Chapter 43
First Lesson
Lily was determined to build the very best course she possibly could. She devoured reading material from her studies at Avni, pored over dozens of art books, and worked on drafting lesson plans.
She spent most of that month, between her acceptance to the college and the beginning of the course, in Tel-Aviv. There she met with her former teachers from the Avni Institute, who were impressed by her courage and helped her shape a year-long, topic-based curriculum.
Meanwhile, the college advertised the launch of the first painting course under her direction, on condition that at least twelve students enroll. Lily was very worried about the number being too high, and was amazed when eighteen people signed up.
“What are your plans for today?” I asked her on the morning of the first day of class.
“I’ll talk to them in general about the course, and then I’ll give them the list of materials they’ll need for the practical sessions.”
“And when will they actually start painting?”
“I hope by the end of the week. Mondays will be theoretical lessons, and Thursdays practical.”
We parted with a kiss – me to the clinic, her to the college.
Wow, I thought to myself. This is how a dream comes true.
When I came back from the clinic in the late afternoon, Lily still wasn’t home.
It was the first time I’d ever returned to an empty apartment.
The feeling was strange – very strange. I wandered around the place, lost, paralyzed.
Lily had always been there waiting for me.
She had always been home. True, sometimes when she stayed in the North, I was left alone, but this felt different.
Even odd. Evening was falling, Lily was in the city – and not with me.
Every few minutes, I went to the window.
When I saw her approaching, I rushed downstairs to help her climb the stairs.
“It was wonderful,” she said as we reached the entrance to the stairwell.
Lily was glowing with happiness.
“My Lily, I saw you from the window.”
“I know – I saw your silhouette, and it made me glad.”
She climbed ahead of me as always, my hand resting on her back.
“So how did you feel today?”
“I was so excited. Everyone there was older than me. I told them a bit about myself – that I, too, started studying art and painting at a relatively late age. And that now, after finishing at Avni and moving down to Eilat, I’d decided to teach art.”
“And what did you do with the group?”
“I also told them about you – that I’m here because of you.” She dodged my question.
“So what did you do?” I pressed again.
“Exactly what I said – a get-to-know-you talk. Everyone introduced themselves, said a few words about what they expected from the course.”
“And do you have a place to paint?”
“Yes, and they even brought us easels and plywood boards. Each person is supposed to bring their own consumable supplies.”
“So it’s starting to get more interesting for you?”
“I hope so. So far, everything’s going really well.”
A few weeks after she began teaching at the college, Lily told me that the Department of Education had reached out to her. In light of the positive feedback and the success of her course, they wanted her to start a children’s workshop at the youth center.
“And what did you say?” I asked, a little anxious.
“What do you think?”
“I think you need a little rest.”
“Are you crazy?”
“I honestly think you’re pushing yourself too hard – you need to rest.”
Again, I remembered her mother’s warning about Lily’s lack of boundaries, and once more I realized there was no way to set them. I’d once joked to her: “You’re impossible.”
“Can only you get to be busy all day – with the army, the clinic, the hospital, the diving, and the shifts?” she shot back.
“I’d be happy if you weren’t as busy as me.”
“Do you want to fight with me?”
“Not at all. I just worry about you.”
“If I have to die, you’ll be the first to know…”
“Lily! Stop!” I begged. I couldn’t bear to hear her speak of that possibility, not even sarcastically.
“I told them I’d be more than happy to teach the teens,” she said angrily.
“Lily,” I tried to get closer.
She pulled away. She seemed angry. Very angry.
“You know I love you so much, and want only what’s best for you.”
I reached for her hand. She pulled it back. Suddenly I was scared. I was afraid I was losing her.
“Stop trying to protect me. I’m a grown woman.”
“Do they know you’re on steroids?” I wouldn’t let it go.
“Michael, I think you’ve lost your mind!” she said, raising her voice and taking refuge in her studio. At least she left the door open.
“Why?” I stood in the doorway.
“No. Nobody knows anything.”
“Didn’t they give you a medical exam before you started working?”
“You signed the form saying I’m healthy – did you forget?”
She was right. I had signed, after much hesitation.
“Yes. I forgot. Because to me, too, you are healthy. I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you.”
“How many students do you have in the youth center class?” I asked one evening, after I’d seen her through the window, walking with more than ten kids.
“Why?”
“Do they all walk you home?”
“Most of them – the ones who live on this side of town. Stop with the questions. I’m so happy, I’d rather we drink to life!”
The image of the boys and girls surrounding Lily on her way home burned into my memory. At that moment, I remembered Dr. Olivier’s question, the doctor I had replaced, who had wondered if we had children. The thought crossed my mind how wonderful it would be to see Lily with a child of our own.