“You know classes start in a few days?”
“When you start art school, I’ll start officer’s school.” Her Avni interview happened just days before I was due to begin officer training. From Avni we went straight to Gordon Gallery for Elliot Crane’s exhibition opening. That night, a wonderful friendship began between Elliot and Lily.
Chapter 18
Bicycles
About a week after the interview, just before I left for officer training, we bought two bicycles – green, of course.
“I want to ride from here to Ramat Aviv, to the apartment,” she said right after we closed the deal.
“Maybe we should leave the bikes in the shop and come back with the car to pick them up?”
“Are you serious? I’m riding! Do what you want.” Lily, so excited by the idea, wanted to make the ride happen immediately.
“All right…” It didn’t look like I had any choice but to agree.
The moment she mounted the bike, a spark of youth lit up in her eyes. Before I even realized what was happening, she was already on her way to Ramat Aviv. In that instant she seemed to return, in her imagination, to her childhood on Freedom Street in Ashkelon – ball games, swimming, dancing, everything.
“I’m the happiest person on earth!” she said after I carried both bikes upstairs to the apartment.
When we showered, she looked more radiant than ever, her eyes glowing. When I asked if the ride had been hard, she admitted that on the climb over the River Bridge she thought she was going to faint. Despite a rapid, pounding heartbeat, she had only slowed down, but never stopped. She didn’t have an answer when I asked why she hadn’t told me. In the end, she fell back on the phrase she always used about her “boundaries.” She said she knew them well, and she was sure she was still far from them. After all, with all the difficulty – and maybe danger – she had made it to Ramat-Aviv on her own.
“I’m so glad I did it,” she went on, excited. “Believe me, I’mtrying to forget the illness. I just want to be like everyone else. Do you have to keep bringing it up?”
“I’m only worried about you. I want to be with you for many, many years – longer…” I apologized, brushing her wet hair from her face.
“I promise you we’ll be together a lot longer than you think.”
“How much longer?” I teased.
“Stop messing around and hand me the towel.”
On Saturday morning we took the bikes down to the sea. The ride was pleasant, and the morning breeze cooled us both. I pedaled at her side in a state of euphoria – that was the only word for how I felt riding next to the woman I loved. Her light hair streamed in the wind. She looked like she had stepped off the front page of a glossy fashion magazine. She was so beautiful. So happy.
We reached the beach. The Israeli sun, as always, quickly reached its apex, and with no clouds, it beat down mercilessly.
“Maybe we should head back before it gets too hot,” I suggested after two hours in which we had swum and rested.
“A little longer. You know how much I’ve missed this in recent years.”
“Are you even allowed to be out in the sun?”
“They told me not to, but they couldn’t explain why.”
“This direct sun could end the remission and trigger a severe flare-up,” I found myself almost begging.
“It’s not that hot yet. I promise we’ll leave soon.” Lily wasn’t about to be persuaded.
I stayed quiet – I already knew there was no point arguing with her, especially not about her health. Soon enough we packed our things into my backpack and began pedaling slowly back home.
Downhills are the best part of cycling, and the longer they are, the sweeter. But every downhill has its uphill. Maybe both of us had forgotten that. At the very start of the climb toward RamatAviv, Lily asked to stop. Her breathing was short. I threw my bike onto the sidewalk and ran to support her. She slid slowly off her bicycle, set it down carefully, and sat at the roadside. She looked pale. Though she tried to assure me she was fine, I helped her to a shaded spot beside the road.
Holding her hand, I felt her pulse racing.
“Forget the bike for today,” I said firmly. “Lily, it’s scorching hot, we have no water, and there’s still an uphill ahead. This isn’t for you.”
“So … what, we just stay here?” she asked. She seemed to realize she’d pushed herself too far.
