14
Tal sat on the edge of my bed, nervously playing with the corner of my bedspread. I had no idea how she’d gotten into my apartment.
“What’s up?” I asked her.
“Aren’t you happy to see me?”
“I just woke up!”
“Should I leave?” She got up and pulled the curtains open. Hard, bright light flooded the room. She turned back toward me, her lips pursed. Her eyes shone combatively. She was waiting for me to make the first move, but I didn’t want to do her the favor.
She stubbornly refused to love me. I didn’t mind that—just didn’t understand why. Tal said that she didn’t believe in relationships, least of all romantic ones between two people. When she wanted to tell me something unpleasant she always started her sentences with Motek or Mummy, which means sweetheart in Hebrew. And so almost every day I heard, “Sweetheart, I don’t love you.” Or “Mummy, I don’t want to see you today.” On the other hand, she was still here. Here, with me.
I sat up in my bed and watched as she paced the room, nervously pulling out one hair after the other.
“Do you want to spend the day with me?” she asked and coldly looked around the room.
“Why? So I can swallow tear gas?”
“Would you rather while away the day at the beach?”
“I wouldn’t mind that.”
The last time I joined Tal for a protest, we’d stood at a bustling intersection and yelled rallying cries. We were about thirty people, almost exclusively white and Jewish. Standing around us were at least as many people who berated us and called us traitors and sons of bitches. One spit at us and another wanted to throw his heavy shopping bag at Tal. A couple of police officers held them back. I’d been at the edge of the demonstration, next to two guys who were quietly discussing in Arabic which leftie they wanted to f*ck next. The lefties were the only ones who spread their legs for an Arab, said the younger of the two. A shame that they always wanted to talk politics afterward, said his buddy.
“Masha, what kind of life do you want to lead?”
“A quiet one.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
Tal remained standing and crossed her arms. Her eyes rested on my mouth, calculating. I wouldn’t give in. I was going to play all my cards. But she wouldn’t be convinced as easily—nor as quickly—as Elisha.
“You just want to sit out your time here and enjoy the sun, the good food, and a bit of sex? Nothing else matters to you, does it?” Tal sat down and pulled her knees toward her.
“Exactly. My place in the sun.”
“I don’t believe it.” She got up and started pacing again. Her movements were erratic.
“What I want is running water, electricity, and a place where no one is killed,” I said.
“You were in a good place in Germany then. No reason to come here.”
I hadn’t told her about Elias or his death. I crossed the room barefoot. The floor was full of the sand that Tal must have brought in from the beach. She was always barefoot, in the stairway and the garden, too, and all the dirt stuck to her heels and ended up on my floors and, finally, in my bed.
“My grandmother still has memories of a peaceful Germany,” Tal added.
“You think mine doesn’t?”
“The demonstration is in Sheikh Jarrah. We should get going.”