Light Years Page 9

  I was angry with myself for getting tied into knots at the thought of meeting another Israeli. I was annoyed with Payton for being considerate and thinking she could fix everything. But I held my tongue when I saw her face, hopeful, hesitant, and well-meaning. Instead of saying I wasn’t interested, I forced a smile and, with as much enthusiasm as I could fake, said I’d love to meet her.

  By eleven, Payton had finished her reading and turned out her light. I lay in bed listening to her breathe until midnight. I finally got out of bed, pulled on a cotton cardigan, slipped on my shoes, and crept out the door.

  It was past midnight on a weeknight, and while the streets were not deserted, there was enough solitude for me to be able to walk in my boxers and not draw much attention. There was also enough silence for me to be able to think. The rain had stopped, but the roads were still wet and shiny under the streetlights. The trees dripped down on my head and shoulders.

  Everyone said it wasn’t my fault. They still said it. But I knew different. It was the reason I couldn’t bring myself to go anywhere, to meet anyone those last four months. I couldn’t take the responsibility. There were three bombings before I left, and each time I just felt weak with relief because it wasn’t me. I had nothing to do with it. Not my fault.

  But with Dov, it was.

  A butterfly flaps its wings, the saying goes, and a storm breaks over the Caribbean … but what if you were that butterfly? Were you to blame?

  I reached the top of Observatory Hill and sat on the steps of the deserted observatory. I shrugged in the darkness, fighting the urge to weep. He was gone. He was lost forever. Because of me. Because he loved me. How can love be worth that?

  Where did that leave me?

  Where was my home?

  A part of me seriously thought about not going back to Israel. Would I rather stay here and be safe? Could I ever feel at home here? How could I not love Israel best? How could I ever live there again? Payton’s sweet, naive idea that everything works out in the end was hopelessly not enough for me.

  Even though I walked for another hour, avoiding the dripping trees and the metallic silver puddles, I found no answers. Finally I returned to my room, slipped into bed, and pretended to go to sleep.

  Chapter Six

  ISRAEL

  “Come with me Friday night,” Aunt Hen said. “The mayor will be there, and Yair Lapid.” Lapid was a very cute journalist with his own talk show. “It’ll be fun.”

  Dov had been swamped at work. He went to the West Bank for a series of meetings. I thought he would call about dancing again, but a week had already passed. I tried to get Daphna to tell me what Dov had said to Bar about Friday night, but she claimed to know nothing. She did say she thought he seemed interested.

  “Sure, I’ll go,” I said, though I knew I wouldn’t have a good time. But it was better than staying at home watching the news. “What should I wear?”

  Hen smiled. “We’ll go shopping.”

  I smiled back. Shopping with Hen was a distinct and happy pleasure. I had never been offered a cappuccino in a store before. I had also never had the shop assistant pick out the clothes for me, not even giving me the chance to browse around and see what caught my eye. They all knew Hen by name and learned mine, so that by the second visit they greeted me too.

  They thought I was her daughter. She didn’t correct them and neither did I. I felt guilty for a moment, thinking of my mom, but decided we were all pretending here. They pretended they genuinely liked us. We pretended they had our best interests in mind when they suggested a particularly stunning dress. So I let Hen pretend I was her daughter; what difference did it make? I ignored the slight twinge that said maybe it was disloyal.

  Before I came to Tel Aviv, I had a vague guess as to what Hen’s chic wardrobe cost, but once I went shopping with her, I realized how far off I was.

  I began to understand her irritation when one of my young cousins smeared her cashmere-beaded top with their grubby little hands. I started noticing seams and hems and the flow of material. I began to recognize designers and could sometimes tell an imitation from the real thing. I wasn’t sure what good this would do me. As far as I could tell, I would never be able to afford such clothes.

  My mother called and I told her about the party on Friday.

  “I’ll meet Yair Lapid,” I said. “Want an autograph?”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “I was kidding. I would never do something so embarrassing.” Because Hen would kill me, but I didn’t say that.

  “I don’t like this,” my mother said. I could hear the censure in her tone.

  “What?”

  “You’re developing this sort of sarcastic, condescending humor that I hate. Hen is trying to seduce you.” I wondered at her choice of words. Seduce. “I don’t know if this is the best thing for you right now.”

  “What do you mean? Hen is being great to me.”

  “I know.”

  “So what, you want her to be mean to me? To make me feel like this isn’t my home?”

  “Forget I said anything.”

  This was a classic tactic that never failed to annoy me.

  “Fine. You shouldn’t have said anything. So let’s just forget it.”

  A little while afterward, as I cut some tomatoes and cucumbers for my dinner, I realized that this was the first time I’d ever taken Hen’s side over my mother’s. Maybe that was my mother’s point. I scraped the vegetables into a bowl and shrugged in the empty kitchen. My mom was just jealous. I settled on the couch in front of the television, crossed my legs, and clicked on Yair Lapid’s program. I’ll meet him Friday, I thought with satisfaction. I ate my salad.

  The party was at a seafood restaurant on the beach. It was all lit up and sparkling, and I wondered how much this party had cost. There was a huge buffet set up, loaded with food and jungle-sized flower arrangements. There were hunks of glistening meat on kebabs, golden puff pastries stuffed with ground meat and spices, endless bowls of summer salads, fruits, and baskets full of warm crusty bread. I filled a plate and chatted with Hen, but soon she saw someone across the room and hurried to speak with him about an upcoming case. Inevitably I found myself with an empty plate, strolling aimlessly, trying to look like I had some business being there.

  A five-piece band was playing mambos and tangos from one corner, surrounded by lush plants. They were cranking out a saucy beat, but no one was dancing and it seemed like a waste. The volume of the conversation was growing louder as more and more people arrived and loosened up with drinks. I lost track of Hen. There was a huge crowd around Yair Lapid that I wasn’t about to add myself to. Everyone fawned over him, laughing too loudly and adoringly. It seemed undignified. Even though Hen had told me that the mayor was coming, I didn’t know what he looked like. I tried to guess which one of the many men mingling was the mayor, but it was useless and not very entertaining.

  I strolled out to the balcony, figuring I’d wait out the party inconspicuously. As always, I was the youngest person in the room by a good decade. Why did Hen ask me to come with her? Maybe because she didn’t have a date and you just couldn’t walk in alone. Once through the door, however, she didn’t need me. I was pretty miserable. I felt bad that I had been curt with my mom. She knew what her sister was like.

  I was wearing a rust-colored halter top that I had borrowed from Hen. My hair, which Hen insisted I wear down, tickled the middle of my back and blew around my face in the ocean breeze. Hen bought me the pants I wore. Straight and black, they had a fringe of turquoise beads around the ankles that swayed when I walked. They were my payment for coming. Around my throat I wore a matching strand of tiny blue beads which I bought at the same store, even though Hen had offered to pay for them. I took off the necklace and used it to tie back my hair. It wasn’t perfect, but the hair was out of the way. I leaned against the railing and listened to the waves crash.

  It was cold out. But I was alone, and I preferred being cold and alone to being warm and fight
ing to blend in with the potted plants.

  The balcony door opened. I kept my back turned, hoping whoever it was would leave seeing that someone was already out here. But instead, I heard footsteps approaching. I turned in exasperation, ready to ward off any attempt at conversation. Then I saw who it was and I froze.

  “Hi, Maya.”

  “Dov?” For a moment I was confused. Had Daphna told him where to find me? “What are you doing here?”

  “Same thing as you.” He sounded amused. “Trying to escape death by boredom.”

  I laughed, suddenly glad to be out here. He wore a cream-colored linen shirt, and it blew around him, making him look like a hero on the cover of a romance novel.

  “But why?” I asked. “Who dragged you here?”

  “My dad. He runs an advertising company. My mom couldn’t come tonight, so here I am. His date for the night, so to speak.”

  “Sounds familiar.” He joined me at the railing. “I guess it’s against the rules to come to these things alone, huh?” We both faced out, looking at the ocean, resting our elbows on the black metal railing.

  “Guess so,” he said.

  “But then once you’re in the door, forget about it. They don’t need you anymore.” I sounded a lot more bitter than I intended.

  “You came with your aunt?” We were standing close and I could almost feel the heat coming off him. It was hard to pay attention.

  “Yeah,” I finally said. “She lured me here with a shopping trip and Yair Lapid.”

  Dov laughed. “You’re easy. I get to use my dad’s jeep all Saturday. You’ve got to learn to drive a harder bargain.”

  I kicked out a foot so he could see the beads around my ankles. “I’m happy with these, aren’t they adorable?”

  He studied my leg and then looked at me.

  “Precious,” he agreed. “Does that mean you won’t go for a walk on the beach? You might ruin the pants.”

  What the hell, I thought.

  “Easy come, easy go,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  The next day, Dov picked me up in his father’s jeep to go off-roading in some abandoned fields he knew about. I didn’t know anyone else with a four-wheel-drive vehicle. Israel was mostly flat, parking was always tight, and gasoline was expensive. Everyone I knew had a small sedan. It seemed very exotic to be in a jeep, like we were on a safari. He picked me up in front of Hen’s high-rise, and Hen, who was out there with me, flirted with Dov.

  “How’s your father?” she cooed, eyeing the jeep.

  “He’s at work. My mother says she feels like a concubine, coming in second to his first wife, the office.”

  “Faithful and sexy,” Hen, madly in love with her office, agreed. “What more can you want in life?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Your dad bought you a jeep?”

  “Oh no,” Dov laughed easily, and I wanted to kick Hen. “He just lets me borrow it from time to time.”

  “We’ve got to go,” I said. Hen was in my way and I couldn’t get to the passenger door without nudging her aside.

  “You be careful,” she said, pulling on my braid like I was a child. “Take care of her,” she warned Dov.

  “Always,” he said.

  It took nearly an hour to get to where Dov wanted to go. I studied the rocky fields in front of us.

  “You’ve done this before, right?” I asked as he edged the jeep off the paved road.

  “Once or twice.” He gunned the engine. “Ready?” He didn’t wait for my answer. We were off. I grabbed the handhold above the door.

  The jeep bucked and swerved, and Dov drove fast over the uneven ground.

  I screamed every time we hit a ditch, the jeep tilting forward and to the side. I could feel the springs in my seat with each jolt. I was pretty sure I was coming home with whiplash.

  “Elohim!” I screamed. “We’re going to flip!”

  Dov roared with laughter, though he didn’t take his eyes off the road. “You haven’t seen anything yet.” He turned the wheel and we flew off in another direction.

  “Your dad lets you do this?” I shouted over the roar of the overworked engine and the rush of the wind.

  “Why do you think I agreed to come last night?”

  Then he whooped and we went sailing over a small rise, airborne for a split second. I grabbed the handhold on the door and closed my eyes. My stomach caught up a few moments later.

  He stopped the jeep and studied me. I opened one eye and looked at him. “Is it over yet?”

  “Wanna try?” I could hear the dare in his voice.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Unless you don’t think you can handle it.”

  “You think I can’t?” I opened the other eye to fully appraise him.

  “I don’t know, can you?”

  “What about your dad? It’s his jeep, he probably wouldn’t want me to drive it.”

  “Don’t hurt the jeep and he won’t know. But if you’re scared …?”

  “Never. You’re on.” I unbuckled and we switched seats. Once behind the wheel, my heart rate picked up. “Are you sure about this?” I said again. The only car I’d ever driven was my mother’s Citroen, a two-door hatchback. It was a stick shift as well, but it was nothing like this luxury four-wheel-drive cockpit.

  “It’s a rush. You’ll love it.” He buckled in with a click.

  “Okay,” I said, scooting up the seat, adjusting the rearview and side mirrors. “Here we go.”

  I drove us for half an hour. I wasn’t nearly as daring as Dov had been, but I got us airborne twice, and I think I managed to scare him when I cut close to a tree. I felt very wicked and glamorous and it was the most exciting thing I’d done since I joined the army.

  Finally we decided to stop and have lunch.

  We sat on a couple of large rocks and Dov brought out the food his mom packed for us—sandwiches on bakery rolls, two oranges scored and ready to be peeled, a thermos with warm tea, and two yogurts.

  “My aunt never has food in the house, I miss that.” Most people lived at home when they served at a nearby base. I was jealous because living with Hen didn’t feel like home. No one made my lunch or dinner anymore.

  “I need to get out of my parents’ house,” Dov said. “Having someone make your lunch isn’t everything.”

  “Just wait until it’s gone. Then you’ll miss it.”

  “I hate living at home. I’m twenty-two years old and living with my parents. It’s killing me.”

  “But everyone does it,” I said. “You can’t afford to rent a place in Tel Aviv. What the army pays you won’t buy you dinner for a week, let alone pay the rent.”

  I took a big bite out of the sandwich. It had cheese, tomatoes, and slices of hard-boiled eggs.

  “I know,” he said. “But it drives me crazy sometimes.”

  “I miss home. I miss my parents.”

  “You wouldn’t after a week.”

  I laughed, remembering how I felt right after boot camp. “Maybe.”

  I studied the small Arab village that was nestled at the foot of the hill where we parked. Arab villages were always distinct from Israeli settlements because of the way the Arabs built their houses—gray cubes of unpainted cinderblocks with square windows placed haphazardly throughout. Some villages were friendly to Jews and sold food or pottery. There was one that my parents used to go to for soft white cheese and locally pressed olive oil. But there was always a mild sense of danger involved. You might arrive right after some mullah announced death to all Jews again. The dust-colored houses looked neglected even from a distance. I didn’t see anyone out in the streets.

  Dov handed me a bottle of water and I drank. The sky was perfectly blue, and there was a mild breeze that carried the smell of rosemary. I rarely got the chance to be in the countryside. Once again, I was struck by how beautiful and peaceful it was. I felt Dov watching me.

  “What?” I brushed at my hair self-consciously.

  “You’ve got some crumbs on you
r face.” He leaned in and touched my cheek. I stayed very still. My heart was racing. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. Please, I thought. But I didn’t know what I wanted. For him to kiss me, maybe. For me to be cool, definitely. To be a good kisser.

  He brushed a finger across my lips and gently tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said. His words brushed by my ear and I closed my eyes. His lips brushed mine. I leaned forward a little. To let him know.

  He settled into the kiss and I relaxed with a sigh.

  This is perfect, I thought. Just perfect.

  He cradled my face between his hands, kissing me, and the bottle of water I held slipped out of my fingers and fell to the ground. His lips were soft against mine. I reached up and touched his face.

  “Hey, Israeli fuckers!”

  We scrambled apart. Dov jumped up and stood in front of me. I looked all around me until I spotted them. Three ragged little boys, wearing cut-off jeans and dusty shirts. They were twenty meters away. I stood up, trying to see around Dov.

  “Did you come to fuck each other in front of our village?” one of them shouted.

  My mouth gaped open for a moment. It was almost funny to hear a tiny voice saying such things. He couldn’t have been more than eight. There was nothing here for Dov to fight.

  “Go away, Jewish whore,” another one shouted.

  I wanted to tell them they’d been watching too much television. I wanted to ask if their parents knew where they were.

  Then the third one bent down, picked up a stone, and hurled it our way. It fell short.

  “I’m going to kill those little bastards,” Dov said. He started heading their way. The boys scrambled back. One of them picked up a glass bottle and threw it at us too. It landed on a rock and exploded into shards of flying glass. I looked down at my leg and saw I’d been nicked. A small trail of blood started trickling down my leg.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said.

  Dov looked at them and I could see he wanted to go over and beat the crap out of them. His hands were clenched at his sides and his shoulders were hunched.