The next thing that happened was happiness. It crept up on me then, for a short while. Mornings he cooked eggs, and I didn’t have to remind him how I liked them. Evenings we talked and talked, letting words linger and thoughts carry their weight. Maybe this is love, I thought: losing the need to escape.
Then, two weeks in, I woke up one morning and my heart was beating hard. Phil was snoring peacefully in my bed. I shook him and said How did you find me. He said he called the paper, got hold of Dolly P., paid her to give him my address.
I said, Dolly P. doesn’t need money.
He said, I never said how I paid her.
I said, There’s an agenda, then, Phil. What’s the agenda?
Sure took you long, darling, he said. I was waiting for you to ask.
* * *
This was Phil’s idea: we create another time-stop. I thought he was being ridiculous, and that’s what I said. He said, Bambi, don’t play with me. I said, Don’t call me that if we’re not really a couple, if you’re only here to get results. I was getting dressed now. He was watching me with sex in his eyes, saying nice things about my body, but it takes more than that with me. I said, Phil, you stop this and you stop this right now. I’m leaving — four hours is what you’ve got. The apartment is yours, use anything, call anyone. Make a proposal, a presentation, a pitch. It’s business now is what it is, I said; you and I are done. When I’m back, you get one shot. You talk, I listen, I make up my mind and that’s it.
I hoped he would say Bambi, what do you mean we’re done, forget this nonsense and come over here. What he said instead was Okay. He seemed ready, up for the task. I went to the park and sat on a bench. I tried to figure out how much he knew. Four hours is a very long time when you feel cheated.
What this man put together was remarkable. The photographs were what really got me: me, all over my apartment, blown up to a size a woman should never see herself in. Me, huge, in prison; me, huge, in Ashdod, the Israeli town linked to the whole bruchtussis fiasco; and the one that made me nauseated, me, even bigger, escaping. I said, How. That’s all I could say, and I said it a few times. Phil was waiting, letting me take it all in.
Eventually he said, To save time, let’s skip the bullshit. I know how you escaped from jail. I know everything, so let’s not play here.
I hoped he was talking about Dolly P., about the pickup she got for me, the guard she bribed. But Phil’s voice was telling a different story.
He said, It’s maximum-security, Bamb, the best in the country. You really think I’d buy the bribe story and stop looking? Then he said, The bribe was only a decoy, right? I bet you didn’t even need it. You just wanted the cops to find something when they came looking, so no one would find out you stopped time to get out. Right?
It was exactly right.
Did my feelings cloud my judgment? Sure. When you love a man, it isn’t some fanatical presentation that sways you; I was still hoping there was feeling at the bottom of things. But all in all I believe I had very little choice. This man had a map of my world.
Bambi, he said, I want you to do what you did in ’91. I said, I can’t, it’s not something I control. He said Bullshit. I said Phil, it really isn’t. It’s a power that comes over me, that came over me then, not something I can summon. He said, You sure “summoned” it when you wanted your freedom back. The word summoned came out sarcastic and mean — meaner, I thought, than he’d intended.
I wanted him to understand. I said Phil, please listen now. One day in jail, I got this sensation. It wasn’t the first time, it’s been coming and going since I was very young, but I never knew what to do with it. It always starts with this slow internal tremble, and then my brain begins to feel like copper, and I know that if I tilt it to one side and concentrate it can float, it can do things. In prison, I couldn’t stop thinking about my cat. I had a cat then, Keyvan, and every time I closed my eyes I would see Keyvan passed out, or trying to drink water from the toilet to stay alive. I needed to get to him. Then I talked to Dolly P. The bribe was like you said, but the rest was backup — I didn’t know what would actually happen. And then when it did happen, it was as mundane as buying tomatoes. I tilted my head, and everything froze — the world froze. It was almost disappointing, how easy it was, the opposite of magic. But Phil — once I was out, people were moving again, and my brain just felt like a normal brain. And I’ve never had that sensation since. All right? Do you understand?
He was quiet the whole time I talked, listening intently. Then he said, You simply let it go once you were out. It was a choice. I said, Maybe, but it didn’t feel that way. He said, For our purposes, it doesn’t even matter; you let it go, it let go of you, whatever. Time had already stopped. You started something, but the world had the last say.
Phil’s features softened suddenly. He took my hand, and I let him. Bambi, he said, you’re so naïve. What about 2001? I asked. Did I do that, too? It was one of those things I’d always suspected but never let myself know. Phil smiled. It took me quite a while to figure that out, he said, but it doesn’t matter now. You can stop time, Bambi, that’s the important thing. And you’re going to do it again, for me.
* * *
We spent the next few days discussing the plan. The first thing I wanted to know was why, why he wanted this, and Phil talked about “doing it right this time.” There are opportunities, great fiscal opportunities in a time-stop, he said, and we were stupid then, in 2001, just staying in bed and having sex. He said “having sex” like it was the worst thing you could do with your time.
Once time stops, Phil said, waiting as much as possible is key. People grow so desperate that they forget how to hope, he said. They forget how passing time feels, and then there’s so much more we can do for them. He talked about banking all the energy that the world saves, and the ways in which we could capitalize on that energy. Time capsules were one. Selling dreams was another. He was excited. It seemed like I wasn’t getting the whole story, but I didn’t know what part was missing.
An Intervaclass="underline" 1982, a Memory
There is a moment I remember well. I was twelve years old, discovering for the first time that desire made the air thinner. I was running in a field. This was in Israel, a field on the outskirts of the town where I grew up. It was wartime, but the kind of war not too many people cared about. Also in the field: boys and girls I went to school with, a bonfire. My clothes were all stripes: gray and black, a matching skirt and top I had gotten the day before. This is what I heard: a boy I loved, who had broken my heart a few weeks earlier, was now jealous because I had a new boyfriend, a decoy boyfriend, a boy I never wanted. The two of them were trying to figure out who had the moral obligation to step back. Other boys were there to supervise, make sure things didn’t escalate to a fight. This is what I learned: boys think that life is a call they get to make. This is why I started running: overturning this boy’s rejection made me feel too powerful, like life was a call I got to make. The smoke in the air from the bonfire got in my lungs, and I thought I would run forever.
2011, Part 2: Hope
I tried many times and nothing happened, but Phil never worried. He believed that it was only a question of time, that I’d get it eventually. He said rumors in the street had already started, which showed that my brain was releasing some kind of substance, just like in ’91. More than anything, he wanted me to believe in my power.
Every few days I’d try again, and fail again. It was clear what the problem was — there was nothing at stake. I knew that hurt Phil’s feelings, because it showed him his goals were not my goals. But he never complained. He had enough patience and confidence for both of us.