The Others, Sarah Blau [hardest books to read txt] 📗

That shuts him up, but not for long. I keep a disinterested gaze on them while cracking pistachios from a big bowl and depositing the shells in my napkin. I know the arguments will forever be the same old arguments; whether the setting be a bohemian soirée or Shabbat dinner at your religious relatives’ in Ra’anana, conservatism will always win. The round-faced man now shouting (because at a certain point the discussion will always disintegrate into a shouting contest) could have been Efraim, or the vendor at the kiosk near your house, or your GP. They all want the same thing, for you to be like them, to settle down, make babies, save yourself, themselves, the country, it won’t kill you!

Maybe it won’t kill you, maybe you’ll just wish it did.

Someone cranks up the volume and the music comes crashing back into the room with Nineties Swedish pop sensation Ace of Base crooning, All that she wants is another baby. Ah, Ronit and that famous sense of humour of hers. But where is she, Ronit? I cast my eyes around the living room but can’t find her anywhere. How long has it been since she disappeared with Eli?

I feel the full-body shaper clawing into my skin and scamper to the bathroom to peel it off, knowing it would be easier to shed my own skin. But at least I’ll be able to breathe again, even at the cost of visible flab.

I step into the bathroom, and what a surprise! Unlike the vanilla living room, the walls are painted a fiery red, and the toilet bowl is a shining, cold silver. On the wall to my right hangs a giant black-and-white poster, and who’s staring at me from the frame, with all her diabolical splendour? Who if not Lilith, flashing her familiar smile at me, Hey there, old friend, I’ve missed you, you didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easily, did you?

I carefully lower myself onto the toilet, keeping my eyes on the floor. I don’t want to accidentally see the painting again, with that dark smile, those giant teeth, the red lips, the big hands and what they’re holding. My mind is racing ahead, and I thank the lord that Micha isn’t here to see it. Not true. You wish he was here.

Coming out of the bathroom, I spot Eli and Ronit. They’re standing by the bedroom door, suspiciously quiet. I can’t read their body language: it seems to convey both intimacy and detachment. Eli isn’t looking at me, and Ronit is similarly staring off into space. I want to tell her I’m not into him and never was, so go ahead, baby, do whatever you feel like doing. Just like you’ve always done.

From the corner of the room I see the red-headed girl’s eyes on me, and now she seems even more familiar. Just as I decide to approach her, I feel a strong tug at my skirt. I turn around and see a flush-faced two-year-old.

“Look, car,” he says, one hand grabbing onto my leg and the other holding a big toy truck.

I give the toddler a perplexed glance. What is a sleepy two-year-old doing in the middle of Ronit’s pristine IKEA universe?

“Ari!” Taliunger rushes towards the child. “You don’t want to sleep?” she asks him, and without waiting for the toddler to answer, she turns to address the group around us, “We had to bring him along. He was supposed to sleep quietly in the bedroom.”

I lower my gaze and consider this child, Neria Grossman’s son. Lucky for him, he takes after his father, with all those fair curls. He’s pulling at my leg again. “Car! Car!” he squeals.

I feel the piercing looks of those around me as I crouch in front of the boy. It’s the same old test, the only one that matters, and how is she with babies? Each category will be scored and tabulated, I have to show just the right amount of affection (not too much!), straightforwardness (not too much!) and geniality (not too much!), but don’t worry, years of practice have imbued me with surgical precision. I get down to business.

“What a nice car!” I say.

“Mine!” he shrieks and pouts. A thread of spittle dangles from his pacifier and Taliunger lunges in to wipe it, but pauses midway.

“Of course it’s yours,” I say and lean closer to him. He’s purring with delight and beaming with puppy excitement, and his expression remains just as gleeful as he takes his toy truck and slams it into my face.

I’m seeing stars, flashes of light, and my nose feels like it was smashed to smithereens.

My ears are ringing with the sound of panicked cries as well as a few snickers. My fists curl into balls, pumping to the beat of the blood, laugh, laugh it off! Never show you’re in pain.

“Ari! What did you do?!” Taliunger rushes to swoop up her child and begins to deliver a scolding, but I can hear the laughter bubbling underneath the admonishing tone, and soon the entire living room is awash with giggles. Now Neria is smiling, and even Eli’s lips twist upwards, though he still won’t look me in the eye.

I get up slowly, swaying solemnly, and stagger to the mirror. Other than a hint of swelling on both sides, my nose looks pretty much the same, but the pain is crushing and throbbing.

“Want some ice?” Ronit’s voice cuts through the fog in my head; her eyes are red and conspiratorial as she approaches me and whispers, “Here,” handing me a pack of frozen peas. “Poor thing,” she adds. She’s radiating genuine compassion, and just like that and all at once, I’ve had enough of her, of the sudden sincerity she manages to draw out of herself only in the presence of real pain.

That’s it, I’m out of here, next time I’ll know better than to poke and pry into the past. The past will always come back to haunt