Free Drunken Angel (9781936740062) by Alan Kaufman Page B

Tsofnat would crash into my redoubt and stand there, horn-rimmed, horrified, to remind me of my crimes against her: “Look at you! Happy as a cat! You’ve got it all! Lucky boy! Lucky American boy! Stupid Israeli women pay the rent, make the food, eh? Keep you in liquor and tobacco, huh? Give you where to write. Nice deal you got here! No job. All the time you please. At least if you were writing something worthwhile—that made money—but what do you got here, eh?”
    Pinched between thumb and forefinger she held up a nearly blank page containing a single typed sentence with several cross-outs running through the words. “Today’s output?” she smirked. “Or maybe this week’s?”
    â€œI need time. I’m just getting my sea legs.”
    â€œSea legs! What sea legs? What sea? A sailor works! You are a lazy, lying thief! You think we are all stupid little chess pieces you can move around your board while you drink and smoke away the days, don’t you!”
    Yes, I did.
    â€œPlease,” I said. “I’m just sitting here confused and scared because the woman I’m married to seems to be having a nonstop nervous breakdown.” Made myself look as pathetic as I could. Which worked on Elia, never on Tsofnat. By now, she saw right through me; knew she had landed a drunken predator who right before your eyes, in the midst of your life, drained your resources and vanished. Now I was here, then not, liquor-transported to a realm of groundless hope and tireless fantasy where she held no citizenship, was stamped an “undesirable,” ridiculed as a nag, a slag, a drudge, and unceremoniously expelled.

    Day followed night. The explosive pressure built. Anyone could have seen what lay ahead. But Elia and Tsofnat were clueless. I had chosen my prey well. They were vulnerable, naïve, too inexperienced to guess what lay in store.
    One day, Tsofnat locked herself in her bedroom, raged loudly about my refusal to work. As Elia stirred a cauldron of soup and peered down at me with heavily mascaraed mournful eyes, concerned (perhaps intuiting some shift in my normally pleasant mien), I pocketed my nearly full pack of Selon cigarettes, picked up the bottle of Rishon LeZion, stood, and said: “What Tsofnat doesn’t seem to understand is that there are no barriers, no fences, no walls.”
    I moved a step and waved a hand before my face to show its unchecked passage. “She can fill the air with her voice, her threats, her craziness, but none of that impedes my body’s travel through space. I am free. Doesn’t she know? I am always at point A. Wherever I decide is point B, I just get up and go to it. Nothing’s in my way.” I walked to the door. “I’m no mathematician, but this much I know: from point A to point B is a straight line, with nothing in between.” I looked at her astonished face and repeated: “Nothing, Elia. Nothing.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œI’m out. Gone. Right now. I’ll be filing for divorce.”
    She looked at me, incredulous. “Pish posh. Sit down. Don’t get all worked up. She’s just in a mood. She has her monthlies. You know how sensitive she is.”
    â€œI like you very much, Elia. You are the kind of person I hoped to find when I came to Israel. But she is insane. You recognize that, don’t you?”
    Elia’s face hardened. “She’s not well. But you knew that too, didn’t you, when you married her. But you went ahead anyway. Let’s not play games with each other.”

    â€œNo games. Yes, I knew. I knew what I was getting into. And I also know what I’m getting out of.”
    â€œSo, she’s right. You only married her for the free rent and board.”
    Her words stung. The ugly truth hung there between us, and at that moment I could have cried for what I had done to this woman, who had been so kind to me, to her