Chapter 26 #3
“I pointed it out to him,” said Simone, back to Hebrew. “And I also suggested that he have a piece of jewelry made for you from it.” There was quiet for several seconds. And then she said, “I hope that it was worth it, my dear.”
I nodded vigorously, then laughed, remembering she could not see me.
“Totally worth it,” I said gratefully.
Afterward, I called my sister. I did not tell her, of course, of my supernatural adventures, but I told her that I thought I had an idea for a story, inspired by the mushrooms that I took that time with Halimi. Dina gave me a penetrating look, as much as a look could penetrate through Zoom.
“An idea for a story?” she asked. “About what?”
“I don’t know exactly.” I smiled at her pixelated image on the screen. “Something about the cyclical nature of life.” My sister shook her head skeptically. Eva came into the room. She waved hi to me and exchanged a few words with Dina.
“It’s not so much cyclical as it is a spiral,” Dina said suddenly, and my gaze returned to the screen.
Eva had left, and my sister lit herself a joint.
“As in, it moves in circles, and you return to the same point, but on a different level,” she added in a kind of reverie.
I assumed this wasn’t her first joint that morning.
“You always have to be smarter than me,” I laughed. She laughed too. “I’ll put that in the story,” I said.
I looked up from the French manuscript I was translating and peeked at Halimi. He patted his knees; I set the papers down on the table and sat on his lap. He held me to him until I almost stopped breathing.
“Are you okay?” I asked into his chest. He hummed in contentment.
“You know,” I kept talking into his chest, “a few days ago, I imagined Nina sneaking into your hotel room in Lisbon.”
“Yeah, right,” he snorted, but I felt his body tense. And then he hugged me again, hard. “I was a little worried that you might be paranoid with me traveling for Free to Be,” he said. “But before I left, you were so calm and content.”
“I am still calm and content, that’s what’s funny,” I said and pulled away from him so I could look him in the eyes. “I didn’t picture it angrily or sadly; it just came into my head with a kind of curiosity, and the thought even turned me on a little.”
“You pervert,” he said, shaking his head affectionately. Then he added, bringing his head closer to me, almost pleadingly, “But you really are happy now, right?”
“Right,” I said, surprising myself. I put my head back on his chest. “That’s all that matters,” he said.
I sliced cherry tomatoes into two, diced a purple onion and cilantro, and cut into an avocado.
I sprinkled some salt onto the salad and looked up at the horizon, at the sun rolling toward the sea.
I ran through all the events of the past few months and wondered if I would have the courage to pass through my spring and if I would find Jean again.
With a pinch of sorrow, I imagined him sitting beside the spring with his lute, composing melodies and waiting for me to appear.
I reflected that the house where I lived stood on land that he bought, possibly for me.
Pigeons and sparrows circled in the sky outside my window, but the flock of flamingos had already left Atlit for their summer migration. Those winged, pink hallucinations continued north, but next year they would return, as they always had.
Since I was very young, I’ve struggled to rise in the morning.
I always had such a hard time separating myself from the bed that at some stage I got into the habit of promising myself I’d return to it soon—for an afternoon or even a short morning nap.
I knew that the promise was absurd even as I said it to myself, but still it worked.
Sometimes, I was even able to make good on it, but that was not the point.
The fact of the promise, this tiny, open channel for the possibility that my soft sheets would soon envelop my body and me in dreams again, gave me the strength to rise and to deal with reality and its incessant demands.
It was in such a mood that I now stared at the sunset, turning the horizon pink.
I was happy and did not want some other life.
But I knew that sooner or later, my soul would cloud over with something or another.
Some problem with Lily, some oppressive translation project, or exurban life.
And Halimi … that man of habit. Something deep between us had changed for the better, but sooner or later, his usual habits might frustrate me again.
I narrowed my eyes at the golden patches that mottled the ruins of the Atlit fortress, the ruins that still awaited me at the well-guarded base.
My spring still awaited me beneath the ancient carob in that magical and narrow passage, that book-sized puddle, and if I only wanted, I could dip in my coin and pass into another time.
The sun set, and the specks of gold dissipated into the shadows. I poured olive oil on the salad, took the bread from the toaster, and went out to the yard. Lily and Halimi were sitting in the fork of the Persian lilac tree, sorting leaves.
“Dinner is ready,” I said quietly.