A Surprise Visit

Below is the sixth segment of my new short story—’A Surprise Visit’—never before published.


“Don’t look at me like that,” she said tersely, quick to kill that smirk before it had a chance to spread. “And you?”
“Me what?”
“Still crazy?”
“Just starting.”
“Starting what?”
“I don’t know…” he said, hesitating. “To have some freedom.”

They stayed motionless for a long moment, holding each other’s stare without flinching, and without speaking further. She was trying to read his mind, but he allowed no hint to pass through.
“What… you have a new girlfriend in the city already,” she said, losing patience. “Some stupid blond piece?”

He turned his eyes away from her, towards an empty square of a red wall. What he saw there was not red, though, it was black and white: An old photograph of a young, handsome soldier in uniform, a forelock of blond hair falling on his forehead, a far-off look reflected in his eyes.

“Forget I said that, Beni,” he heard Noa’s voice coming as if from a great distance. “What about the army. Did they release you at last?”
“Release me from what?” He gazed back at her, unfocused.
“From your unit, fool. From the army.”
“They can never release me from that, Noa. You should know better.”
“Nonsense. No one is irreplaceable, even you.”

She got closer to him again. Her bare white legs encircled him, as her arms struggled to hug his shoulders. “Is that why you stopped coming?” she whispered. “Stopped writing, too. The wars… the dead?”
He shrugged, lowering his eyes.
“I would’ve helped you, stupid, you know that.”

She inserted her fingers deep into his thick, unruly hair, and pulled his head close to hers. She smelled his hair, inhaling deeply, as her tender lips touched his forehead.
“Did they call you a traitor there, in the kibbutz?” she asked, pulling her head back but still looking at his eyes inquisitively, trying to penetrate them.

“They sure made me feel like one.”
“I bet you didn’t take anything with you.”
“My backpack.”
“Like me,” she said and released him from her hug.

She lay down on the straw mat beside him, her head resting on his thigh, as his hand—ever so hesitantly—smoothed her silky black hair gently. Before long, she was smoking one of his cigarettes, blowing rings of smoke up and around his head.


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Filed under Culture, Literary

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