Neve Emek: Room 102 - Part 2 of ?

 2

The pitter-patter of rain obscured the view through the windshield, distorting and blurring the lines of reality. I didn’t focus on the downpour or the way the wind swept through the serene neighbourhood I couldn’t even afford if I worked a lifetime. It wasn’t like I didn’t try my best to provide for my ex-wife and daughter – I was simply not enough. I guess she wanted to live another life, one where she never had to worry about finances. Even so, I knew that the guy she lived with was not whom she truly loved.

Alena and I met by chance. She was an exchange student on a visit to her friend, with whom I happened to be on good terms since we lived in the same student apartment. One night, that mutual friend called me over after getting a scare with a stalker who had followed the two of them at the bar they went to. I caught the guy as he was trying to break in and made sure he did not return. It was only when this friend invited me over for a cup of coffee as a thank you that Alena and I first met and, eventually, fell in love.

I had seen my fair share of beautiful women by then. But she wasn’t human; she was another species. Or at least, that’s what I thought. Maybe it was the fact that she was a metalhead that made me think she was. I don’t know. All I knew was that she too felt the same way.

When she finished her course and had to leave, I confessed, and we kept a long-distance relationship for a few years. I proposed to her when she came over at our fourth anniversary and spent the night imagining what our wedding would be like, what our kids would look like, and what kind of beautiful life we would have as a family.

Perhaps it was those memories we shared that ensured me that one day she would return to me. I know, wishful thinking on my part. But what was the alternative? That I lose all hope and just… fade away? Once I secured the ownership of the property, I would be able to sell it and use the money to get my life back. I couldn’t stop thinking this whole inheritance thing was sent from Allah as a way to help me get back on track. Maybe I was just getting ahead of myself, who knows, but I couldn’t help but feel this way.

When the door swung open, Alena stepped out into the light spilling from the porch. Her arms were folded over her chest. She didn’t walk, she marched towards the car. For a moment, I thought she’d be over the moon to see me, tell me she missed me. Instead, she wanted me gone. Not just from her house but from her life entirely. Imagine that.

I had never seen her like this before, so cold and indifferent. It was as if the woman I had loved, the woman I once believed I knew better than anyone, had been stripped away and replaced by a stranger. How could someone change so much? Was this hardness always there, buried somewhere beneath the surface, and had I been too blind to notice her true colours? The thought unsettled me more than her stern expression – more than I wanted to admit.

I thumbed the switch and lowered the window, hoping to explain why I had come. But she didn’t give me the chance. Her words cut through the silence before I could even open my mouth. She hated me. Why? We had been in love once, so how come all there was left between us was this profound hatred instead? I guess the saying about the line between love and hatred being thin was true after all. Only, why had I failed to see this until now?

“What are you doing here? Go.”

“Just listen—”

“No. My husband will be back any second! Leave.”

“Your husband… right. I know. I just need to say one thing.”

“We don’t have anything left to say. It’s over! I’ve moved on. I’m happy here, Sami. Why do you keep turning up? Don’t I deserve peace? Doesn’t our daughter?”

“You think I didn’t try?” The words felt bitter. I felt bitter. How could she accuse me of not providing for her, of not making her happy? “I bent over backwards, gave everything I had to you – to our daughter! I loved you, Alena! I still do. Can you say the same about him? Does he even love you? Do you love him?”

“This isn’t about love, and you know that.”

“No. It’s about money, isn’t it? Always hungry for more. Like—”

She snapped. “Don’t you dare.”

“—a fucking whore!”

“Get out of here! Don’t ever come back!” she shouted. “Do you hear me?”

But I didn’t leave. Neither did I respond to her pleas. I just stared blankly at her, trying to find the right words to say sorry. I didn’t mean to say those things to her. I loved her. So, why did I say those horrible things to her? I just—

At the end of the driveway, twin beams of light pierced through the dark, growing larger as a car rolled to a stop. The engine stopped, and out stepped the man she’d chosen over me. He wore a tailored suit that looked more at home in a glass tower than here. This was the first time I had ever seen him in person. I already knew enough about him, though. He was a director of operations at some corporation, born with money, living with arrogance. People said he had a taste for other women, too, and a mouth that dripped with contempt whenever he spoke about them like the crude bastard he was.

Alena rushed to meet him, clutching his arm as if to ground herself. At first, I thought she was pulling him back from me, shielding me from his glare. Then I saw the bruises beneath her sleeve, those dark smudges on her pale skin, and realised she wasn’t protecting me. Not at all. She was trying to keep him from lashing out at her. The sight hollowed me out and stirred something inside me that I knew not I had in me. Contempt. Disgust. Awe, even.

The Alena I remembered was fierce and stubborn, a woman who spoke at protests and wouldn’t let a single injustice slip past her without calling it what it was. Now she clung to this piece of shit like a fragile shadow about to break, shrinking without even trying to put up a fight. Not once in all our years together had I ever shouted at her, not once had I laid a hand on her, even in our worst arguments. And here she was, clinging to a man who did both. What a bloody irony this whole thing was…

She pleaded with me to leave with those pretty eyes, to not do something stupid and just leave. How could I, though, after seeing those bruises on her arms? At the same time, I knew that she would only be beaten should I try to confront the guy about it. In the end, she left me no choice. Though it was hard to turn a blind eye, I could do nothing but accept that this was the kind of life she had chosen for herself. But my daughter didn’t, and as soon as I claimed the inheritance, I would make sure she stayed with me. I guess this was why that letter arrived right when I was about to end things. Had I left this world too soon, what would’ve become of my daughter?

When I hit the road, I thought of calling the police for the briefest of seconds. But what was I going to say? Alena would never testify against that guy, and I didn’t know if he beat my daughter. All I knew was that those bruises meant nothing as long as Alena did not claim otherwise. Only I wished she’d ask for help, say she made a mistake and wanted me back in her life. But she didn’t. She’d rather be beaten up by a brute than get back together with me.

A smirk tugged at my lips as this thought crossed my mind. Fucking hell.

The road narrowed as did my thoughts in the gloom.

I did not consider myself a good person, but that did not mean I was a bad person, did it? Like all humans, I too had both good and bad days. Coming here, telling her I was to leave for Israel, was the last thread of hope I held onto. Why did I even assume she’d somehow listen and tell me not to go? I didn’t want to go. Not really. But if leaving everything behind and starting anew somewhere no one could find me, perhaps Israel would be the perfect place? But what would happen there, I had no way of knowing beforehand. All I could think of was the agony of losing both my wife and daughter, the feeling of not being wanted, the emptiness of being lost in this vast, bloody world.

Back in the apartment, the walls closed in around me like a crushing weight and suffocated me. The bills were piling, rent was overdue, and the landlord threatened to cut the electricity.

Hunched over the kitchen table, my daughter’s drawings pinned on the refrigerator arrested me. A family of three. Supposed to be happy. She drew it when she was three. Alena wanted to get rid of it, but I convinced her not to. Since when had this happy family of three fallen apart? The day I got injured at work and had to stay at home for three months? Or had it cracked years before, and the incident only acted as a catalyst? It was one of those things I wanted to ask Alena, but I never managed to. Couldn’t. I guess I feared what she would say.

Beyond the open balcony door, rain fell against the railings and chilled the inside. Drawn by the cool air, I crossed the room and leaned out into the wet night. The soft patter reminded me of something from the past, one I could not recall, especially this moment where the moon had yet to rise fully and twilight gave way to complete darkness. Like a lullaby, the steady murmur comforted my broken heart and soothed my soul – or whatever remained of it.

I patted my pocket for a cigarette, already imagining the first draw. Instead, my fingers caught the edge of the letter, which was still folded and worn. For a moment, I just stood still and did not move. My thoughts were all over the place, and the longer I thought things over, the more convinced I became.

The inheritance wasn’t just a curiosity now; it was survival, a chance to reclaim something – anything – before it was gone. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe I wasn’t thinking straight. But here, in the rain’s cold embrace, it was the only chance I had. At least, that was what I thought. Believed.

Besides, what was the worst that could happen? The atrocities against my people had ended a long time ago, and the homeland of my ancestors had been stolen. What beef would there be between me and the current population, who were not part of the illegal siege and the consequent displacement of the Palestinians that happened years before they were even born? None of us chose our parents or the country we ended up being part of, and so I had no right to condemn an entire population that neither took part nor supported the humiliation and murder of my people.

Still…

It all seemed too good to be true. I wished the solicitor would tell me more about how the property ended up as being my sole right to claim, especially since it felt like she lied or did not tell the whole truth during our brief phone call. You see, I looked up the bill she said was about to be passed in the Israeli parliament, but from what I could gather from the few English articles I found on the internet, the bill had been in circulation for over a decade. Something else had prompted the solicitor to find me. But what kept her from telling me? Moreover, where was my missing aunt, who was first in line to inherit the property?

These were only the tip of the questions that I told myself I had to ask the solicitor once I arrived in Israel. As someone with a good head on his shoulders once said, when something’s too good to be true, then it probably is. Something was off. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was or could be, only the pit of my stomach twisted, and my instinct screamed at me to be on high alert. And so I did.

By the time the sun rose, the decision was no longer a question. The ticket was booked, my passport lay ready on the counter, and the date of departure loomed closer with every tick of the clock. More than a journey, it felt like an escape – a chance to abandon everything that clung to me here: the wreckage of my marriage, the loneliness, the hollowness left by choices I couldn’t undo. I told myself I was leaving to start over, to breathe different air, to become a better version of myself – one not constrained by finances.

What I didn’t stop to consider was the other possibility: that I wasn’t running away at all but running headlong into something darker. Inevitable, even. My choices were no more than a performance of free will. Then again, how could I have known? I was just a human, made of skin and bones. Perhaps I should have listened to the alarms ringing inside my skull, the restless warnings that broke into my thoughts whenever I tried to convince myself I was doing the right thing. But I pressed on regardless, not despite those alarms, but, in a way, because of them. Madness, I know. But don’t we all have a loose screw? The alternative was death; no in between. I wanted to live. So, I chose the only option that would keep me alive for as long as possible.

I thought.

To be continued...