To the End of the Land (3 page)

There is, there is, she mumbled to herself, and thought, What do you even know about what could or couldn’t happen.

LATER
, she awoke from a quick doze and looked around for the boy. Are you still here? What, yes. She sighed. There were nine girls in the room with me, and I’m the only one left, isn’t that annoying? Avram liked the fact that after three nights with her he still didn’t know her name, or she his; he liked little mysteries like that; in the sketches he wrote and recorded at home on his reel-to-reel, in which he played all the parts—children and old men and women and ghosts and kings and wild geese and talking kettles and any number of other characters—there were often brainy little games like this, creatures that appeared and disappeared, characters imagined by other characters. Meanwhile, he amused himself with guesses: Rina? Yael? Maybe Liora? She seems like a Liora, he thought. Her smile is full of light, so there must be an
or
in her name.

It was the same in his room, he told her. Almost everyone in Room Three had left, including the soldiers. Some could barely walk, but they still sent them back to their units. Now there’s only one other guy with him, not a soldier, actually someone from his class who came in two days ago with forty-one point two, and they can’t bring it down, all day long he dreams and tells himself a thousand and one nights—Wait, Ora cut him off. Were you ever in training at Wingate? Do you happen to play volleyball? Avram let out a small yelp of horror. Ora held back a smile and put on a stern expression: Well, isn’t there any sport you’re good at? Avram thought for a moment. Maybe as a punching bag, he said. Then what youth movement are you in? she asked angrily. I’m not in any movement, he said, smiling. No movement? Ora flinched. Then what are you? Just don’t tell me
you’re
in a movement, Avram said, still smiling. Why not? Ora was insulted. Because it’ll ruin everything for us, he said with an exaggerated sigh. Because I was starting to think you were the perfect girl. Ha! she spat out. I happen to be in the Machanot Olim. He jutted his chin forward and stuck out his lips, and gave a long, brokenhearted, canine howl at the ceiling. That’s a terrible thing you’re telling me, he said. I only hope medical science will find a cure for your suffering. She tapped
her foot briskly. Wait, I know! Weren’t you with your buddies at the Yesud HaMaale camp once? Didn’t you have tents in the woods over there?

Dear diary, sighed Avram in a heavy Russian accent. At the midnight hour of a cold and tempestuous night, when I, woebegone, at last met a girl who was certain she knew me from somewhere—Ora sniffed contemptuously. Long story short, Avram continued, we examined every possibility, and after rejecting all her horrendous ideas, I came to the conclusion that perhaps it was in the future that we knew each other.

Ora cried out sharply, as though stabbed with a needle. What happened? Avram asked softly, infected by her pain. Nothing, she said. It’s nothing. She secretly stared at him, trying to penetrate the darkness and finally see who he was.

Somehow, in a super-avian effort, he flew to Room Three and landed on the edge of his classmate’s bed, and he too was trembling and sighing and scratching in his sleep. It’s so quiet here, Avram murmured. Have you noticed how quiet it is tonight? There was a long silence. Then the other boy spoke in a hoarse, broken voice: It’s like a tomb in here, maybe we’re already dead. Avram contemplated. Listen, he said, when we were alive, I think we studied in the same class at school. The boy said nothing. He tried to lift his head to look at Avram, but could not. After a few minutes he moaned, When I was alive, I basically didn’t study anything in any class. That’s true, said Avram with a thin, admiring smile. When I was alive there really was a guy in my class who basically didn’t study anything. A guy called Ilan. Unbelievable snob, never talked to anyone.

What could he possibly have to talk to you guys about? A bunch of babies, pussies the lot of you, clueless.

Why? asked Avram quietly. What do you know that we don’t?

Ilan let out a short, bitter snort of laughter, and then they sat quietly, sinking into turbulent sleep. Somewhere in the distance, in Room Seven, Ora lay in bed and tried to figure out
if these things had really happened. She remembered that not long ago, a few days ago, when she was walking back from practice at the Technion courts, she had passed out on the street. She remembered that the doctor at Rambam had asked whether she had been to one of the new army camps set up in preparation for the war, and if she’d eaten anything or used the latrines. She was instantly uprooted from her home, then exiled to a strange city and trapped in total isolation by the doctors, on the third floor of a tiny, miserable, neglected hospital in a city she barely knew. She was no longer sure if her parents and friends were really forbidden to visit her or if in fact they had visited her while she was sleeping, had stood helplessly around her bed trying to revive her, had spoken to her, called her name, then walked away, turning back to give her one more look: What a shame, such a good girl, but it can’t be helped, life goes on and you have to look ahead, and now there’s a war and we need all our strength.

I’m going to die, Ilan mumbled.

Nonsense, Avram said, shaking himself awake. You’ll live, another day or two and you’ll be—

I knew this would happen, said Ilan softly. It was obvious from the beginning.

No, no, Avram said, scared now. What are you talking about, don’t think that way.

I never even kissed a girl.

You will, said Avram. Don’t be scared, it’s okay, things will work out.

When I was alive, Ilan said later—maybe a whole hour later—there was this kid in my class who only came up to my balls.

That was me, Avram laughed.

He could never shut up.

It’s me.

Always made such a fuss.

It’s me, it’s me!

I used to look at him and think, That guy, when he was little, his dad used to beat the crap out of him.

Who told you? Avram asked, alarmed.

I see people, Ilan said, and fell asleep.

Agitated, Avram spread his wings and flew down the curved corridor, banging into walls until he finally landed in his spot on the chair next to Ora’s bed. He closed his eyes and slept fitfully. Ora was dreaming about Ada. In her dream, she was with Ada on that same endless white plain where the two of them walked almost every night, silently holding hands. In the early dreams, they talked all the time. From afar they could both see the rock looming over an abyss. When Ora dared to glance at her from the side, she saw that Ada no longer had a body. All that was left was a voice, quick and sharp and alert as it always used to be. The feeling of clasped hands was also still there, the fingers desperately clutching. The blood inside Ora’s head pounded: Don’t let go, Don’t let go, Don’t let go of Ada, not even for a minute—

No, Ora whispered, and woke up in a start, bathed in cold sweat, I’m so stupid—

She looked at the place where Avram was sprawled in the dark. The vein in her neck started to throb.

He woke up. What did you say? He tried to steady himself on the chair. He kept sliding down toward the floor, a despotic force pulling him to lie down, to rest his unbearably heavy head.

I had a friend who talked a bit like you do, she murmured. You still here?

I’m here, I think I fell asleep.

We were friends since first grade.

But not anymore? Ora tried in vain to control her hands, which suddenly shook wildly. It had been more than two years since she’d spoken to anyone about Ada. She hadn’t even said her name out loud. Avram leaned forward a little. What’s the matter with you? Why are you like that?

Listen—

What?

She swallowed and said quickly, In the first grade, on the first day, when I walked into the classroom, she was the first girl I saw.

Why?

Well, Ora giggled, she was a redhead, too.

Oh. Wait, are you?

She laughed out loud, and her laughter, again, was healthy and musical. She was so surprised that anyone could be with her and talk with her for such a long time, three nights, without knowing she was a redhead. But I don’t have freckles, she quickly clarified. Ada did, all over her face, and on her arms and legs. Does this even interest you?

On her legs, too?

Everywhere.

Why did you stop?

I don’t know. There’s not much to tell.

Tell me what there is.

It’s a little … She hesitated for a moment, unable to decide if she could tell him the secrets of the fraternity. You should know that the first thing a redheaded kid does is find out if there are any other redheads around.

To be their friend? Oh, no, the opposite. Right?

She smiled admiringly in the dark. He was smarter than she thought. Exactly, she said. And also so they never stand next to them or anything.

That’s just like how I—I look for the runts first.

Why?

That’s the way it is.

Are you … Wait, are you short?

I’m willing to bet I don’t reach your ankles.

Hah!

Seriously, you have no idea what kind of offers I get from circuses.

Tell me something.

What?

But be honest.

Go on.

Why did you come to me yesterday and today?

Don’t know. I just did.

Even so.

He cleared his throat and said, “I wanted to wake you before you started singing in your sleep, Avram lied.”

What did you say?

“I wanted to wake you before you started singing in your sleep again, lied the ever-scheming Avram.”

Oh, you’re—

Yes.

You’re adding in what you—

Exactly.

Silence. A secretive smile. Wheels spinning rapidly, on both ends.

And your name is Avram?

What can I do? That was the cheapest name my parents could afford.

And that would be like my saying, for example, “He’s talking to me as if he were a theater actor or something, thought Ora to herself”?

“You’ve got it, Avram praised Ora, and said to himself, Dear soul, I believe we’ve found—”

“So now be quiet for a minute, said Ora the genius, and delved into thoughts deeper than the ocean itself.”

“I wonder what she’s thinking thoughts deeper than the ocean itself about, Avram speculated nervously.”

“She’s thinking to herself that she really wants to see him, just for a minute—and then Ora, sly as a fox, revealed to him that apart from a chair, she had also today prepared
this.
”

A scratch, and another scratch, a flare, and a spot of light shines in the room. A long, fair, slender arm reaches out, holding a matchstick torch. The light sways on the walls like liquid. A large room with many empty, naked beds, and trembling shadows, and a wall and a doorframe, and in the heart of the circle of light is Avram, shrinking back a little from the glare of the match.

She lights another and holds it lower, as if not wanting to embarrass him. The flame reveals a young man’s thick, sturdy legs in blue pajamas. Surprisingly small hands grasp each other nervously on the lap, and the light climbs up to a short, solid body and cuts a large round face out of the darkness. Despite the illness, the face contains an almost embarrassing lust for
life, curious and intense, with a bulbous nose and swollen lids, and above them a wild bush of black hair.

What astounds her more than anything is the way he presents his face for her perusal and verdict, closing his eyes tightly, strenuously wrinkling all his features. For a moment he looks like someone who has just tossed a very fragile object into the air and is now waiting fearfully for it to shatter.

Ora gasps with pain and licks her burned fingertip. After a moment’s hesitation, she lights another match and holds it with severe candor in front of her own forehead. She shuts her eyes and quickly runs the light up and down in front of her face. Her eyelashes flutter, her lips protrude slightly. Shadows break on her long, high cheekbones and around the defiant, swollen ball of her mouth and chin. Something dark and imbued with sleep hovers over this lovely face, something lost and unweaned, but perhaps it’s just the illness that makes it look that way. Her short hair glistens like burnished brass, and its brilliance glows in Avram’s eyes even after the match goes out and the darkness once again envelops her.