Yossi Waxman

Gabi

 

Falling in love with an old woman? Come on! I never believed this could happen to me. And I am not some high-school stud. Not at all. I was forty-something and balding and fat. She was eighty, give or take. Love lurks in most unexpected places. Just like death. And it can be bizarre like some artsy Austrian film. She said she was actually in love with the disintegration of humanity. I said I don’t understand. She lit a long and slim Broadway cigarette and said: "Where Man ends, God begins." I liked that. She told me she was at the end of life and came back. I smiled and grimaced a little, but only inwardly, so she does not notice. She laughed: "Why do you twist your mouth so? Have I said something irrational?" Luckily, Faye dragged me to her jacaranda bush. Where is the End of Life?

 

It all started because of the cats in the yard. The old lady infected me with her love for stray cats: "There's something about these animals that both attracts and repels me - just like sex, like seduction, like life." I was turned on and got dragged in. That's me, always dragging behind. Love says my problem is that I'm childish, emotionally rigid, and without any compassion to speak of - and that I should start thinking and acting like a I'm forty-something. "You'll probably have your midlife crisis at seventy," she laughed. I didn’t mind. Perhaps it is because we have no children. We drifted apart recently, but I'm not complaining, God forbid. She is a good woman, this Love of mine. She fell in love with me 17 years ago - by chance - in a small park on Nathan Street. And with the dogs. She still loves us. For me, it is inertia. And my natural selfishness, a little. And now, this new one. The grandmother of temptation with her stray cats. I wished I could love the woman called Love as much as she loved me. Even by chance. 

 

How shall I begin? I mean, this is almost insane. It is also simple, like the cats - all female, actually. That evening, I took my bitches for a walk and an evening pee to the small lawn between blocks 17 and 19 on our street. Stavi, who can barely walk, came with Love and her first Fiat convertible, and Faye, who came from the animals' shelter with her Anglo-sexy name and lots of fur. "Can't you control that terrier?" she tossed a question at me. "My girls are going crazy over here." That's how she calls her cats, "my girls." She gives them fresh water every night. I pulled Faye away. "How d'you do? I am Gabriella, but you may call me Gabby, if you like. Gabriella sounds a bit fetishistic, no?" I laughed inside. That lady is kinky! "Nice to meet you. I am Gabi too." Can you believe we have the same name? This warmed my heart right then, you know. And don’t think me a pervert or something. Not at all! I just have this weakness for old ladies. It is inherent. When I was just a kid, I got turned on by elderly teachers wrapped in synthetic sweaters. The same happened with aging and retired nurses who volunteered in our clinic. Don’t ask me why. I have no rational explanation. Love says it reflects my obsessions - cleanliness and order and collecting antiques and such. I myself am like an old lady. I freak out when the carpet is not aligned with the floor tiles. I also shower for hours. Perhaps I am compensating for my childhood when we had to shower "in a jiffy" and leave hot water for every-everyone: mom and dad and a boy, and granny and gramps. Mom was also a Queen of Clean. With her, we had to float in the air because if you left marks on a wet floor, you get some marks on your skin, blue ones. Love explains everything with reflections. I think it is silly. Perhaps this absence, the mom and dad I no longer have, drives me toward old ladies. Possibly. "You, from around here?" she asked. "Yes. No. 17." "I am 19, third floor, no elevator." I wondered where she was until today, but I was afraid to ask. I didn’t want to embarrass her. She beat me to it: "You, new here?"

 

Then she introduced me to her Girls: Helga, Bebi, Greta, Sophie, Marlene, and beautiful gray Lily. They were sterilized, all except Sophie. You can tell by the tiny cut in their ear where the city vet marked them after sterilization. "This is for the bastards, so they don’t take them in their evil city truck." She had taken them by cab to the SPCA to be sterilized. "The prevention of cruelty," she said. All, except Sophie, who stood her up, "but don’t you worry. Soon as she stops breastfeeding, I'll cut out hers too." I said: "Mine are sterilized too. My spouse did that as soon as we got them." The old lady tried to hide a nervous facial tic. What? Is she jealous already? Eh, it is only in my head. I guess. Who knows? Faye pulled me home. I pulled her back to me. Gabriella lit another cigarette. "You can't control that terrier. It says a lot about you." I raised an eyebrow, "A lot?" The gray cat rubbed its back against her legs. "Yea, but it's OK. I like it like that. I need weak men. Got no patience for those new uber chochems, those high-tech schmitek guys." She's up to date, I thought, but why the hell does she "need" me?

 

The cats gathered around her. Sophie came to me. "This one is so friendly, to die for. The city bastards will murder her in the end." Faye sniffed the cat's rectum. Sophie rubbed herself against the dog and mewed. Startled Faye stayed away. Sophie followed her relentlessly. It was an odd sight: a dog and a cat getting to know each other. Two clearly curious females. There was compassion too. Sophie surrendered to my fingers, spread her limbs on the lawn and purred, letting me fondle her chest. Her fur was Cashmere-pleasant to the touch. Hard to believe she was actually a stray cat. Her nipples and tummy were swollen. She closed her eyes. "Horny she is, the little wet-nurse," Gabriella giggled. "She's got the hots for ya." The old lady from No. 19 speaks like some standup comedian, I thought. "I'm a little hot for ya too. Wanna be my buddy?" My fingers curled into Sophie's soft underbelly fur, and the startled wet-nurse leaped at my face and gently scratched my cheek. "Hey! What's wrong with this cat?" I tried to switch back to pet chat. The old lady cut me off: "So d'ya wanna or not? I won't be insulted if you say no. I heard that plenty in my life." I nearly blushed and Gabriella sniffled. My privates tingled. Eh, something was thickening down there. I swear, the old lady gave me a boner. She picked up and closely inspected Sophie. "Look, you traumatized her brain. She's delicate like you won't believe, my kitten." Stavi pooped on the lawn and sat. "So, d'ya wanna be our mate or not?" I tried nodding. "It's not hard at all," she said. "You just have to bring down our food, morning and night, and change our water, so we don’t die, god forbid. And we need some attention now and then so that we could suffer living in the garbage. Piece of cake." 

 

Before we parted, she revealed that the End of Life is in that crazy place where human meanness mingles with compassion. I did not understand and she laughed: "It's OK, dummkopf. Perhaps one day you will. And think about me because I won't stop thinking of you tonight. The girls will too." I felt weak, and agitated. My nerve ends stood out of my epidermis like antennae, suspicious of the world, but also surrendering. She left. The cigarette smoke, her perfume, and the "girls" followed her - Helga, Bebi, Greta, Sophie, Marlene, and beautiful gray Lily. An old lady with puffed up hair, too much hairspray, and a synthetic cardigan resting on her bony shoulders with casual pseudo-elegance. High-thigh Ban-Lon trousers. Her perfume, a bit spicy, a little pathetic, smelling like eau de toilette of elderly clinic nurses. Way too much makeup, like a heroine of a Fritz Lange movie. A chain smoker. And a blonde. 

 

"Where did you get this scratch?" Love asked me that night as we stood before the bathroom mirror, side by side. I said, sarcastically: "My lover. She's named Sophie and she's a wet-nurse." Love stuck her toothbrush into her mouth and I abused by gums with my electric one. A man and a woman standing naked and mute in front of a mirror that reflects their suffering. Even their designer halogen lamp does them no favors at times like these. It shows them their sadness, and those silly moles that won't stop growing, and the hairs that sprout in all the wrong places. Upsetting. A woman named Love without love. Ain't that tragic? So, what is left of our love? We have a 3-bedroom apartment, an elevator, two bitches, a collection of antiques that seize our lives, a Mazda Lantis and a Renault Meganne, two bank accounts - one local and one in London, in case they push us into the sea, God forbid - an original Arikha on the living-room wall, and cellulites. A man and a woman, quite sorrowful. Enter this lady from No. 19. I can see her in the mirror, reflecting in my face - a bit of attention to make a miserable life more tolerable. Eh, I hope I'm not losing it. Love put some lotion on her face, quickly, dutifully, and left for the bathroom. I flossed. I spend hours on those gaps between my teeth. I have receding gums. Love says I am receding completely, going elsewhere. Mom used to throw hangers and knitting needles at me, and I easily absorbed them. Piece of cake. Dad too. And Grandma. Perhaps it started there. Who knows, dummkopf? Say, is she in my mouth too? Don’t ask. The answers are too complicated for you anyway. Oh well. Hi-tech-shmitech. Gotta bring the Girls food in the morning. I plucked some hairs out of my nostrils and from the gap between my eyebrows. Love snored. I heard her snivel the tiny anger that hides in her sinuses. I stuffed my ears with natural wax plugs and switched off that vicious halogen lamp. In the dark, the world is much more focused. 

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*** 

 

Gabriella

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As soon as I returned from my pedicure, I placed the Rummikub set on the dining table and went to shower right away. I could already hear his voice from the corner of my ear, but I ignored it. "Komm her, Liebchen. Come, rub one out for Onkel Otto." No, I will not! Wha'cha gonna do? Also, I went to see my girls between blocs 17 and 19. Sophie needs to eat double 'cause she's breastfeeding. Then I puffed up my hair for general impression, and took the roulade cake out of the fridge. In between, I smoked five more cigarettes and grabbed a bite so I don't pass out. They won't leave me alone until they see me hanging, the nasty beasts. Crossing the corridor, I told Gabriella that she does not look bad at all, considering her life. It made me feel good. Don’t be sad, Liebchen, even though you have no love. Love is not everything in life. 

 

Bebi and Lily arrived at seven for our Tuesday evening tournament. That calmed my nerves. Also, my friends guard me. From him. Lily said the house looks extraordinarily nice, because angels watch over it, no doubt. Nu. She's got angels on her mind, this one. Bebi said tomorrow will be even more humid. She could feel it in her dry bones. I rolled the refreshments cart into the living room and acted very cordial. Someone was singing on the radio about melancholy, but it did not concern me. I live inside my closet. And so, we set the table and our Rummikub tournament began. I beat them in the first two rounds. Could not stop myself. Then, I let them defeat me so they don’t get offended, God forbid. Lily laughed: "Well-well… you are a winner by nature, Gabby. Dominant." And I thought: Some winner! My dominance killed me. Bebi was didactic and cynical: "Personally, I can't stand winners. Insufferable megalomaniacs! I care about playing, not about the endgame." What a pompous ass. I chuckled inside, but smiled at her: "More coffee, liebchen? Milk or arsenic?"

When I went to the kitchen, to boil some water for the second round of coffee, I could hear them even though they were whispering, hiding things from me. Lily was saying: "Why so negative? Support her! See the beauty in things even if they're ugly. A kind word could not hurt." And Bebi answered: "That's your problem, bubele. You seek beauty in the wrong places because you're blind really, and have a fine imagination too. Just don’t get senile on me, yeah?" and Lily was offended. "I am blind? Me!? Believe me, I got 20:20 vision! Even in the dark. But you, you are stingy with your words, like you don’t know that…." And Bebi cut her off. "Stingy, ey? Nu, words won't help you. I love her without words because, after all, she saved me too. You… you're out of it." Lily shot back: "Elizabeth, I need the beauty I seek to light up my private gloom in the surrounding darkness. I sometimes think you're egotistic; and you can be oh-so shallow when you feel like it." And Bebi shoved her huge nose into her tissue. "I am shallow? Me? Funny, you. I am rational. I don’t imagine who knows what. I don’t have angels and such. I have migraines, and rheumatism, and eczema, kaynehore!"

 

And I was stuck in the kitchen. With him. He always shows up uninvited. He ambushes me, lurking in the small window above the counter or in the vegies' drawer in the fridge: "Bend over, Fraulein, und lick my boots!" Nu, now I think very hard about my girls. Perhaps he'll just vanish. It does not always work. Sometimes he gets stuck in the dish drier, waving his boots at me. May he stroke a thousand times in hell, amen! I told him I don’t have time for him now, and he squinted until smoke rose from the kitchen towel. I convinced myself not to take it to heart, seized the opportunity and swallowed a Numbon that Dr. Bloch had prescribed for me, and then lit a Broadway. But I could still hear his ugly laughter: "Also, Fraulein, vee may proceed. Off. Take it all off. Ya! Bra und undervear - und schnell! I don’t have all day for you, meine Liebchen." And I took it all off, reluctantly, but kept my panties on. That was not good enough for him, of course! He must see everything! I begged: I am entertaining in the living room. What would they say if they came in, looking for me in the kitchen and found me like that, ass and tits hanging in the air, like some brain dead? Luckily, he felt sorry for me. "Achso, Fraulein. That's good for now!" And then came the voices I always hear, from the knives' drawer below, and drove me crazy. They yelled: "So they will feast their eyes on some striptease, your dumb friends. That one, with the light and the darkness, lost it completely, looking for lights to cure her, the idiot! She should go to India or take Scientology classes, or something." I pressed hard to make them go away and leave me for now because they are hateful and might contaminate me. They kept screaming like crazy: "C'mon, C'mon! Wanna change places, smartass?" And I begged them to spare poor light-seeking Lily. Some compassion could not hurt. They, however, were determined. You'd think someone had spared us. They were ashamed of us and kept us hidden, but now that it suits them, they turn our tsuris into tzimmes. Assholes! Smart at our expense! And now the one on the dish drier felt neglected and started nagging and making threats. And then the voices from the knives' drawer said, "Bye and go to hell, and go fuck your German putz!"

 

Also, that one leaped and stood before me like he did a million years ago, and started walking around me to feast his eyes on my bod. I was real hot back then like you won't believe, prime epidermis! But today I am a balloon devoid of life. So then he started with the old routine, of when we first met: "You! Yes, you! Go right. Stop. Turn. Let me see that ass. Stop and bend over. It is very pretty down there in every way. Und wipe that grin off your face, dummkopf. And now - get over here! Schnell! I don’t have all day for you, Fraulein. Ya! Blonde Originalisch. Humm. Hold that whip. See how it fits you. Ya! Yawohl. Und now, hit me. Harder, dummkopf! Harder! Now swear! Are you deaf? Swear hard. Curse your mother und your father. Curse me too. Ya! Ya! Fantastisch! And now squeeze your teat. Yes! And the other one. Place a hand on your cun… Ya. Also. This lady will do fine. Zuper! OK. Get dressed. Go back down there, honey. Auffff Wiedersehennnn."

 

You stupid idiot. Cholera! Why do you do this to yourself? Have you forgotten mom and dad? They must be shuddering now, in heaven, closing their eyes with disdain and shame. Look, the sky is turning all red for you - you shameless deviant! You dirty woman you! Why do you play the games of this Deutschland putz? Use your brain. Better stick a bullet in your kopf and end this life! And then Bebi yelled from the living room and chased him away to his hiding place in the vegetable drawer. "Did someone die in the kitchen, God forbid?" and I sighed with relief, and quickly got dressed, and yelled back: "No one died here. Not yet."

That night, I went down to change the girls' water and ran into that fat neighbor from No. 17, though I usually try to avoid him and his two dogs. Especially that terrier! I belong to cats. I only hoped the Grinspan lady would not start World War III in the garden, and threaten to call the city inspectors and such. Nu, I hid behind the jacaranda in the dark and waited, but that gentleman lingered and would not leave. His terrier pulled him toward me, must be tempted by the odor of my eau de toilette. She pulled him and stood on her hind legs and nearly tripped me over. Well, he pulled me out of my darkness, as they say. And that's how I met Gabi.

 

We chatted a while, and I tried to create an impression of being a philosophical girl because what else is there with my one-foot-in-the-grave body. I actually liked him. It is a little hard to explain. It was as if he reminded me of someone from my past. Young Dr. Bloch, maybe. I don’t know. He said he was going through a midlife crisis, but I laughed. Achso! Everyone is making up crises these days, so they don’t get bored just watching TV every night. As for me, I don’t need crises, being ruined just enough, thank you. But I can't complain. And Gabi watched me like he was studying my eyes. Nu, that confused me a little and I even became a bit emotional. And he laughed and laughed, and I just fell for his charms, the stupid romantic that I am, down to my blonde roots. Luckily, Frau Grinspan did not hang her laundry there, or she would knock the wind out of my banana hairdo. Even the weather was full of compliments and hid what it should. Had I known, I'd wear my black suit and perhaps look a bit more mysterious, a Madam X of sorts. But Gabi, he just needed to talk. And to listen. Physicality, he said, was never his forte, and it seemed he did not seek that in a woman. He is such a chubby guy with dreamy eyes that light up like two starts, and though I was not ready, I was attracted alright, even if I were not into men. Generally, I like women, so perhaps it was because he had these feminine movements, all soft and round, he drove me mad. And I'll have you know: I don’t turn on easy. I am reserved usually, and suspicious. Yet with him, I was not my usual self. It was like I woke up from a 50-year long bad dream. Gute Morgen, Fraulein. Und I walked so and so, swaying my ass like that bimbo from the shops, and smoked my Broadway slims, being the most Lauren Bacall that I could. That's how I was all over him with my wisecracking. I got him real horny. Perhaps he can give me love. Perhaps he can set me free. We'll see. But in the meantime, I must teach him to love the girls. Helga was indifferent as her usual cocky chicken-shit self. That disgusting kid from No. 12 tried to abuse her foxy tail. May a tail grow on his tush, Amen! And Sophie leaped at him and scratched him on the face. He was so sexy. And suddenly I felt like a feigele. Gabi told me he was living with a woman and that their love was not what it used to be, but he can't complain. He got used to living like that, the poor thing. Ah, well. They'd do anything these days, and it does not really matter if we live with someone and owe them our love. We flirt with whoever, and come in seconds, up against a wall or in a hotel room. Also, I thought. I need Gabi for my own salvation. Perhaps he could free me from myself and my memories. My thoughts scared me a little, but his smile, oh that smile, was a comfort. That's how he appeases me, ruins me, reminds me of my shitty teenage years, that I never really had. Nu, memory can make things up when it must, so I conjure up memoirs of things that never were. I like it like that. Like orthopedic shoes that hide my crooked toes, hiding my ugliness from me. And Gabi, he watched me like I was a rarity, an amazon who devours little 40-years-old kids. Ah well. 

 

I asked him to think of me, actually begging for love. And when he left, I got into my closet, as always, and dreamt of my girls of old, the real girls: Helga, Bebi, Greta, Sophie, Marlene, and Lily too, and others whose names I forgot. 

 

So, I arranged them in two lines, left and right, like two rows of columns in a classic Greek temple. I marched through the middle like a putz. And cried. Inside my heart, so no one could see, God forbid. The girls were my Caryatids, women standing still like statues. And on their pretty bald heads they carried evil that roamed there wild and free. Ho, how I loved them. I loved to feel the wonderment that shone from their faces and entered my eyeballs in such gentle waves, like the sounds of an adagio. Supersonic, unwilling sounds. Through the hairs that stood on end on my back I could pick that up with my intuition. And through the throat that cracked between my ears, far from the heart. And in my pinkie that jiggled though they did not want that. That's how I would revive my soul amid hunger and sadness. And longing. When my day comes, these girls will be the promenade that guides me to the World of the Dead. And I shall walk between them like some rag soldier who came back from his final battle, straight up, headed for my own sweet death. Lily was my favorite caryatid. Her, I placed on the end side, that of the afterlife. It is her face that I will see last, though it is tired and wrinkled something awful. That's how I shall depart this world, with her eyes etched upon my memory. Oh, my beloved Lily. She did not even know I loved her, my good Lily. One small caryatid in the corridor to eternity. In the meantime, I make do with grey Lily in our yard. She has kind yellow eyes that tell me everything. She even lets me hold her in my arms. For hours. Like a lover. Crazy stray cat.

 

At dawn, the voices from the knives' drawer below returned. They need plenty of attention, poor things. Nu, I am not selfish and actually agreed to listen to them nagging. I lit a Broadway and said, "Also, Gentlemen, we may begin." And they went silent, but hissed viciously. Then they lashed out, like they always do to me. Go ahead and smoke. Smoke yourself to death. Why not? It is better this way. Perhaps you'll contract lung cancer and farewell to the queen. We don’t want to see your circus face here no more, cholera! I chocked and coughed on them. Perhaps they'd be pleased seeing me like that, all red and frustrated with a half-foot in the grave in every respect. But they yelled: Hide them in the cellar, in the attic, hide them! Hide who? The stupidities in your twisted brain, that's who! But they have a permit, got it from the Interior Ministry. Say, Lady, do you want them sent away from here? Do you want them murdered? Have you no mercy? Mercy for who? For your fantasies, you crazy old lady fantasy. Excuse me, but they are legit! They are real, you bet. It is irrelevant. You are irrelevant. You don’t fit in this new reality, even though you garnish yourself with young words from the local paper. You are stuck. I am an old lady from No. 19. Shame on you, having an affair with one who could be your son. Nu.

 

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