Chapter 11
The beach was deserted. I was aware only of an insurmountable craving to enter the sea, and I made my way to the water as fast as I could.
I glanced behind as my legs propelled me forward at an inhuman speed toward the water. From east and south of the ridge spread the present-day neighborhoods of Atlit. I could even see our house, which I’d never been able to make out from such a distance before.
The more I focused on the idea that our house was visible from the seashore—with the garden and the Persian lilac—the clearer and clearer the building’s details became. For a moment, I even saw our bedroom from the inside, as if I were in bed.
But the spot in the sea continued to call me. I turned back to face the water and discovered that while I had been looking back at the house, my legs had pulled me in, and I was already waist-deep.
I decided to dive deep under the waves. It afforded me instant pleasure.
I peered up cautiously as I swam. Here and there were pools of greenish light that broke through the surface above me.
With a sense of satisfaction, I allowed myself to drift through the water, like an astronaut in space or a fetus in a womb.
Something strange lay ahead, and the nearer I got, the stranger it appeared.
Just before I was sucked in, I knew it had been the force of a whirlpool that had attracted me.
I wasn’t afraid; I had no expectations, no memories. I wanted nothing else but to let it take me away.
The whirlpool swirled me around in complete harmony with the turning of the Earth around the Sun. This was time. A circular movement of entities around themselves and each other. I laughed. This is time! I wanted to shout.
But the moment I opened my mouth to utter this revelation, I was expelled from the water.
“Diti! Diti! Idit!” I heard my name being called. I opened my eyes in our darkened bedroom in Atlit. My heart was pumping like crazy, and I was half-strangled by my hair, wet with perspiration.
“What happened to Mommy?” asked a sleepy voice. It was my daughter. My heart began to quiet. I looked around and saw Halimi leaning over me worriedly. Lily stood near him in her pajamas, the pacifier half-hanging out of her mouth, one hand holding her blankie to her chest.
“Everything’s okay,” I murmured, “it was just a dream.” I had no idea what it was.
I remembered diving into the depths, breathing underwater, a ghostly sea, and a whirlpool of time.
But now I felt relieved to be back inside my own familiar, naked body, between soft sheets, with Halimi and Lily, who climbed into the double bed, snuggling in between us.
I hugged her little body, radiating familiar warmth and love.
In the darkness, Halimi looked at me from his side of the bed with concern.
He took my hand and placed it on his chest.
“Do you feel this?” he whispered. “Do you feel my heart racing?”
“What happened? Was I talking in my sleep?” I asked in a very low voice.
“You screamed and cried,” he said, with a note of fear I’d never heard before. “I couldn’t get you to wake up.”
“It’s okay, sweetie,” I whispered again and meant it. Everything was fine, I was at home, I was myself, and everything was normal. I closed my eyes.
By the time I was awake, the house was quiet.
Small waves of memory from the dream scattered on the shores of my consciousness.
It had been years since I had experienced such a powerful dream.
I suddenly remembered what Halimi had said about the priestess from his dream and the dancing around the spring.
I shook my head and got out of bed. Halimi still wasn’t back from dropping Lily off at preschool. I ran a bath, placed the showerhead on my belly, and let the water rise.
I lay in the hot water, half-asleep, for a long time. I swayed gently, and the tiny ripples evoked details from the dream.
“Diti?” I heard Halimi calling. I opened my eyes, and he was standing over me, pulling the shower curtain aside. His wide forehead was furrowed.
“Hi, sweetie,” I said and raised my arms up to him. “Do you want to join me in here?”
He made one of his funny faces, pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows in surprise, then he sat down on the stool. He began taking his shoes off, without saying a word.
“Good God,” I snickered. “You need to change your socks.” Halimi laughed, then turned serious. He stripped fastidiously, folded his pants and shirt, flung his underwear and socks into the laundry basket.
He stepped carefully into the bath, and his big body raised the water level. I switched sides and lay in his arms, the warm water rippling gently over us.
“I don’t want you to get upset,” he said softly, “but I think it might be a good idea for you to speak to a professional. We can go together, if you want.”
“Why?” my voice came out in a yowl. “It was just a really powerful dream I had last night.”
“It’s not just the dream,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “You haven’t been yourself for a week. I’ve never seen you like this before. I forbid you to do any more mushrooms.”
“You forbid me,” I said out loud, and what I really wanted was to get out of the bath, leave him there, head straight to my spring, and jump in headfirst. But I had to be more calculated. And truthfully, I felt a bit sorry for him.
“Limi,” I began, trying to make sense of my thoughts. “Maybe I’m acting weird, but I’m not sick. I think I’m just trying to process all kinds of shit in my life in the quiet and tranquility of this place.”
He held me close and planted a kiss on my head. Even though he hadn’t said it in words, I knew he was thinking of Nina and the pain he had caused me.
“Never mind,” I said, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “That’s behind us.”
He said nothing but hugged me even closer.
After a few moments, in which I tried several times to start a conversation but faltered, I said, “I think I’m beginning to understand the need to disappear sometimes. It’s so liberating to be suddenly alone, like floating in an empty space …”
“But it really is stressful,” he said, abashed. “I hope you aren’t going to start disappearing on a regular basis.”
“I thought I might join a yoga class,” I said.
“What’s that got to do with it?” he exclaimed.
“I need a bit of time to myself, that’s all,” I said. “I’ve already checked out a few options. I might try a class next Monday.”
“And then come show me some steaming hot poses,” he said languidly.
“My pleasure,” I said, kissing his hand. “You dirty old man.”
I lay on the yoga mat and let the spring sun warm my bones, Lily playing beside me.
A parrot squawked from the top of the Persian lilac tree.
From time to time, I saw it maneuvering through the thick foliage, triggering showers of delicate, pale purple flowers.
Halimi was inside, but now I saw him walking toward us with the weekend newspapers, which he placed beside me on the mat.
“Do you want me to make room for you?” I asked him, stretching out even more on the mat.
“Wait,” he said and went over to Lily. She explained what she was doing with a set of doll furniture in meticulous detail and assigned him the task of bringing some Smurf figurines from her bedroom so she could breathe some life into the display.
“And bring me water, please,” she yelled in his direction as he walked off.
After a few minutes, Halimi reappeared with a tray, upon which stood Smurfette, Brainy Smurf, Jokey Smurf, and Papa Smurf, alongside two glasses of lemonade and a plate of sesame cookies.
“Mmm, how nice …” I murmured as Halimi set the tray down.
“I wanna lemonade too!” Lily shouted and drank half of mine.
In Lily’s second year, I went out a lot.
She started to go to a nearby daycare, with three other toddlers her age.
I regained what Libby called my “humanity.” I began translating again, spending hours in neighborhood cafés, meeting friends.
I enjoyed buying treats from the local deli and cooking elaborate dishes.
Halimi and I no longer collapsed onto the couch at night, and we caught up on several TV series.
Once a week or so, I went to a bar or club with Libby.
We usually hung out with two gay guys from Libby’s office, perfect dancing partners, and occasionally met other girlfriends too.
I added bedtime stories to the lullabies I sang to Lily at night.
From age one and a half, I was already reading her stories supposedly written for older kids.
She was curious, even when it was clear she didn’t really understand.
I had a collection of Hans Christian Andersen stories that my parents gave me when I was a kid.
I was fascinated by the illustrations long before I was able to appreciate the complexities of the texts themselves.
Now, I saw the same erratic details that had attracted me as a child through my daughter’s eyes, like Thumbelina’s walnut shell and rose-petal bedding, or the silver teapot in which the emperor saw his own reflection, dressed in finery, though he was naked as the day he was born.
It also became scarier to take Lily out, to constantly make sure she wouldn’t wander off. Once I lost her in the supermarket, and another time in a clothing store, and both times I almost had a heart attack.
Halimi worked hard. Budget cuts at the magazine continued, and he was forced to spend more time at his desk.
The management demanded an increased online presence, which bugged Halimi, who belonged to the old school of print.
One brilliant writer, poached from a rival magazine, got Halimi fueled up on the subject of the Mizrahi Jews—he suddenly connected with his Algerian identity and got involved in cultural activist events.
As for us, we exchanged daily selfies, either funny or sexy, and that pretty much summed up the romantic side of our relationship.