To the End of the Land - By David Grossman Page 0,8

them even sadder. Her eyes began to glaze over. And it’s okay that way, believe me, it’s for the best, you don’t have to talk about everything.

Avram sat quietly. He sniffed.

But we wrote an essay about her in class, every kid wrote something, I did too, and the composition teacher collected them and made a booklet and said she’d send it to her parents. Ora suddenly pressed her fist against her mouth. Why am I even telling you this?

Did she at least have any brothers or sisters? he asked.

No.

Just her?

Yes.

Just her and you.

You don’t understand, it’s not true what you’re … They were right!

Who? Who are you talking about?

My parents. Not my dad, my mom, she knows better than anyone about these things. She’s from the Holocaust. And I’m sure Ada’s parents didn’t want me to come either, that’s why they never asked me to come. They could have asked me to come, couldn’t they?

But you can go to them now.

No, no. And I haven’t talked about her with anyone since, and she—Her head was rocking and her whole body shook. No one in class talks about her anymore, ever, two years … She started banging her head back against the wall: bang-syllable-bang-syllable. As-if-she-ne-ver-e-ven-was.

Stop, said Avram, and she immediately stopped. She stared straight ahead in the dark. Now they both heard it: somewhere out there, in one of the distant rooms, the nurse was crying. A quiet, prolonged wail.

After a while he asked, What did they do with her chair in class?

Her chair?

Yes.

What do you mean? It stayed there.

Empty?

Yes, of course empty, who would sit in it?

She sat quietly, cautious. She had already begun to suspect earlier that she’d been wrong about him and his cute teddy bear look, which was slightly ridiculous. This wasn’t the first time he’d suddenly asked her a seemingly innocent question, which cut into her in a way she only felt later.

Did you keep sitting next to her chair?

Yes … No … They moved me back. They moved me, I can’t remember, three rows behind her seat, but on the side.

Where?

Where what?

Show me, he demanded eagerly, impatiently. Where exactly?

A new, unfamiliar exhaustion began to spread through her, the weakness of total submission. Let’s say our desk was here, she mumbled and quickly drew on his hand with her finger, Then around here.

So basically you could see it right in front of you the whole time.

Yes.

But why didn’t they put you somewhere else? Maybe closer to the front, so you wouldn’t have to keep—

Stop, that’s enough, shut up! Can’t you ever shut up?!

• • •

Ora—

What now, what do you want?

I was thinking, maybe one day, I don’t know …

What?

I was just thinking, maybe we’ll go and see her parents one day?

Me and you? But how could we?

If I’m ever in Haifa, I don’t know, I can come with you, if you’d like.

A desperate little chick began to beat its wings furiously, deep inside Ora’s throat.

And her parents have … they have a corner store on our street, and we stopped …

What, tell me—

Shopping there.

What do you mean you stopped?

My parents, my mom, she said it was better not to.

And you agreed?

So we go around the block …

But how do you—

Avram, hold me!

Repelled by her, drawn to her fear, he felt his way with his hands and bumped into knees, then a thin, sharp elbow, a slight curve, hot dry skin, the moisture of a mouth. When he held on to her shoulder she clung to him with her entire body, trembling, and he held her to him and was instantly filled to the brim with her sorrow.

They sat that way, clutching each other frantically. Ora cried with her mouth wide open, with snot, the way a lost little girl cries. Avram smelled her breath, the smell of illness. It’s all right, it’s all right, he said, caressing her damp head over and over, her sweaty hair, her wet face. They sat crowded together on her bed, and Avram thought it was fine with him if they had been forgotten by everyone. He wouldn’t care if it went on like this for another few days. Sometimes his hand stole down of its own accord and touched her warm neck or accidentally slid over her long thin arms with their walnut-like boy-biceps. With all his strength he struggled to remain merely good and kind, but as he did so, against his will, he also labored to gather supplies for his tortuous masturbation travels. Ora’s head leaned back a