Sarah and Ehud: Another Scene

 "As long as you were productive, that's what matters."
Sarah laughed. "That's easy for you to say - my bills don't see it that way."
"You don't have to tell me about bills - I'm a starving grad student."
"But you're not starving now", she said, gesturing to the magnificent spread that lay across the red tablecloth.
"No, I'm not" Ehud said, and he kissed her.

Then the intifada came - right after Ehud had accepted a new job at a non-profit that protected the rights of Arabs living in Sheikh Jarach. Sarah was working as an English tutor while going for a bachelor's degree in comparative literature at Hebrew U, and Tammy had just turned two. The Israelis did not stop going out; they simply put out security guards, women allowing men with pistols to rifle through their tampons before they went to the club to find their latest lay. But Sarah was not Israeli - she was American, and she always would be. "I can't take this anymore, Ehud", she cried one night, after they found out their neighbor had just been killed in the Sbarros bombing on Jaffa street.

He laughed. "Don't be a drama-queen".

Sometimes at night, she hated them when she thought of her lost lover.  She felt guilty afterwards: Not for the hate, but because the hatred was for her sex life, and not the hundreds killed. On nights like those, she would lift up her down comforter, and creep softly into Tammy's room, to check on her breathing. She would lay a finger to her cheek, and cry.

Then came the morning after: The struggle not to call him on the telephone. She won - most of the time.

"Why do you think we're still married"" he asked her one night.
It was late;Tammi lay in the room upstairs, as they sat in the lobby of the Plaza, drinking wine. Sarah had just shaved her legs; she could feel Ehud's eyes admiring their smoothness as the candles sent flames up and down her ankles. Her feet were killing her, but the black pumps had been worth it. The low-necked dress and diamond necklace made her feel conscious of her chest, and she wanted so much to reach out and place his hands (or better yet: his lips) on her breasts.

"I don't know", she said. She could hear the sound the white wine made as it slipped down her throat.
"Do you want a divorce?"
"No. Do you?"
"No."
He set down his glass and reached for her wrists.
"I don't want to lose you."
"Don't be a drama-queen."

He stopped; his fingers lay over her like a bracelet, until, slowly he unclasped her wrists. He got up without a word. She sat in the sleek black chair, sipping her wine, suddenly aware that her back hurt like hell. When she got back to the room, he was asleep, the white comforter pulled up to his shoulders. She felt under the blanket to see if he was wearing underwear. He was.

She sighed and walked over to the adjoining room, to check on Tammy. She put her finger to her cheek, then pulled off her shoes, dropping them by the bed on her way to the bathroom. The carpet muffled the noise, and Ehud continued sleeping. As she brushed her teeth, she wondered what she should wear to bed: She had not brought pajamas. By the time she re-entered the bedroom, she had already decided to sleep in her black dress, since she already knew she would send it to the cleaners tomorrow.

She got in gingerly, pulling the comforter up to her waist, and closed her eyes.
"My God", she thought, "what does it mean that I'm too tired to hate?"

On the other end of the bed, Ehud opened his eys, forced himself not to turn around, to unzip her dress and kiss her back. He felt her rustling in the sheets, and closed his eyes.

"Damn! Still asleep", she thought, before turning over again, to spend a night in restless contemplation.