Look for Me Page 11

  I never forgave her, and I never forgave their happiness. It didn’t matter to them that they could no longer see their son. They knew he was alive; he was collecting his checks and had even rented a flat, which meant that he had a plan and knew what he was doing. I concluded that they didn’t like me, had never liked me, and were secretly glad that Daniel had left me. Later I realized that I was wrong, but somehow our relationship disintegrated. Maybe I envied them.

  Daniel’s grandmother died a few months later, and Nina opened a school for spiritual healing with Elena, the woman who had read The Possessed to her grandmother. I lost touch with Nina as well, though I’m still on her mailing list and occasionally I receive brochures inviting me to study various therapeutic arts.

  TUESDAY

  I WOKE WITH A START AT FOUR IN THE MORNING. I had no idea how I’d make it through the next fourteen hours. If Aaron really had the address, I might see Daniel this very day; no matter where he was in our small country, I could reach him within a few hours. The idea was almost impossible to fathom. I had read The Count of Monte Cristo when I was twelve or thirteen, and I thought of it now. I remembered Edmund’s unlikely escape from the dungeon in a canvas bag—in reality he would have certainly drowned—but in the story he managed to cut himself loose, swim in turbulent waters to another island (after all those years in the dungeon he was still fit, with strong lungs), be rescued by sailors on a boat, find a great treasure (the drawing in my edition showed glorious jewels spilling out of a chest), and dispense justice. It was everyone’s fantasy. If Aaron know where Daniel was, if it was that simple, I would feel as fortunate as Edmund. On the other hand, I didn’t want to get my hopes up; it was possible that Aaron would only find the fake address, like everyone else.

  At six in the morning I went out to buy the papers. When I returned to the building I ran into my neighbor Tanya, who was on her way to get cigarettes. She looked chic, as always, in a silky, silver-and-blue-striped dress, with a vermilion scarf around her throat, and her dyed blond hair fashionably styled. She often urged me to try Hair Rave, where the latest cuts were available from pierced men with tattoos on their arms. She felt I didn’t care enough about my appearance and often chided me. “At least brush your hair, dear,” she’d say. “And why always the same clothes? What about an attractive belt? You’re too young to give up, my love. There’s no crime in being sought after.” She herself was sought after by women and men across the country for her fortune-telling skills, which she practiced, according to the sign on her door, by means of tarot cards, palm reading, and something called “the Chinese method, learned firsthand from a Chinese master in Beijing.” I couldn’t picture Tanya in Beijing.

  I was surprised to see her up so early; Tanya considered eleven in the morning the crack of dawn. She read my mind and said, “I had such a nightmare, I just had to get up. That’s the only thing to do when you have a nightmare like that.”

  “What was it about?”

  “Oh, it’s hard to describe. I was in some sort of medieval hell, I couldn’t get back to the present … nothing made sense. Absolutely terrifying, though.”

  Impulsively I said, “Tanya, can you read my fortune?” I had never asked her before; the idea hadn’t occurred to me. No one could predict the future, not even Tanya.

  Tanya wasn’t in the least surprised. “Of course, my darling one,” she said. “As soon as I get back.”

  “I’ll wait upstairs.”

  I waited in front of Tanya’s door. When she returned with her cigarettes she said, “Why did you wait outside! It isn’t locked. Come in, dear.”

  Her flat was tidy but slightly dusty, possibly because she was myopic and too vain to wear glasses. The walls were covered with wallpaper on which delicate pink flowers hovered against a white background. There was a kitchenette in the corner and a door on the left that opened onto a tiny pink-and-white-flowered bedroom. In the middle of the living room stood a round polished mahogany table and four matching chairs. Embroidered cushions leaned precariously against the backs of the chairs. The cushions were new; I hadn’t seen them on previous visits. Each one bore the name of a different bird, which was represented in enlarged form at the center of the square. The birds looked immobile and rather aloof, as if they’d decided they had better things to do in life than fly. “Lovely,” I said, picking one up. “Where did you get them?”

  “My mother made them, poor thing,” Tanya sighed. Tanya always referred to her mother as “poor thing” because she’d had a hard life, but in fact her mother seemed content. She was a bulky woman with a few missing teeth, and she always greeted me with a smile when I passed her in the hallway. But she didn’t go out much; she had arthritic knees. She liked to bake, and she often left plastic bags filled with cookies or cakes on my doorknob. Or rather, three plastic bags, one inside the other, each knotted tightly. I rarely ate these desserts; they were too sweet for me. I gave them to the octogenarian taxi drivers who sat idly in patio chairs at the taxi stand around the corner, waiting for customers.

  “How’s your mother?”

  “Fine, fine. Have a seat, dear.” She reached across the table, took my hands in hers, shut her eyes, and meditated. Then she told me to fold my arms on the table, rest my head on them, and shut my eyes. She came round to where I was sitting and began massaging my shoulders. I had not had a massage since Daniel left, and I’d forgotten how blissful it was. I lost all sense of time and nearly dozed off.

  Finally she returned to her seat and I lifted my head. I was sure my eyes were red and swollen. Tanya smiled. Her smile was slightly crooked, and for a brief second I was afraid of her, but then it passed.

  “I don’t need cards in your case,” she said. “Your case is simple. You’ll lose your job at that office, either because they’ll fire you or because they’re going to go bankrupt and shut down, I can’t tell. Don’t make any large purchases, you’re going to need whatever money you have. Try to focus on paying back your debts right away. You’re in good health. A new person is going to come into your life, with good results. That’s it for now, my darling.”

  “Thanks, Tanya. How much do I owe you?”

  “Usually I charge two hundred for the first reading, but I’ll only charge you fifty, because you’re going to lose your job. If you come again, I’ll give you ten percent off.”

  I was impressed. Tanya had found a way to support herself without sex but with the same reliance on our need and desire for comfort, physical pleasure, and hope. Her pessimistic prognosis was hopeful in the sense that it offered the illusion of control; even if you were going to be fired, it helped if you knew it all along. In fact getting fired really had nothing to do with your own failure because, here, it was already in the stars.

  But I wasn’t ready to leave: I was having an attack of credulousness. “You said a new person was coming into my life. A totally new person, or just new because it’s been a long time since I saw him?”

  “Wait, I’ll try to answer your question.” She shut her eyes again. “It’s not clear, sweetheart. Maybe next time I’ll have more luck with that one.”

  “Thank you, Tanya. I feel better.”

  “Anytime,” she said, lighting a cigarette.

  I paid her and she stuffed the money into her little change purse, a yellow beaded pouch with a reliable bronze clasp. Two rows of green and red oval beads interrupted the yellow theme for additional decorative potency. Tanya’s change purse was the most optimistic personal item I could ever hope to encounter.

  I had only slept a few hours during the night, but I was too anxious to nap. I stretched out on the living room sofa with an Anita Brookner novel my father had sent me, and tried to concentrate on the excursions her sentences took into casual revelation. Reading relaxed me, and with the open paperback lying on my chest like a protective talisman, I shut my eyes and drifted off. I dreamed Rafi was trying on different outfits, and asking me what I thought of each one. Some of the outfits were casual and some were formal, and I wa
s upset because I didn’t know the price or what he needed them for, so how could I judge?

  I woke up shivering. There was a woman in the room, staring down at me.

  “Sorry, there was no answer, so I let myself in. I’m Mercedes. Are you sick?”

  It took me a few seconds to decipher what she was saying. Then I remembered: Mercedes, the cleaning woman Rafi had promised to send my way. I was still not entirely awake and in my confusion I was surprised that she was a real person, and not someone Rafi had invented in order to make me feel better, the way parents invented tooth fairies for their children.

  “Are you sick?” she asked again. She was a small woman with lovely slanted eyes and perfect, delicate features. She seemed to be on bad terms with her beauty, though, and did her best to ignore it: her black hair was held in back with an office worker’s rubber band, a shapeless print dress hung limply on her small body as if uncertain of its incarnation as female clothing, and her brown loafers looked like shriveled pumpkins. It was hard to guess her age because she was so sturdy, but I thought she might be in her late forties.

  “This place really is a mess, Rafi wasn’t kidding. Don’t worry, you won’t recognize it when I’m through. But maybe you’d like tea first? If I can find a clean cup here …”

  “Yes, thank you. Thank you, Mercedes. Tea would be very nice.”

  “You’re shivering. I think you may have a fever.”

  “No, it’s nothing. It’s nothing, I’m fine. I’m just not awake yet.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll look after everything.”

  I lay back on the sofa. Under ordinary circumstances I would not have wanted a garrulous, overbearing stranger in the house, but Mercedes’ certainty about her world and its offerings was exactly what I needed at the moment.

  I heard her moving things around in the Dining Car. “Nice mural,” she called out to me. “If you don’t have detergent and stuff I’ll go buy. Oh … here’s some.”

  She brought me a glass of sweet tea on a dinner plate. “I didn’t know whether you had a tray. Here, sit up, I’ll fix your pillow.”

  I let her fuss over me. Then I watched as she began collecting garbage, dirty dishes, newspapers, and crumpled clothes with brisk, energetic movements. I felt I should get up and help her, but I stayed where I was.

  “Would you like to watch television while I work?” she suggested. “You can lie in bed and relax.”

  I moved obediently to the bedroom and switched on the television. An old movie, Sunday, Bloody Sunday, was on. I’d seen it years ago, when I was still in high school. I hadn’t understood it then; I had no idea what it was about or why people liked it. Now it was transparent to me, and even though some parts were a little clumsy, I liked it. Once I had wondered what it would be like to be an adult. I thought, like all children, that adulthood was accompanied by esoteric secrets, complicated insights, mysteriously acquired skills. But it turned out to be very simple: you were exactly the same, you were still a child, but you had to find a way to look after yourself. And trying to look after yourself was a full-time job. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t. And that was it.

  When the movie ended I watched a talk show. I watched it for half an hour before I realized that I had no idea what anyone was saying or even what the topic of discussion was. I picked up the remote and began flipping channels. I stopped at a music video in which a store-window mannequin was singing. After a few seconds she turned into a beautiful woman and broke out of the store. You thought you could control me, but you see that you were wrong.

  “Ready for a snack?” Mercedes asked me. “I’m just about finished, I only have the bedroom and bathroom left. I scrubbed every corner. You won’t recognize your own flat.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “I’ve prepared something for you, come. I had to buy a few things, your fridge was empty.”

  I joined her in the kitchen. She’d made salad and a spicy bean and vegetable stew. “Are you feeling better?” she asked, serving me and then herself. “I didn’t buy any meat—I don’t trust the stores around here.”

  “I’m not really sick, I’m just anxious. My husband’s been missing for eleven years and yesterday I met someone who said he can get me his address. I have to call at six. I’m just nervous, that’s all.”

  “Really! After eleven years, no wonder you’re excited. But if he ran away, he may not want to be found.”

  “He didn’t really run away.”

  “That’s what we all tell ourselves. Men are men, though. They run away all the time.”

  “He was burned in a fire. He thought I wouldn’t love him anymore.”

  “Oh! Jeez, men are dumb. They think we’re like them. They care about looks, so they think we do. They care about women going gray, so they get all upset when they go gray. As if something like that mattered to us! Still, I can understand you. I’d wait too, for a man I loved. In fact, I’m still waiting, in a way. Not really, but in a way.”

  “Someone who left you?”

  “Not exactly. Just someone I met when I was fourteen. We only spent one afternoon together. I’ll tell you the truth, but please don’t judge me.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Yes, I can tell you’re not the type to judge. The truth is, I was doing a bit of prostitution. I had no choice, believe me. Anyhow, I only did it very part-time. We were really poor, and I just couldn’t bear not having money for anything. So I met this guy. When I think about it now, he was just a kid, not even in the army yet. But I still think of him as a lot older than me. I can’t think of him as young, you know what I mean?”

  “Yes, it’s the same when I think about my kindergarten teacher. She was only twenty, but she’ll always seem old to me.”

  “Well, he was so nice. He bought me ice cream, and I fell in love with him, because he was so incredibly nice and also very good-looking. He refused to sleep with me, he made up an excuse and I pretended to believe him. At first I thought he was turned off by me but then I saw that it wasn’t that at all. I just wasn’t special enough for him. He wanted someone who was special, even if he was paying for it. He told me I had a lot of talent as an actress, he said he could tell, because he was in acting himself, and he had a good sense for who was talented. I said to myself, One day I’ll be a famous star, and I’ll invite him to my opening show, and maybe then he’ll like me. I also wanted to pay him back. He gave me a loan, and he said I could pay him back when I became a star. For years I kept hoping I’d run into him, and I still keep hoping. In ’67 and ’73 and ’82 I checked every single casualty, I looked at the names and I checked all the photos, so I know he didn’t fall. Two of my brothers fell, and my favorite cousin, but he made it. Anyhow, it was ages ago, but I’m pretty sure I’d recognize him. He’s probably married and has kids, but I’d still like to meet him, just to tell him that I had a few parts, here and there. I was Honey in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? When I said ‘Violence! Violence!’ everyone had hysterics. I was almost the star of that show. We were just an amateur group, but we got a review and they said I was a natural. Too bad I married the guy who played George. The director had this idea that George and I should be Sephardi and Martha and Nick would be Ashkenazi. Anyhow, me and George, I mean Victor, we started going out during rehearsals, and by the time the show was over, we were engaged. But all Victor wanted me to do was have kids, one after another. I don’t mind, I love kids. Still, I wish I could meet that guy, and tell him about Honey. He’s the one who gave me the courage to audition. I was in love with him for years, and I still am, a bit.”

  “What about your husband? Did he go on acting?”

  She laughed. “No, unless you call having affairs and then lying about it a form of acting. No, he’s had all sorts of jobs, but acting isn’t one of them. He’s all right. Considering what’s out there, he’s okay. Well, back to work. I’m almost finished. I’ll just fix the bedroom. What do you think so far?”

  “It’s great, Mercedes. I really ap
preciate it. I have to go check on my neighbor, and then I might take a little walk. You can let yourself out, you don’t have to lock the door. What do I owe you?”

  “Rafi already paid me. I’m here instead of at his place. I don’t think his wife likes me very much. I hope I can come here again.”

  I went to check on Volvo, even though it was the last thing I felt like doing. I knocked on his door softly. Luckily, he wasn’t answering, and I didn’t persist. Possibly he was out: Tuesday was his day alone, without volunteers, and he often went for long strolls down the most crowded streets of the city, hoping to upset as many people as he could, and perhaps also secretly hoping to be hit by a car as he wheeled himself carelessly into heavy traffic. On the other hand, maybe he was secretly hoping to find love. It was hard to tell with Volvo.

  I still had an hour until six. I walked along the shore, my phone tucked in my front pocket. At a quarter to six I sat down on the sand, pulled out the phone, and dialed Aaron’s number. I couldn’t wait any longer.

  “Hi,” he said. He didn’t sound very happy to hear from me.

  “Hi, did you get it?”

  “No. I don’t have anything for you. Dana, listen to me, I’m telling you this as a friend. You have to forget your husband. I know it’s hard, but you have to forget him.”

  “What are you saying? Oh God, is he dead?”

  “No, he’s not dead. I can’t tell you anything. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

  “You don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me?”

  He didn’t reply. He was an honest person, he found it hard to lie, and I could tell he was trying to decide what to say. But just the fact that he was hesitating was in itself an answer.

  “So you know, you know where he is, but you don’t want to tell me, is that it?” My voice was trembling but I was trying to stay calm; I was afraid he’d hang up on me if I became hysterical. Besides, there were people on the beach and I didn’t want them listening in on my conversation.