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Scenes From Lovehood

Scenes From Lovehood



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Published by Katrinchik

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Published by: Katrinchik on Sep 19, 2012
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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    P   a   g   e
A Portrait
The disease has done something else too, the trauma has covered a big part of mymemory. Now I see images of the past, some foggier, some more clear. And I canhardly put the images in any order. I can certainly put them in two groups; thosebefore the disease and those after.***That night at the Sabbath dinner. I had just heard about his disease the day beforeand saw him with no hair, eyebrows or eyelashes left on his face that night.The dinner was at a Rabbi
house. The house was small. T
he wife‟s hair was
covered in something, like a hat. The Rabbi had a long, thin, gray beard and akippah. T
he Rabbi wouldn‟t smile
. The wife sat next to me at the table and talkedto me about Emily Dickinson and some other poets whose names
I don‟t
recall.After dinner the guests found seats in the living room and started mingling. He andI stood next to the dining table, away from the crowd. I told him, whispering intohis ear, that
I am writing a piece. I said, “This is how it starts,”
and whispered thewhole paragraph into his ear:
“A seven year old girl goes to school every morning to wish deathfor half of the world : „God is great, God is great, Death to America,Death to the Soviet Union, Death to the enemies of Iran‟s Supreme
ader, Death to Israel.‟ She shouts this every morning with the
whole school, not knowing for whom she was told to wish death: herfuture beloved city, Moscow; her future home, California; her futurelove, a Jewish man, a very Jewish man; and herself, an enemy of 
Supreme Leader.”
 He hugged me tight and kissed me. I thought about the Rabbi and whether we hadbroken a Sabbath rule by that kiss.***
    P   a   g   e
In the middle of a day hike we rested on a big hill covered with grass. He, lying onhis back and facing the sun. I, examining his face carefully, over and over again, as
if I couldn‟t paint it by heart, his long golden eyelashes, the delicate lines around
his eyes, his soft pale eyebrows, his straight nose, muscly lips and strong chin. Iwould occasionally rest my head on his chest with an unintentional hope, like alittle girl, to wake him up.The next scene I remember from that day is, he, running on the grass, off thehiking trail, with his arms wide open, like a little boy, making airplane sounds:
 ***One of those first years being together I drew your portrait in ink. I drew it withoutlooking at you.In the drawing you were sitting, naked, with a kippah on and a holy circle aroundyour head. Behind you was me, standing, also naked, with very long hair, all theway to my toes.Seeing it, you were first astonished by how the drawing looked exactly like you.After gazing at it for a little while you said that I understood you, but then you saidthat drawing you in that way was not right.***Our only pictures on paper are the two sets that we took in those little kiosks in themovie theaters. Neither he nor I ever carried a camera or cared about framing theflow of our time being together in an odorless snapshot.A set of four pictures of me making silly faces and you smiling at me. This one
doesn‟t have a date, it must be from at least seven years ago.On this other one we are “Perfect Angels”. I
n my brown velvet hat I am like anaïve village girl, your arm is around my neck and your lips are just ready to kissme. We look so innocent, so immature, we look like children, oblivious of howdeep our love is able to grow, how far it is able to take us.***
    P   a   g   e
I can hardly remember but we did go to the Monterey Aquarium. It was probablyalong the way during a short trip that I have a very vague memory of. There is onething that stayed in my mind, a school of sardines swimming through a circle-shaped glass, a tunnel that was shaped like a huge ring and attached to the ceiling,
above the visitors‟ heads.
 We learned that sardines have to keep moving in order to breathe
, that if they don‟t
move they die. And then we nicknamed you
since you couldn‟t stop
Walking from the hospital‟s parking lot to t
he building he had to sit down half waythere and take a rest. He sat on a bench, looking up at me from below a hugesunhat, and said with a smile, that this was not a simple thing, that he was tiredbecause we had done a lot that day.All he had done was get ready and sit in the passenger seat while I drove him to thehospital.I stared at him, trying to hide all that was going on in my mind and to give him asmile, as simple and childlike, as his.***
My parents didn‟t even think 
of visiting him in the hospital. Neither did his mom.We were left alone with his lethal disease and his God. The nurses referred to me
as the patient‟s wife, and we referred to the disease as a miracle that brought us
together again.***We went to a fancy restaurant after his chemo, the three of us, me, him, and hismother. Chemo made him impatient, but only with me. He sat in the shadow andtook his hat off. The hat was hanging on the back of my chair. Every time I moved,the hat would fall down. It made him nag,
which didn‟t sound like him
“You are

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Katrinchik added this note
Thank you for reading it Bill.
Bill AKA "Kenosis23" added this note
Poignant and painful but, for all of that, beautifully real! Thankyou for sharing! *****+
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