“I didn’t get into fourth year like Lily,” said someone who looked familiar, though I didn’t place him right away.
“That’s Rafi, from the day of the interviews,” she reminded me. In the center of the room stood a stand, on it a purple porcelain bowl with an apple, a pear, and an orange inside. Each student was drawing it from their own angle. Within minutes, they were all back to work.
“Stay here,” Lily asked. “I’ll be done soon.”
“I’ll wait outside.”
“No, no, stand next to me. Put the weapon and gear aside, take it easy, it won’t bother anyone.” Only when I saw the students lose interest in the stranger who had barged in did I relax. I put down my army gear and stood beside Lily. I followed her gaze at the still life, trying to imagine the path from what she saw to the command to draw a line or to smear some charcoal. She was so focused that I felt I could detach myself. I wandered quietly along the walls, looking at the others’ sketches. Even though they’d just begun, differences stood out – some drew bold lines, others delicate ones. Some kept proportions, others didn’t, often making the apple the largest, especially the women students. Maybe that was the teacher’s instruction. Or maybe something to do with the original sin.
When the class ended, Lily took her coat, wrapped herself in it, and we left.
“So, as usual, we’ll go to Gordon Street?” she asked as we stood outside the institute. I nodded. We walked hand in hand toward Judah Street. The air was crisp and fresh.
“That was the first time I’ve ever been in an art class,” I said. “Thanks for letting me see what it’s like. I never thought the teacher would let me stay.”
“You were lucky it was still life. If it had been a model, they wouldn’t have let you in.” She smiled, and I laughed. We stood at the back of the bus, embracing.
It wasn’t far from the institute to the galleries, but I preferred to ride rather than drag army gear and a weapon down the street.
“Look how they’re staring at you,” I told her when I noticed some passengers’ eyes practically devouring her.
“I’m used to it,” she said, a little embarrassed. “But … I think they’re looking at you. Maybe at us.”
“Lily, to them I’m invisible. They’re looking at you!”
She kissed my cheek, maybe to show everyone we were together. For the first time, I realized she drew unusual attention in public places. Later, I’d learn that I had to get used to it. Not just had to – would have to.
We arrived at Gordon Street, and went from gallery to gallery. Most people there knew her. She studied the paintings, and so did I. She tried to analyze them, classify them, rate them, and above all, learn which ones might influence her – and how.
The difference between us was that she saw the art in three dimensions, maybe more, while I barely understood two. She tried to talk about the works, to the works, and they spoke back to her. Her gaze on the paintings changed her face – sometimes soft, understanding, sometimes sharp and aggressive, then back again. I found myself watching her more than the paintings.
“You know, this was our first honeymoon,” I told her when we got back to the apartment, the one I’d missed while I was there. She looked at me, puzzled.
“Lily, this is the first time we’ve been out together, just the two of us, among strangers, no parents, no family, no friends.”
“I hope we’ll have a real honeymoon, maybe after the official wedding.”
Though no date had yet been set for the formal wedding, we were already dreaming of the honeymoon. It was so good tobe together. We wanted to be far away, outside of the everyday norms that demanded we behave in ways we didn’t always agree with.
Chapter 30
The Month of Lily’s Birthday,
December 1975
My dear Michael,
I’ll be restless until 10:15 p.m., when I will be able to speak with you, my love.
No letter has arrived from you. I waited so eagerly, but my fingers felt no envelope in the box.
My man, I am floating high among the clouds, so very happy. The love burning inside me is beyond mortal comprehension, and it builds and enriches me.
Michael, you are in my heart, with me all day. Your soul is in every movement of mine. I am never alone, never lonely, because you are with me.
In the background, Edith Piaf is serenading us.
I suddenly remembered the candle that went out and then lit up again, and the rain that began to pour hard in torrents. Do you remember the excitement we felt in those moments?
