure of revealing it are perhaps not so distant from each other. He explains that Elisheva, in her special circumstances, must be very efficient and businesslike because of those transitions. After all, she didn't use to be like that, he smiles forlornly, and Esti nods and sees the dreamy Elisheva of the past, frightened by large department stores, bungling tip calculations in restaurants, standing with a little street map, her brow furrowed, deliberating over which is her right hand; she is filled with longing for Elisheva again, for the days when everyone was still together. Even Shaul had been with them back then, in his own way, of course, kicking out now and then, but at least he was within kicking distance. As he continues talking, she recalls a distant sunny afternoon in her garden, when Tom was little and Shira and Eran were still babies. She sees Shaul and Micah playing ball with them, then forgetting about the little ones and horsing around with each other-Shaul happy as he dribbles the ball with a skill that surprises her and deceives Micah, Elisheva sprawling in a deck chair, full and soft and golden, smiling at him. She had huge sunglasses back then, Esti remembers, like Sophia Loren; she had asked her to go and buy them with her. When she smiles at Shaul, he seems to lose his balance for a second, then raises his arms and links his hands over his head in victory. He snatches up Tom and lifts him onto his shoulders and charges around the lawn with him. His parents and Micah watch Shaul and the boy with a longing that Esti did not understand at the time, and still cannot decipher in all its subtleties. They seemed to be praying for Tom to serve as a kind of appeals court, she now thinks, where they would win Shaul back, or perhaps gain him for the first time.