A Wall of Light - Edeet Ravel [47]
I tell Shoshana I finished and give her the bowl. I tricked her.
Between the Motion and the Act
Rubin changed the subject: “What do you have against your wife?”
“What exactly do you mean?”
“Why do you torment her for no reason?”
“You really think so?”
“Are you kidding? Sometimes you act as if she’s your slave. She’s afraid to say the wrong thing at the wrong time at the wrong place. What do you do to scare her so much? It’s not her fault that I look at her—I can’t help it. And what’s wrong with that, why shouldn’t I? I don’t see you stopping yourself from looking at Esther or Brauna or anyone else. Free her, free her!”
“Do you really think so?” Nat repeated, both repelled by and appreciating Rubin’s honesty, knowing he was only partly right, partly wrong.
Dori
Hannah sits with me on the patio of the Children’s House. The patio is my favourite part of Eldar. The floor is made of big purple tiles in different shapes that curve into each other. Even when it’s hot the tiles are cold if your feet are bare or if you lie down and put your cheek on them. I want to eat those tiles.
We once got our hair washed with kerosine on the patio. Dafna came to help Shoshana. We took off all our clothes except for our underwear and Dafna told us to close our eyes really tight while she put the kerosene in our hair. The kerosene was in a big rusty barrel. I like that word—barrel.
After we washed our hair with the kerosene Shoshana sprayed us with water from a hose. We ran in and out of the water and went wild. It was fun.
Hannah has a soft voice. Maybe she’s only shy. She says I’ll think of a number from one to ten and you have to guess it. I guess three and she shakes her head. Then she says you’re allowed to lie in this game.
The game makes absolutely no sense to me but I don’t care. I’m happy that Hannah’s finally talking to me.
But then suddenly she gets up and walks away. She really hates Eldar.
Diary of a Young Man
14 February 1922. The Meeting yesterday was profound. We spoke—actually only one spoke, and the others were silent— about Eros in society, about individual freedom. I didn’t understand most of it, but the discussion was imbued with a special spirit that can’t be put into words. It is no wonder that Eros is central to our talks—we bare our souls before one another.
20 February 1922. I am still shattered from yesterday’s discussion. Some time after midnight I was startled out of a deep sleep by the clanging of the bell. I was sure that our camp was in flames. Half-naked, I ran outside, but all was quiet—no sign or hint of a fire.
I approached the others, who were emerging from their tents, and asked them in a fearful voice where the fire was. But they reassured me and in hushed tones told me to keep my voice down, for the bell was summoning us to a Meeting. I wondered why a Meeting was being called at midnight. I returned to my tent, dressed, and made my way to the Dining Hall [mess tent].
The tent was half in darkness and somewhere in a corner a small lamp flickered. On the floor, against the walls, people sat huddled together, and from one of the corners, as if rising from the depths, came the voice of Y.B. like the voice of a spirit, full of mystery. The speaker kept his head bowed, and disembodied words broke through the dim space.
“I called for a talk (long silence) … because I … that is, we, every individual (long silence) … The society, one family (long silence).”
All the comrades sat with their heads bowed, their faces concealed. I rested my chin on my knees and listened. The rest of the Meeting eluded me, because I fell asleep in my dark corner.
The guard who came to light the Primus for tea woke me. Too bad I fell asleep. I was told that there never was such a beautiful and profound Meeting.
Dori
Daddy brings me a pair of slippers from the city.