Chapter 53
Tel-Aviv
The studies at the College of Art and Design demanded much more of Lily than she had planned.
She could manage the trip every two weeks, but she felt that when she was absent, she was missing important, irreplaceable parts.
Talented as she was, she wanted to dedicate much more to her studies, and her enjoyment of them only grew as time passed.
So she decided to travel to the College every week, not every two weeks, as was required.
Dan did not object. The beginning part of the week was devoted to teaching, and the end part to studying.
I encouraged her, but I asked her to keep some balance.
“I think this way of life is impossible,” she told me in April. At that moment, I realized she was on the verge of a breakdown. Until then, I had never heard her use the word “impossible.” To her, everything was possible, especially anything she longed for.
“What do you mean?”
“My Michael, I’m getting weaker and weaker. Something is wrong with my health. I feel it festering in me.”
“When do you want to leave?” I asked. “According to the plan, we only have about six months left here.”
“I won’t last until then.”
Only later did I realize the meaning of her words. When she said she wouldn’t last, I thought she meant this way of life, crammed with work and study, flights and tests. Indeed, it was impossible, and maybe she wanted to change something? But what Lily meant was her health.
“Take a few days of rest, get out of this crazy cycle,” I suggested.
“You know what, maybe you should take a vacation too, and we’ll be together here.”
I was quick to jump at her suggestion. For three days, we hardly left the apartment, and we pampered each other.
I was glad to be together with her in our home.
Each of us gave the other everything we could.
We organized her workroom, tidied the messy bookshelf, and caught up on the sleep we so badly needed.
It felt like a short honeymoon in our apartment.
The shared rest did us both good. Daily life had pulled us each into our own corner, to our own edge.
During this break, we rounded the corners and willingly entered each other’s world.
Only at the end did we understand how much we needed it.
As the days passed, my demands on her lessened. I knew that eventually she would finish her studies in the coming summer, and that my service in Eilat as a doctor was also nearing its end. In October, we were supposed to move north.
One day, she received an invitation from the Memorial Museum in Rehovot to exhibit at a show.
Lily immediately agreed. She saw it as no small achievement.
Though still a student, she had already held an exhibition, and now she was invited again.
She was filled with new energy, which she could also invest in preparing for the exhibition.
“Are you ready for the exhibition?” I asked her after she officially announced her participation.
“No, I don’t think I’m ready.”
“But you already have endless works.”
“Not the works I want to show.” Once again, she demanded the impossible of herself.
“So what do you want to show?”
“I don’t know yet. But I must create something new.”
“You’re always creating new things.”
“What I want to show, I haven’t created yet,” she answered. Her reply stunned me. She had already announced she would participate in the exhibition, and yet she had no works? Her workroom and the walls of the house were full of works.
“Are you thinking of something?”
“Yes, of the patients I saw in the hospital, of that amputee I photographed on the beach.”
“You only photographed his prosthetic leg, not him.”
“For me, that leg is the truth. Without it, he has no life, and without him, the leg has none. They are one body.”
“So what’s the answer?”
“I have a few ideas, but I need time.”
One Friday, when we woke up from an afternoon nap, Lily rested her head on my chest.
“I don’t think I can do this, I tire too quickly,” she admitted.
“Do you want to leave?”
“I don’t think I can stay here. I can’t go on like this.”
“My Lily, you decide and I’ll follow you. You came here after me; I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth.”
“Michael, there’s no choice. I’ll leave the workshop. We’ll move to Tel-Aviv.”
“Have you spoken to anyone about the plan to leave the workshop?” Her decisiveness surprised me.
“Yes, with Ali. When he came to thank me for the evening with John Bolton, I hinted to him that it was hard for me.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said he was sorry, but he wouldn’t stop me.”
“Did you tell him?”
“No.”
I raised my head and looked at her. She looked paler than ever.
“He told me that at City Hall they praise our activities, and that the evening with Julian Hartman was also successful. He also mentioned Elliot Crane’s last visit, said it went well, and that his lecture drew a large crowd again.”
“So what were the results of the last tests?” We returned to reality.
“I forgot to tell you, but the hemoglobin dropped, and there’s also a decline in kidney function.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I was upset at the bad news.
“I’m sorry, I forgot; we’re both up to our ears,” she apologized sincerely.
Only a week had passed since our home holiday, and already each of us was busy with our own tasks.
We decided that first, Lily would move to her parents’ house, and I would commute between Eilat and Tel-Aviv.
After we rented an apartment, I would arrange for a posting at a nearby base.
We didn’t want to cause a stir. We thought that a gradual departure would make fewer waves.
“Before we go north, I want to go down to Solomon River again, to take one more photo,” she said after the decision was made.
“Whatever you want. When?” I thought her weakness would make her give up.
“Now,” she surprised me.
“What should I bring?”
“Everything’s ready, just take the camera.” We went down to Solomon River, to the estuary and found our spot. Lily pulled out a white flag tied to a wooden pole, with red stains on it.
“Where’s this red color from?” I wondered. That mattered more to me than when she had made or bought the flag.
“Ketchup.”
“It doesn’t look like ketchup.”
“You’re right, it’s blood.”
“Whose?”
“Mine.”
My eyes widened. I didn’t want to ask where she had gotten that blood. Maybe from one of her recent hospital visits? Maybe from another source? I didn’t want to know.
She placed the stained flag on the ground. To my surprise, she also brought a bottle of ketchup from the car and scattered its contents, in measured movements, on the earth around the painted flag.
The “blood” stains looked as though they had dripped from the flag onto the ground, soaking it.
Lily looked down at her creation. When she was satisfied, she began to photograph it from different angles.
When she finished the film in the camera, she gathered all the materials and put them in the jeep’s trunk.
“Come to me, come closer,” she asked.
“This is probably the last time I’ll see this place.”
I was alarmed.
I came close to her.
We both loved the magnificent desert landscape, the mountains behind us, the blue sea before us, and the composition that united them.
“Lily, we’ll be here thousands of times more. This place is ours.” I held her hands.
“No, Michael, no. I know this is our last time.” She came closer, hugged me, and began to cry. Tears flooded from me too. I couldn’t hold them back. We embraced and kissed as we had that first time, long ago. When I pulled back and looked at her face in fear.
I too began to believe that maybe this really was our last time here together.
Indeed, Lily never went back there again. But the clods of earth, stained red, remained at the mouth of the stream for many years afterward.