Amatzia the vacillator was the last one out, and a second later he came back in, pointed to the floor and said: but what about the puzzle? Who’ll solve it? An unsolved crossword puzzle is not good! Then he turned on his heel and went out.
Nava gave a quick look to make sure he wasn’t coming back this time, and said, I can see that you just went through an unpleasant experience. Yes, I admitted. Her eyes were soft and understanding, and for the first time since I started volunteering at the club, I felt that I could share something important with her. That I wanted to. I think they’re especially sensitive now because of the tension all around us, in the country, she said, and her look went back to being professional and cold. And also, maybe you’re having a problem with limits. But I suggest we talk about it during our training session, OK?
OK. No problem. Of course. I understand.
The window of opportunity closed. I was left alone in the room. I picked up the crossword and tried to fold it, but all I did was tear it some more. There was nothing I could do. I had to throw it away and make a new one for next week. Not that anyone would come to do a puzzle next week. All of them know now that the student from the crossword puzzle group is crazy. He should be a member of this club, not an instructor. Gideon’s words pounded at my temples. Maybe he’s right. What actually is the difference between me and them? Everything they feel, I feel, only at a slightly lower volume. I’m like Dan, shifting back and forth between elation and depression. I’m like Amatzia the vacillator, who’s always thinking one thing and its opposite at the same time. And I’m like Shmuel, feeling Noa’s sun, on her bad days at Bezalel, radiating beams that pierce my skin and burn me on the inside. Like them, I’ve been displaced, a man without roots, pretending to be confident but swept away with every wind. A thin line separates me from them, and I’ve crossed that one too. In basic training. If Modi hadn’t been there to save me, I would’ve ended up on the army shrink’s sofa, and who knows, I might’ve wound up here, a member of the Helping Hand Club.
I took the drawing pins off the board, and for a minute, I wanted to press them between my hands till they bled, but I put them and the Scotch tape into my bag and thought: what the hell am I going to do for the two hours until the training session? How do I go out of this room now and look those people in the eye? Shmuel will probably want to talk, and he won’t remember my name again. He’ll comb his hair from side to side again and complain about how full of pain I am and how bad that makes him feel. No. I won’t be able to take it standing up. Or sitting down. It’s too much for me. Much too much. I have to get out of here. Fast. Wait a second, the voice of reason flickered. If you go now without waiting for the training session, you can forget about a recommendation from Nava at the end of the year. How can she recommend someone who can’t cope? Fuck coping, a different voice answered. There’s no chance she’ll recommend me anyway, in light of the darkness between us. And besides, who wants to be a psychologist? My image wants it, all the girls I’ve known who always told me I should be a psychologist want it. But do I really want it? The only thing I want to do, that I have to do, is leave. Now.
I took my bag, left the room, ignored Nava’s raised eyebrow and Shmuel the Cracked, who was coming over to me. I didn’t answer Ronen and Chanit, who’d stopped their flirting for a minute and called out to me. I signalled a quick no with my hand to Joe, who was on his way over to me with a draught board. I went up the steps and made way for Gideon, who was just coming back from the bathroom and ignored me as if the fight we’d had was all in my head. And maybe it was? Maybe I hallucinated the whole thing? I thought, and felt a slight dizziness that threatened to toss me down the steps, but I kept climbing, stopped to breathe, leaned on the right-hand wall, leaned on the left-hand wall, until I was out in the open air, in the deserted park, and started running down the street, running, running, not knowing where.
*
And these are troubled times. In Lebanon, cannon blasts resound. At Ben Gurion airport, there are no tourists to be found. Agricultural projects have been halted and cucumbers tremble in the cold. Abu Dhabi has broken off diplomatic relations (please Abu Dhabi, take us back into the fold). Jerusalem is celebrating its three thousandth anniversary, but no one comes to the celebration. The suits, who can’t agree on a date for the elections, can barely hide their frustration. A Jordanian couple who named their son Rabin flee to Israel to escape their countrymen’s ire. An unemployed man attacks a social worker with an axe. Children dream about terrorist attacks. And on the bridge to Mevasseret, a white cloud of thought appears, large and clear: for a minute, only a minute, it seemed that things could have been different here.
*
I held the letter that came for Amir and Noa, but I didn’t want to throw it to them through the hole. I wanted to listen.
And we have to throw out that picture, Noa said. I could finally hear her clearly.
What’s your problem with that picture? Amir asked her. His voice was strange. Different from the voice I know. Shakier.
It drags us both down, Noa said. It’s like the nymph of grief enticing us to drown.
Come on, Noa, a man is sitting on a bed and looking out the window. Where do you see drowning here? Amir said, and his voice moved away a little. I pictured them standing in front of the picture with their hands on their hips.
Look at his shoulders, Noa said. Look at how they’re drooping. And the hands are so heavy. He isn’t even looking at us. He’s looking out. That’s why you hold on to this picture, because he always wants to be outside, like you.
He doesn’t want to be outside, Noa, he misses something.
Do you miss something too?
Always.
What do you miss now?
You.
I miss you too, Amir.
But I’m here.
No, I miss the way you were before we moved to this apartment.
How was I?
I don’t know, Noa said. Rounder. I imagined that there was a big, warm circle in your body.
Sorry to disappoint you, but I also have corners. When people tell me I’m crazy, I can’t help it, but I just can’t round off the corners of that.
*
I covered the hole and leaned against the wall. What happened to the way they were yelling before? How can they suddenly be talking to each other so nicely, suddenly so understanding. I never had a conversation like that with Moshe. He misses her, she misses him. So what’s their problem? And who said he’s crazy? And why were they smashing glass half an hour ago?
I uncovered the hole again. I know it’s not nice, but I couldn’t control myself.
*
And what about you? Why don’t you dance any more? Amir asked.
But I do.
When?
When you’re not home.
Why? Do I bother you?
No, I just have more room when you’re not here.
But you have an aerodynamic build.
God, Amir, it’s not physical. It’s more of a feeling.
So maybe I’ll leave, and you’ll have lots or room. Endless room.
Do you see how you always want to take off?
OK.
That last ‘OK’ of Amir’s was a killer, and I was waiting for the action to start again, for them to yell and break glasses and plates. The question even crossed my mind what would happen if Noa leaves and Amir stays in the apartment alone, and his landlady goes to comfort him, and that made me angry at myself. Enough, Sima, what’s wrong with you, and I covered the hole in the wall once and for all and went to the kitchen to load the dishwasher and wash the sink, but I had one ear cocked to hear what was happening on the other side of the wall. They talked for another few minutes, first him, then her, then him. Then it was quiet, as if they’d left the house. But the door didn’t open and I didn’t hear footsteps on the tiles. And then, a few minutes later, I heard those sounds that Noa makes, the ones that give me a twinge down below, and I started to picture them lying in bed together, his long white body on hers, hiding it. Or maybe she’s lying on top of him, leaning on his strong shoulders, kissing his completely hairless chest, the kind of smooth chest I love. And maybe he’s lying on her back — who knows what those two could be doing — maybe he’s lying on her back, holding on to her hips, those narrow hips of hers, and …