* * *
How old were you when you moved here, Nadine asks, but she forgets the question mark. She sounds like she’s demanding something of Mia, and, expectedly, Mia asks back, Why? No reason, Nadine says, just curious, and Mia says, Let’s talk later?
Later, while Mia is going over her shots from the day, or that’s what it looks like she’s doing, she suddenly says, I was nineteen, and Nadine doesn’t ask, because she knows what question Mia is answering, but still Mia says — somewhat impatiently, too—When I moved here. You asked me earlier. Nadine nods, tries to think quickly what to ask next. You left school over there to come here? she asks. If she allows even a moment of silence, Mia will announce Back to work, in that voice that’s just an octave too low, the voice of relief.
No, Mia says, I left the army to come here, or really came here because I left the army; I needed to get away. Nadine doesn’t understand, and she instinctively tries to hide it. She’s a pro, there’s a thing that she does with her eyebrows — it’s not a nod, which would feel like a lie, and yet it’s always enough, with the men, to make them believe that she got it, that no explanation is needed. Mia stares at Nadine’s eyebrows.
That’s what kids over there do after high school, she says, become soldiers. Nadine feels heat in her face, she knows she is blushing, although she never blushes, hasn’t blushed probably since fourth grade, but she is blushing now because Mia knew that she didn’t understand, knew that an explanation was needed. And inside her embarrassment she senses a kind of thrill, a thrill she never expected, the thrill of being caught in a lie. There’s a brief pause; what words can follow the word “soldiers”?
So all the kids are recruited, Nadine says finally, girls, too? And Mia nods, says, Yup, keeps nodding. After a few seconds she adds, Women do two years, men three. Oh, Nadine says again. She wants to ask Mia what it means that she “left” the army — how can you leave if you’re recruited, did she escape? But she knows she can’t ask that, and yet she can’t think of anything else to ask, although this silence has an edge to it, the recognition in both of them that this conversation is about to end before it really started.
I need to reload the film, Mia says. Would you mind making some tea?
* * *
Nadine wants to find the joke.
The first line is: A prostitute and a photographer walk into a bar. The punch line is: Tea. She doesn’t have the rest yet, but still she laughs every time. For a few seconds she can think, What is this thing, it’s absurd, it’s funny. And it is, just then, for a short while. It is funny, and she feels relief in her muscles. She can move her neck without feeling the stiffness.
* * *
This happens only once and happens quickly: Nadine gives Mia a massage. Mia is stiff after a long day’s work — Nadine recognizes the stretching of the neck sideways, a thumb searching for pressure points. What comes over Nadine? She doesn’t ask anything. She crosses the room, stands over Mia, who’s sitting on a chair, says Let me help. Does she wait a beat, give Mia a chance to object? Not really. There’s something in Nadine’s fingers that can heal, and when Mia realizes that, feels that, everything may change. So Nadine reaches for her. Mia’s skin is soft, and she smells a bit like detergent, not what Nadine expected, but Nadine can’t focus on that now, only on the knotted bones. She goes deep, could go deeper if Mia let her, but Mia doesn’t relax into her touch, not completely. Mia is quiet. Nadine wants her to moan, is sure she would if she let herself, and she wants to say something, Don’t hold it all in. But she doesn’t. This is borrowed time, she knows, and anything could make it end faster; better not to take risks. Then, for a brief moment: Mia lets go. Her muscles soften in Nadine’s hands, and this sensation makes it hard to remain steady, but she does. She uses her knuckles, rows into Mia, and Mia makes a small sound then, a sigh so low anyone else would have missed it, but Nadine doesn’t, and into this sigh Mia says, You’re good. Does Nadine imagine these words? No, Mia says them, and right after she says them she realizes what she said, her muscles realize what she said. How long does the whole thing last? No more than four or five minutes, probably. Mia gently moves forward, stretches, says Thank you, that was so helpful. Nadine stands there, her hands holding air, looking at Mia’s back.
* * *
Everything/nothing happens once again, she is maybe losing her mind probably losing her mind has probably already lost her mind. Otherwise what is this. Maybe it’s simple a feeling is all maybe just a bit different because it’s a woman maybe a different part in her body flutters maybe the beat of the fluttering is different but is that all that is not all. Everything/nothing is how she thinks of it she has no words not even sound. Everything is right there in your hands but it’s like water so nothing is there in your hands in moments it’s gone and you say was it here? It was here it wasn’t here it was here. One moment here it is I am not making it up not imagining and the next moment is upside down all upside down your hands are empty and you think stop stop stop. But the feelings are so strong so fast so quick they do what they want like: lightning thunder thunder lightning lightning lightning.
* * *
She practices, out loud, before Mia’s next visit.
So — how did you get out of the army…?
Do you ever think about living in Israel again?
You know, I’ve been thinking. Maybe if I could ask you some things, if we talked not just about me, this whole thing would feel less strange, more … balanced.
I think it might be good for the project.
So … have you ever been with a woman?
Or, um, even just attracted to a woman?
Do you think it’s possible to be gay for just one person? Or for just a few?
Because, you know, usually I’m not attracted to women, but sometimes I am.
I’m just not attracted to that many people at all, I guess.
So when I am … it’s kind of powerful sometimes.
* * *
I think I might be in love with you.
* * *
I’ll be gone for a bit, Mia says. I’m going to Israel to shoot. Nadine doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move. This trip was scheduled months ago, Mia says, it’s for another show I’m working on.
* * *
Something in Nadine’s body is twitching — it is gentle like a heartbeat and she doesn’t wish to make it stop, only to locate it, only to touch it. She touches the wrist of her right arm, then the left, then her neck in the place where you feel the swallow. She knows this must look strange to Mia, it is strange, but the thing keeps hopping around in her body, or else she has no idea what’s happening. There is a clear sensation, everywhere and nowhere.
* * *
You feeling okay? Mia asks. Nadine nods, stops searching though the heartbeat doesn’t stop. Mia is looking for her eyes but Nadine keeps looking away. You know, Mia says, I wanted to thank you. Nadine looks right at her now but keeps her face frozen. This project, the other project, it’s about soldiers in Israel, and I’ve been working on it a long time. It’s been dragging. She pauses now, smiles a smile Nadine has seen before but not often. She is so beautiful. Nadine feels the urge to look away but she knows she can’t, not again, not right now. She doesn’t smile back, and she can see Mia’s confusion clearly, what to do with this new Nadine, where has the eager pleaser gone. But she goes on. Our talk the other day helped me, Mia says. It reminded me why I started this project to begin with — the other project, I mean. You don’t have to keep saying “the other project,” Nadine says. Mia ignores her. It’s so normal in Israel, Mia says, the idea of the military, of everyone being part of that military, a country of soldiers. Eighteen-year-old kids getting M16s, being trained, and no one sees how fucked up it is. It’s, like, “What choice do we have,” “we’re surrounded by enemies,” all that stuff. And for years I’ve been wanting to shout: But can you still see? Necessary or not, can you look at it? Because, well, this is all very personal to me. I’m named after a war, did you know that? My name is the initials, in Hebrew, of the Yom Kippur War. My mother was pregnant with me when my father died, so she named me after the war that took him away. Mia pauses now, looks down. But then … I’m not even sure when, but at some point I stopped seeing it, she says. I mean, I grew up there. It’s all so … familiar. The past few years I’d go and shoot and talk to these soldiers, these kids, and I’d leave every time thinking, What did I want to show again? It was like I forgot. But you — you reminded me. I think it was how shocked you seemed at the idea of mandatory service, Mia says, or maybe it was just talking about it; I don’t often talk about it. So thank you, Mia says, for reminding me that when people hear about it for the first time, they’re disturbed. It’s like I have my eyes back on now.