Read Online The Remains of Love by Zeruya Shalev - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Zeruya Shalev
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she looks in alarm at her exposed arms, surely this is inconceivable, it’s just the intense heat of the hamsin season, it will pass soon enough, any woman of her age recognises this. I’m going out now, my darlings, I’ll be home soon, she hears the young woman beside her trying to reassure her impatient children. Another half-hour if there are no hold-ups, she sends the promise via her mobile, and Dina glances at her with envy, how she misses that sensation, knowing someone is waiting for her at home. Enjoy it, she wants to whisper to the woman who is going to the car in front of hers, enjoy it even if gets tiresome sometimes, it won’t last for ever, and she takes her own mobile out of the briefcase, she needs to talk to Nitzan, to hear her voice, it feels like weeks since they met.
I’ll be home soon, dear, she whispers into the phone, but the girl doesn’t answer, and yet it seems to her, to Dina, that it’s her she’s returning to, getting into her car and driving impatiently, as she used to when Nitzan was small, hurrying home when classes were over, the knowledge that her daughter was waiting for her coiled around her like a rope, a noose to which she gladly proffered her neck. Sometimes she used to run along their street, really run, a little shamefaced, how much meaning there was in every step. Mum! You’re home! The little girl would leap up to greet her, taking her by the hand and insisting on showing her the marvellous things she had been doing, little treasures of happiness she would find among the wooden bricks, among the furry animals and the tattered books, and even when Nitzan was a little older, turning into a serious and grown-up girl, she would run to meet her from her room, telling her stories, showing her pictures and exercise-books. How nice it was coming home, even if she was tired after a long day’s work, even if what awaited her was another white night of work to be checked and marks to be awarded. How she longs for such pleasure, and suddenly it seems to her it’s still in her hands, she can again be that woman who is awaited with love. Nitzan must already be at home, perhaps she’ll open the door to her and fall into her arms, and she will feel how a candle that was extinguished in her has been relit, and she will gladly cook a light meal for the two of them and they will sit together in the kitchen. You see, I don’t need much to make me happy, she explains aloud, just talking with the girl in the kitchen, feeling I’m needed by her, not loved necessarily, just needed.
The first moment of an encounter dictates the way it will continue, she says aloud, I shall go into the house smiling, as if I’ve had good news, turn to her with some light banter. How absurd this is, I’m preparing for a meeting with Nitzan as if we were talking about something fateful and crucial – and this is my daughter, my bones and my flesh, but the absurdity doesn’t put a smile on her lips; rather it plunges her into a depression that she tries to alleviate with simple decisions, peering in the interior mirror and smearing on lipstick, blackening the eyes with a make-up pencil. Nitzan is waiting for her, of that there is no doubt, even if she doesn’t know it she’s waiting for her, so she’ll go into the house with a smiling face, no hint of reproof or petulance, and that way she’ll get her back.
There’s her satchel thrown down in the lobby, beside it a superfluous sweater that she forced her to take yesterday, giving off a barbecue smell of charcoal and incinerated potatoes, those are her sandals, and she herself must be in her room. Nitzi, she calls out in a sprightly voice, would you like something to eat? And when the girl doesn’t answer she opens the door of the room, and the smile that she prepared in advance remains in place, her lips drawn tight, when she sees her daughter’s naked back laid motionless on the exposed chest of a fair-haired boy, his eyes closed. On the single bed
I’ll be home soon, dear, she whispers into the phone, but the girl doesn’t answer, and yet it seems to her, to Dina, that it’s her she’s returning to, getting into her car and driving impatiently, as she used to when Nitzan was small, hurrying home when classes were over, the knowledge that her daughter was waiting for her coiled around her like a rope, a noose to which she gladly proffered her neck. Sometimes she used to run along their street, really run, a little shamefaced, how much meaning there was in every step. Mum! You’re home! The little girl would leap up to greet her, taking her by the hand and insisting on showing her the marvellous things she had been doing, little treasures of happiness she would find among the wooden bricks, among the furry animals and the tattered books, and even when Nitzan was a little older, turning into a serious and grown-up girl, she would run to meet her from her room, telling her stories, showing her pictures and exercise-books. How nice it was coming home, even if she was tired after a long day’s work, even if what awaited her was another white night of work to be checked and marks to be awarded. How she longs for such pleasure, and suddenly it seems to her it’s still in her hands, she can again be that woman who is awaited with love. Nitzan must already be at home, perhaps she’ll open the door to her and fall into her arms, and she will feel how a candle that was extinguished in her has been relit, and she will gladly cook a light meal for the two of them and they will sit together in the kitchen. You see, I don’t need much to make me happy, she explains aloud, just talking with the girl in the kitchen, feeling I’m needed by her, not loved necessarily, just needed.
The first moment of an encounter dictates the way it will continue, she says aloud, I shall go into the house smiling, as if I’ve had good news, turn to her with some light banter. How absurd this is, I’m preparing for a meeting with Nitzan as if we were talking about something fateful and crucial – and this is my daughter, my bones and my flesh, but the absurdity doesn’t put a smile on her lips; rather it plunges her into a depression that she tries to alleviate with simple decisions, peering in the interior mirror and smearing on lipstick, blackening the eyes with a make-up pencil. Nitzan is waiting for her, of that there is no doubt, even if she doesn’t know it she’s waiting for her, so she’ll go into the house with a smiling face, no hint of reproof or petulance, and that way she’ll get her back.
There’s her satchel thrown down in the lobby, beside it a superfluous sweater that she forced her to take yesterday, giving off a barbecue smell of charcoal and incinerated potatoes, those are her sandals, and she herself must be in her room. Nitzi, she calls out in a sprightly voice, would you like something to eat? And when the girl doesn’t answer she opens the door of the room, and the smile that she prepared in advance remains in place, her lips drawn tight, when she sees her daughter’s naked back laid motionless on the exposed chest of a fair-haired boy, his eyes closed. On the single bed
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