Look for Me Read online

  “It’s a reminder. A reminder that it’s on the way to that great big garbage dump in the sky.”

  “I don’t think it’s funny. I think you’re being selfish.”

  “But why aren’t you the one who’s selfish, wanting me to conform?”

  “I can’t believe anyone can prefer ugliness to beauty.”

  “You have a very narrow definition of beauty, Daniel.”

  That would hurt him. He felt then that I was attacking the most essential thing about him, the thing that defined him: his passion for architecture. And I would feel remorseful and penitent. I’d start cleaning up, but Daniel’s mood would be ruined; the evening would be ruined. And I had no talent for cleaning up. “I don’t know how to organize stuff,” I said. “This place is too small. There’s no room for anything.”

  So Daniel built all sorts of clever shelves and cupboards for me. But nothing helped. I never reformed, and he never got used to my slovenly habits. We hired a woman to come two afternoons a week and bring order to chaos, but her good work never lasted. “Like the sand in Woman of the Dunes,” Daniel said when he was in a good mood and trying to joke about it. But most of the time he wasn’t amused and every now and then he walked out of the house in protest, leaving me to sit in the squalor and sulk.

  SUNDAY

  I WAS WORKING ON MY NOVEL when the phone rang. I ignored it, and continued writing.

  He took her in his strong arms and murmured in her ear, “Angela, Angela. Why did I read that letter before I left for St. Petersburg? If Sir Anthony returns tomorrow, nay, if he returns tonight—

  Fifteen minutes later it rang again. I answered this time, though I knew it would be Rafi.

  “Hello, is Dana there, please?” he joked.

  “Don’t call,” I said.

  “I’m right outside the hotel. Come have coffee with me.”

  “No, I can’t,” I said. “I’m busy.”

  “What building are you in?”

  Instinctively I looked out of my living room window, and there was Rafi, standing next to Marik the guard, talking into his cell phone. He waved at me.

  “Why? Why are you here?” I asked.

  “That’s what it says I have to do on my list. Call Dana.”

  He raised his arm with the white sheet of paper, like a soldier waving a flag of surrender. “You don’t believe me,” he said. He crossed the street, came up to the window, which was only slightly higher than the top of his head, and tried to show me the paper with the green handwritten notes.

  “I’ll meet you in the hallway,” I said.

  I came out to the hall and took the list from his hands.

  It was true, my name was there: Pick up bread, pickles, bananas, rolled oats, vitamin E. Give glasses in for repair. Stain remover for sofa. Call Eve about piano tuner. Pick up Naomi at 16:15, remind Yolande about Thursday. Call Dana.

  I was the last item.

  “Call Dana, why?”

  “My wife wants to meet you. She knows you—she saw you on television talking about your husband. You’re famous, Dana. Anyhow, she wants to invite you over for dinner.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  “Because I’m attracted to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s have coffee at the hotel. It’s air-conditioned and my old buddy Coby says it’s on the house.”

  “The manager?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have to save what I have on my computer.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “Wait for me there. Don’t wait here.”

  I sat down at my computer and stared at the screen. Sir Anthony may have the letter Martha sent about the inheritance, I wrote. If the Countess sees the letter, her sweet, innocent daughter will be banished from the palace at once and her life will be in grave danger. Bandits roaming the countryside had already—

  I gave up. I closed the file and made my way across the street.

  Rafi was waiting for me in the lobby of the City Beach Hotel. He rose when he saw me and smiled. I didn’t smile back. I followed him to the dining room: pink and blue flowers in slender vases on each table, four or five foreign journalists stuffing themselves with food from the breakfast buffet.

  We sat in the corner and drank coffee. Rafi watched me with his black eyes. I remembered reading somewhere that irises couldn’t really be black, only very dark brown.

  He produced a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and with the casual urgency of an addict placed a cigarette in his mouth while looking around for matches. I stared at his hands, his mouth, and remembered Daniel’s hands turning the key to his grandmother’s flat.

  “You smoke.”

  “Less than I used to. Does it bother you?”

  “No, I just hate it when people smoke. I had a friend who died of lung cancer, someone I met in the army. She gave me this locket when our sergeant hurt my feelings.” I showed him the tiny gold heart, my mother’s smiling face nestled inside. “It’s a miserable way to die.”

  “You’re right,” Rafi said, inhaling deeply. “What happened with the sergeant?”

  “She said it was a good thing my mother was dead, so she wouldn’t have to see what a loser her daughter was.”

  “I guess since she couldn’t make you dig a hole.”

  “I did clean a lot of toilets.”

  “Toilets plus insults.”

  “But at least no holes. Did you dig holes?”

  “No, not even once. I was a model soldier.”

  “Daniel was a dysfunctional soldier. They got so mad at him they almost killed him.”

  “They were so happy with me they almost killed me,” Rafi said, laughing.

  “I realize now that I’ve seen you lots of times,” I said. “I just got confused because you didn’t have hair back then. You used to shave your head and you wore sunglasses.”

  “I still wear sunglasses.”

  “Also the red baseball cap is new.”

  “It was lost. I just found it the other day. It was lost for years.”

  “Where did you find it?”

  “My brother had it all along. I left it at his place once, and it got stuck in a drawer. For several years.”

  I said, “I don’t know why you asked me here.”

  “This is not what you think,” Rafi replied. “Things aren’t always what they appear to be. As you of all people know.”

  “Don’t confuse me.”

  “But you’re not easily confused.”

  “No, so don’t try, it’s a waste of time.”

  He laughed again. He was in a good mood.

  “I don’t know why you’re here,” I repeated. “I’m married, I love my husband, I’m loyal to him.”

  “I’m married, too,” Rafi said.

  “I shouldn’t be sitting here with you.”

  “I guess I’m going to have to report you. I don’t want to, but I really have no choice. It’s my duty.”

  “I don’t know anything about you. I’m afraid of you.”

  He said, “Don’t be afraid, because I’ll protect you and I won’t let anything or anyone harm you, not my wife, not myself, no one. And this fear of yours, fear of your own vulnerability, this is one of the things that’s making you so unhappy.”

  “I am vulnerable. It’s not an irrational fear. But I believe you. Say it again.”

  “I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you. I wouldn’t allow it.”

  “Are you so protective of everyone?”

  “I do have a bit of a maternal streak. And you could use some cheering up. Come over for dinner tonight, and we’ll invite a few more friends.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes.”

  “My life is fine as it is.”

  “Yes, I can see that.”

  “I can’t tell whether you’re being ironic.”

  “Both ironic and not ironic. Because your life is both fine and not fine.�
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  “Well it’s not perfect, of course! I’m waiting for Daniel, I miss him. I miss him all the time. But things could be a lot worse. For example, you could make things worse.”

  “How, Dana?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’m not going to make things worse for you, that’s not my style at all. I like happy endings as much as you do. We’re very similar that way.”

  “Why do they use camouflage?”

  “What?”

  “It’s something I’ve always wondered about. That weird camouflage stuff you see all over the place—you know, those rubbery leaves on army shelters, cabins … what’s it for? Do you have any idea?”

  He stared at me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Oh, nothing. Pardon me. It’s just that I thought I was having coffee with Dana. And now it turns out I’m having coffee with Bana, her twin sister from outer space. My mistake.”

  “I can’t know everything!”

  “Her sister from outer space, who is visiting this part of the world for the first time.”

  “Come on, tell me.”

  “Well now, let’s see. Keeps out the wind, gives our sheds a nice fashionable touch, it’s the latest in military deco and you know we like to keep up to date with world fashions. What else? I guess it makes it a bit hard to see what’s going on inside.”

  “I thought of that. I thought it might be for privacy. But sometimes you see it just thrown over blocks of stone.”

  “That’s when the word camouflage can come in useful.”

  “You don’t understand. You don’t understand what I’m saying. I’m saying it isn’t logical. Because sometimes you see that stuff in places where no one’s trying to hide anything. Not a rock and not soldiers beating someone up.”

  “Relax, Dana.”

  “Sorry. I just get frustrated when no one understands.”

  “You must live in a perpetual state of frustration.”

  “No, not at all.”

  “I think most of the time it’s there for privacy, and sometimes it’s there so things don’t stand out at night, and sometimes it’s probably part of the overall chaos that reigns in the army. Someone fills in an order, we need blocks here, and sandbags, and throw in some camouflage for good measure. Then those things arrive, and no one really knows what the camouflage is for and they just throw it on something and no one thinks about it ever again, not the Palestinians, not the army, not civilians, no one in this entire country gives it a moment’s thought, except for Dana Hillman, who spends five years wondering about it.”

  I smiled. “Thank you.”

  “There’s something truly naïve about you, Dana. I can’t really explain it, you’re not clued out, you know what’s what, but you’re naïve in some way I can’t put my finger on. It’s as if you were looking for the pure essence in everything. You believe it’s there, and you’re determined to find it.”

  “Daniel said my problem was that I never want to think the worst. He was right. I hate thinking the worst about people. It’s a terrible way to live.”

  “Really! I’m the exact opposite. I always think the worst.” Rafi took one last drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray.

  “Are you thinking the worst about me?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s the worst?”

  “You have a rip in your T-shirt. You don’t brush your hair. You hide behind your camera. That’s it.”

  “I don’t like buying clothes Daniel won’t get to see. I do brush my hair, but it gets tangled right away. I take photos because I like shapes and textures and contrasts. I like capturing things people might miss or forget otherwise. I like all the strange things that happen all the time, everywhere.”

  “How did you get into photography?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I like long stories.”

  “Well, right after Daniel vanished I began having trouble with my eyes. I couldn’t see properly. I had blurry vision, I had trouble seeing distances and also up close—they thought I had a brain tumor. I went to all sorts of specialists but nothing helped. Finally they said I needed a shrink. They made an appointment for me with this old religious guy. At first I thought it wouldn’t work out, because he was religious—I thought the barrier between us would be too great. But since I wasn’t the one paying I didn’t have a choice, I had to take whoever they gave me. As it turned out, we got along really well. He said the country was cursed at the moment. He called it the curse of the golem, when people can no longer think and see and understand. He said Daniel would come back to me when he was ready, and not before, and that in the meantime I should just go on helping other people. He said that in the Bible, Daniel was associated with all sorts of miracles, and that maybe there would be a miracle in this case too, but until then I had to look after myself and after people who were suffering, because I would understand them. I told him about my eyes, and he asked me to bring in photos of different people so we could look at them and see whether looking at them and thinking certain thoughts would help. And when he saw my photographs he said I was talented, and that I should take a photography course, and he also had a feeling that photography would cure me. Maybe it was a coincidence, but the problem did go away soon afterward. I wanted to continue seeing him, but he said he’d done all he could for me. I loved him, and he loved me too.”

  “That story wasn’t too long. Do you just photograph people?”

  “No, but when I photograph the landscape I try to show the things people have done to it, the clues it gives you about who lives there and what’s going on. Just like clothes. Clothes are clues, too. The Palestinians are incredibly neat. I was at a checkpoint, the new one in Oreif, and the kids were waiting to go to school. They were so neat. Every hair in place, even the knapsacks didn’t have a speck of dust on them. They looked scrubbed, their clothes looked scrubbed.”

  “Yes, they have a lot of self-respect. That’s probably why they’re constantly worried that they’ve hurt your feelings. They assume the other person has the same self-respect.”

  “Do you speak Arabic?”

  “A little.”

  “I’ve always wondered how they feel when they watch American sitcoms—all the rules are different, the whole family structure, the relationships. Are they shocked?”

  “Of course not. They just find it funny. Everyone can relate to those feelings, even if you’re not allowed to express them yourself. Probably the more repressed you are in your own life, the more you like watching people on television act goofy. And as you know, not all Palestinians are traditional.”

  “I can’t come over. I can’t come for dinner. Please thank your wife for me.”

  “Enjoying this conversation too much, Dana?”

  “That’s a mean thing to say. You said you wouldn’t hurt me and already you’re being mean.”

  “I’d apologize if I believed you.”

  “Oh, fine, fine. You win,” I said.

  “Great. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “Can I bring my neighbor?”

  “Of course.”

  “He’s very, very crabby and unpleasant.”

  “We don’t mind.”

  “He’s in a wheelchair, with his leg stumps exposed.”

  “Sure, bring him. Why not?”

  “We can’t discuss politics or any of our activities in front of him, it would hurt him.”

  “Okay.”

  “Will that be a problem for your wife?”

  “I sometimes wonder whether she knows who the prime minister is. She lives in her own world, Dana.”

  “All right, I’ll come. We’ll come. But no other guests, please.”

  “Here’s my phone number in case there’s a change of plan.” He wrote his number on the back of his matchbook and handed it to me. “Does that guy need special transportation?”

  “We’ll manage. As long as you have an elevator.”

  “Yes, we do,” he said.


  Like all couples, we discussed cheating. “What would you do if I cheated on you?” Daniel asked one evening, as we relaxed on the sofa.

  “I don’t know. I can’t imagine it. What would you do?”

  “I’d leave you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. It would ruin things forever, I’d never be able to trust you, there wouldn’t be any point.”

  “Are you warning me?” I asked, curious.

  “Of course not. If you sleep with someone else it’s because I’ve failed you somehow. I hope you’ll tell me first if you’re ever that unhappy—not that I can imagine it. But if you sleep with another man it will be my fault.”

  “But you’d still leave me?”

  “Yes, because there wouldn’t be a way to fix things.”

  “It won’t happen, of course.”

  “I know … Both my parents had lovers,” Daniel said.

  “Really! You never told me.”

  “It’s no big deal. But I hated it. I hated that whole scene, and I almost lost my respect for them.”

  “Why? Why did they do it?”

  “I don’t know. They got along, but they were attracted to other people and they gave in to their attraction, I guess. They didn’t talk about it, of course, but we knew. My mother would come home with her eyes red from chlorine; she must have had a rich lover with a swimming pool in the building. My father would come home and go straight to the shower with this guilty look on his face. Then there were phone calls, private calls, which they would take in the bedroom, and they’d shut the door and put on the radio so no one could hear. They must have thought they had retarded kids. I think they really had no idea how obvious they were.”

  “But did they know about one another?”

  “I don’t know. They must have. I mean, I can’t imagine them not knowing, if it was so obvious to us, but maybe they were so absorbed in their own affairs that they didn’t notice that their spouse was cheating too. They were bored, I think. They were bored with their lives, with their horrible clerical jobs.”

  “My parents were the exact opposite. They had this twosome that was almost impenetrable, because they felt they had shared so much that other people didn’t understand. As if everyone was an outsider, except maybe for my uncle and his wife. For one thing, their experiences in South Africa bound them together, what they went through there when they were fighting apartheid.”