“So that was the cause of death?”
“When the blood flows out uninterruptedly, yes, you can absolutely call it a cause of death,” he replies drily.
“But why the thigh?” I ask.
“Where would you have liked them to cut her?”
Where? A very old memory flickers and quickly fades, I try to hunt it down but my mind is already charging ahead and I fail to notice that Micha is still talking and I’m not following, until I suddenly hear the words “the group.”
“What group?” I blurt.
What group.
“The only group I could be talking about, your college gang, your posse.”
“I’ve already told you we were a group of friends.”
“But you didn’t tell me what kind of group.” We lock eyes, all three of us – me, Micha and the Witch of Endor with her inquisitive gaze. You beware.
Here comes the moment of truth. Should I or should I not tell him? And like always, when a young man is involved, I manage to make the wrong decision.
“Just a group of friends from college, you know, nothing special,” I say, and I am not in the least prepared for what happens next.
“Stop lying!” he shouts and almost knocks over the table, his jugular bulging. “Can’t you see I’m trying to help you? I don’t even understand why I’m trying so hard!” A tiny drop of spit lands on my chin, and I don’t dare wipe it. “Sheila, you’re rapidly approaching the point where I won’t be able to help you, do you understand that?”
No, I don’t.
“What kind of group was it, Sheila?”
Why am I getting the feeling he already knows? I hear the chant wafting through my head, Forever four, never less, never more!
“Tali Grossman says it was a serious business. That you had nicknames and code words, that you used to perform ceremonies like some medieval cult or illuminati-type shit. What exactly were you doing there?”
“Taliunger is a jealous liar,” I blurt out, “she always was. I thought you were too smart to believe her wild fantasies. What do you think, that we pranced around naked during a full moon? There were no ceremonies.” Just that one time.
And suddenly I miss Dina, who always knew how to put her in her place with a scathing look that said, Taliunger, shut your fat piehole. Who would have thought I would ever miss Dina? Who would have thought I’d have to bother myself with Taliunger again, as if I was still twenty? But that’s what you are, aren’t you? Twenty. Or at least you think you are.
“Did your group have a name or not?”
“It did.”
The Witch of Endor is giving me a cautioning look, Don’t tell him, don’t tell this man a thing!
“The Others,” I say. “We called ourselves the Others.”
Once again, I see Dina’s, Ronit’s and Naama’s faces, before… before that night, before all the deaths, paragons of youth and otherness. There’s Dina lying on the grass, her hands resting on the small tambourine by her side as she smiles at Naama who’s sprawled next to her, limbs loose and slack, hair splayed on the grass, Naama’s auburn hair, and Ronit who’s approaching us, arms akimbo, hands on flawless hips. Ronit smiles at me and wants to say something, but her mouth is full of blood. I open my eyes straight into Micha’s face.
“And what was the purpose of this group, if I may ask?” he enquires after a lengthy pause.
Tick-tock, tick-tock.
“We thought… I mean, this freshman year at college,” don’t tell him! I’m searching for the words, not sure I’ll be able to explain, don’t tell him! “We took a course together and just clicked.”
I recall the grey blob from the Women of the Bible course, the one who started it all with his sages of blessed memory, and all the mothers and children, and how Dina said without blinking an eye, “We’ll have other ambitions,” and we laughed and laughed. Because that’s how it is when you’re twenty, everything makes you laugh, until it doesn’t.
“And then what happened?”
“We just thought maybe not all women have to get married, or have kids, or…” My voice trails off. “And that maybe we didn’t have to either.”
“And then?”
Don’t tell him!
“And then, as you can see, that’s exactly what happened. We didn’t get married and didn’t have kids, that simple.” I wish it was that simple.
“But… but why?” His mouth hangs agape in enquiry, but he doesn’t look so boyish and innocent any more.
“Because,” I answer, “because we were young and we wanted something different out of this life.”
“And did you girls get what you wanted?”
I fall silent. Very, very silent.
“Did you, Sheila, get what you wanted?”
Tick-tock, tick-tock, no tot, no tot.
“And maybe,” his tone changes, “let’s just try a little thought experiment: maybe you actually blame them, Dina and Ronit, the whole group, maybe you think it’s their fault that you never got married or had kids, that you essentially wasted your life. Does that sound right? Only as an experiment, of course.”
Tick-tock, tick-tock. We lock eyes. Only as an experiment, sure. Where’s the “I’m trying to help you”? Where’s the “I’m on your side, Sheila”? For a moment he seems almost enthusiastic, like any man about to get a promotion because he caught the serial killer terrorizing the nation.
“I did not waste my life,” I say.
“Let’s carry on with the experiment, okay? Look at yourself,” he says and sweeps his gaze across the room, lingering on the hairballs lurking in the corners. “Look at your life. Are you happy?”
Happy?
“Is anyone?”
“Don’t change the subject, Sheila. Are you happy with your life?”
“Would kids make my life better?”
“Let’s assume they would,” he says, and it stings. I reach for a cookie, ignore the dust sprinkles and take a bite. It’s dry and bland, like those rice crackers you give babies when they’re teething, and for some inexplicable reason, the image of the mysterious redhead from the party drifts into
