Chapter 13
First Sabbath
The next morning, I woke up to the aroma of coffee. It felt as if I had been living there for years.
“Do you want to meet my friends at the beach?” I asked. Lily stood above me, looking stunning in my blue-green T-shirt, which fit her as if it had been tailored especially for her.
“We can go to the beach if you want,” she said, “but you should know, I’m not taking off my pants.”
“Do whatever you want.”
“And if someone asks?” she said hesitantly. Her worries about the scar and the insecurity she carried touched my heart.
“Answer like you usually do when you’re at the beach.”
“Ralf never liked the beach.”
“And the boyfriends before him?” I asked, transparently fishing for history.
She threw herself on me.
“How many do you think I had?” she laughed, her face glowing.
“I never had boyfriends before Ralf. Just some friends here and there, but he was the most serious. You know? When you think about it, it all happened so fast. Only a few days ago, I was still with him, and now it feels like you and I have been together for years.”
We got out of bed and went into the tiny kitchenette. The apartment was really small, but the sunlight flooding in through the living room window made it feel much larger. For the first time, I saw her paintings illuminated by morning light.
“Wow … Lily … wow,” I gasped, breathless at the sight.
“What a difference between night and day. The sunlight gives the paintings such power.” Nothing in that morning’s excitement hinted at what was about to happen.
My heart was still broken from the story of the night before, but I was determined to prove that even without plaster, a broken heart could be mended.
After a few phone calls, the gang decided to meet at TLV-north Beach, just a short walk from the apartment. Max said he’d bring the paddleball set, and David, Lev, and Serge promised to join later.
On the way to the beach, Lily suggested we buy two bicycles so we could easily move between Ramat Aviv, Tel-Aviv, and the beach.
My protests about the risks of physical exertion and sun exposure, given her health, were useless.
Lily had decided, and that was final. I even tried to threaten to report her to the department head, and she threatened in return to break up with me…
“Michael, I know my limits. I know how to manage, believe me,” she insisted.
I gave up, realizing nothing could break her determination.
That was our first argument – one of many to come – about her condition.
I tried to protect her, while she insisted on proving her “normal” health.
My medical knowledge only magnified my fears and my desperate desire to keep her as healthy as possible.
“And how will you pay for the bikes?” I tried another angle, which also failed.
“I saved a bit, and besides, I have a father I work for … remember?”
We were the first to arrive at the beach.
We spread out the blanket and towels from my backpack.
When Lily took off her shirt and was left in a light blue top, I realized it wasn’t easy to be thrust into such a tight-knit group.
I also worried about the reception she’d get.
When she unbuttoned her jeans and lowered them slightly, I feared she’d forget the scar.
But she didn’t. Clearly, she was used to trying to catch as much sun as she could.
When I lay down on the blanket, she lay beside me and rested her head on my chest.
A few minutes later, Max showed up, his swimsuit already wet, and his body covered in sand.
“I already know you,” he said, turning straight to Lily.
“Lily, this is Max, from that night in Savyon.” Lily smiled, sat up, and shook his hand. Seeing that handshake, my worry vanished – she had passed the Max test, which wasn’t easy.
Serge and Lev accepted her immediately too. David, who arrived last, greeted her with a friendly “Hello” as if they’d been friends for years. David looked for a paddleball partner, and Lily jumped up to stand next to him.
“Do you know how to play?” he asked.
“What do you mean by know how to play?” she answered innocently.
“David, let’s show her.”
David and I had spent countless hours playing paddleball at the beach, mostly during exam periods as a way to blow off steam. On weekends, Max often joined us for paddleball and coffee.
David and I found a spot, not far from the blanket.
It had been months since our last game, and at first, we stumbled.
But soon the ball was flying fast, paddle to paddle, staying in the air for long stretches.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lily watching, but soon she got bored and started chatting with Max.
I was glad to see their conversation flowing, full of hand gestures and laughter. I relaxed.
“Want to play with David?” I asked her later.
“I’m not on your level, but I’d love to play with you, if you don’t mind.” When we faced each other, my worry deepened. I knew I had to concentrate fully so Lily wouldn’t have to jump or run. The fear she might get hurt hung over the game. Every time she missed the ball, I ran to fetch it.
“Tired?” I asked gently.
“A little, but I just want to play a bit more.”
“Are you sure?”
“I haven’t played since I was fourteen. You brought back the urge.”
“Maybe you should rest?” I suggested carefully.
She was breathing hard.
“Just a little longer, please.” I stepped back and tossed the ball toward her. She hit it hard. Even when I tried to return it softly, it veered away. When she chased it, she slipped and fell. In seconds, I was at her side, my heart pounding wildly, not from the game.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Guilt flooded me. Why had I been so careless? Why didn’t I stop it sooner?
“I hit the scar,” she whispered.
“Can I see?” I asked.
“Are you crazy? Not here,” she said quickly. Her face suddenly resembled one of the terrified figures in her painting back at the apartment. David, who must have been watching us, came over.
“Are you okay?” he asked calmly.
“Yes,” we answered together.
Lily got up, limping slightly toward the blanket.
“I’m going to the restroom, come help me.”
“I think the scar reopened,” she whispered once we’d moved away.
“They’ve operated on it several times already, without success. I just want to rinse it.”
“Then why did you insist on playing?” I asked, my worry edged with frustration – mostly at myself. Lily noticed.
“Why? Because, as you already know, I refuse to give up on anything.” As she walked beside me, back straight, hiding her limp and her pain, I understood she truly meant to face everything head-on. But the question that haunted me was: for how long?
Suddenly the image of an hourglass, somewhere in the universe, draining away its sand, became all too real. Twenty-four months – seven hundred and thirty days – had been promised to her, and about thirty of them had already slipped away at an unbearable pace.