Chapter 34
Second Honeymoon
“At the end of the week, I’m taking three days off,” I announced excitedly.
“It’s about time we had our honeymoon,” she laughed. “Where? Where do you want to go?”
“To the United States,” I answered without a second thought.
“Me? To the U.S.? Are you out of your mind?” she exclaimed in surprise.
“I’ll take responsibility.”
“To America? No way. I can only dream of that,” she added.
I was startled. What had happened? Until now, Lily had never let her medical condition hold her back. More than that, she had often risked herself in the name of her passion for living and experiencing.
“I’m afraid to be too far from the hospital,” she admitted to me.
“In the future, we’ll see… You can’t … you just can’t … not see New York, Washington…” I mumbled randomly.
“My man, I don’t believe I’ll ever get there, even though I want to. I’d die to be there.”
“Just don’t die on me,” I said, and meant every word.
“For now, let’s be realistic. Where will we go?” she brought us back down to earth.
“The Galilee, the Golan Heights. You told me you hadn’t been there in years.” Lily nodded.
“I haven’t planned anything, but I’m sure we’ll enjoy ourselves just being free. We’ll go, that’s all,” I told her the night before we left.
“So what should I pack?”
“Something for the day and something for the night.”
“About a year ago, all of us went to the Meshushim pool in the Golan Heights. Worth a look. Amazing. Let’s start there.” I was getting excited.
“You mean the Hexagon Pool?”
“Yes. You can drive pretty close to it, so you won’t have to climb too many steps.”
“All right. It’ll be fine.” Lily convinced herself – and me.
“Take care of her,” her mother said before we left.
“Mom, I’m a big girl.”
“Don’t listen to her. She hasn’t gone on a trip like this in years!”
“Maybe it’s about time.” I left behind our talk about traveling to America.
“She isn’t the strongest, but she isn’t a coward either.”
“To me, she’s the strongest there is.”
“That’s exactly what scares me. The problem is she thinks so too.”
“I’ll take care of her. I promise,” I pledged to her mother – but in truth, I was pledging it to myself.
“Lily, please don’t walk too fast,” I begged. I had parked the car in the closest spot possible to the Hexagon Pool. Lily decided to lead the way.
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” she answered impatiently.
The year before, we had all come as a group, approaching the pool from the top of the plateau, through Ein Nataf and the Zavitan Stream, descending all the way to the Kinneret. I remembered well the giant sculpted basalt blocks descending into the pool and how breathtaking the place was.
“Remember what happened with the bike when we came back from the beach? It shows up suddenly, without warning.”
“You’re right. But I miss nature so much – look at the blossoms.”
“All these years, you didn’t go out into nature?”
“At most, to the garden, and even that sparingly. The doctors didn’t allow me to be in the sun, outside, in nature.”
“Then I’m glad we’re here, together. But … you know…!”
Lily kept walking. Even when she was out of breath, she didn’t stop. Not a soul was around.
What if she doesn’t feel well? I thought to myself. This isn’t Tel-Aviv.
Without saying a word, I placed my hand on her lower back and gently pushed her up the path.
“It’s not just helpful – it’s pleasant too,” she said, feeling the “engine” behind her.
From that day on, whenever I had the chance – whether she asked or not – I was right behind her to help on stairs, hills, or anywhere the slope was a little too steep.
She loved the touch of my hand on her back. Many times, she waited for it.
“Well?” she’d say, expecting the helping, caressing hand.
“This is amazing,” she said when we reached the pool. Her eyes lit up. “Did you feel the water?”
“Not yet. It must be cold.”
“Brrrr … the water is freezing,” she said, pulling her hand back after dipping it.
“Want to swim?” I teased. I knew that even if it were hot, she would never dare. That would be way too much.
“Yes,” she said, and started pretending to undress. For a second, I worried she was about to do something crazy. The water was not only icy, but swimming was prohibited.
“Stop!” I said.
“I was just joking. Did I scare you?”
“Yes, please, don’t do that to me.” Each time I was surprised anew by the depth of my worry for her – how ingrained in me the fear was that something might happen to her.
When we went back down to the car, we realized the keys were neither in my pockets nor in hers. Not in the backpack either. “Just what I needed – stuck here, alone, with no way to get out,” I thought, but said nothing.
“Look again,” I asked. We turned the bags upside down, but still, no keys.
Panic was rising in me. Lily just stood there smiling.
When we reached the car, she walked up to the door, slipped in a rusty wire she had picked up on the trail, and popped it open.
Without a word, without swagger. I stood there stunned.
“My father taught me the trick,” she laughed.
“Want to see again?” And before I could answer, “Are you crazy?” she slammed the door shut and opened it again.
“It’s a flaw in the Peugeot, and I know how to handle it,” she said proudly – of both her knowledge and her skill.
The Hermon, the Banias, the Dan reserve, Metula – these made up the sweet honey that gift-wrapped our honeymoon. And I dreamed of America with Lily, of course. I knew that dreams must be fulfilled. And promises too.