17   22 Jan. 91   Daniel is back in NY. But I have been thinking and thinking and thinking about the conversation that I had with him on the eve of his departure. For the first time I told him frankly that I was not interested to in knowing anything about Miki apart from his time with me in Montréal. My Miki who spoke French and English, not the other one who spoke German and Hebrew. But he has become absorbed in learning about the other Miki and has come to believe that the body that is buried in the Baron de Hirsch Cemetery (where I sometimes go for memories of my Miki) may not be his father’s. Because the Mossad played “dirty tricks” on him. He even thinks that Miki may be alive, rotting in a prison somewhere. (I have never known him to let his imagination run away like that.) And he is thinking of having a DNA test done on the body, once this can be done in Canada. I will have to talk to Greg about the legalities of the matter. But if D really wants it I will not stop him. I don’t know why, my journal, but the idea frightens me. When I think about it, it doesn’t really matter to me what body is in that coffin. A cadaver is a cadaver. What matters to me is the memory of Miki, of the short but sweet times that we had together. The memory that could almost be a fantasy, a dream, if it were not for the reality of my children. His children. His flesh and blood, not his dead bones. He loved his son and would have loved his daughter. D'un œil pleure… Non, des deux yeux. But Bob is back in my life, and we will see each other tomorrow evening. His trip to France, he said, he said, was to help his parents find a house in Marseille, where they will move when his father retires later this year. And they succeeded. Some day soon, he said, he will take me there. He called me last week, when D was still here, and there was something very comforting about the call. I feel more comfortable with Bob than with anyone since… well, since no one. With Miki the feelings had nothing to do with comfort, there was only the excitement of being cra madly in love. Follement amoureuse. And I have often wondered, my journal, what would have happened to my crazy love, mon amour fou, if Miki had not died when he did. I could never imagine it ext burning itself out, but who knows? He hinted, after D was born, at moving to Montréal to live with me at some time, eventu possibly having more children, and I said “That would be nice” but afterwards I felt anxiety. About what? I worried if I could still be a doctor, but of course I could; he had lived with a career woman for many years. I was concerned about possible conflicts over how to raise Daniel, not because of anything he said or did but because he was such a strong-minded man. What I did not admit to myself till after he was gone was that I was not sure that I would remain in love with him. Constancy was not my strong point, as Tina always told me: “you’re just like me, Mireille.” I am not like Tina. Her affairs never go beyond a few months, and she prefers married men. But still… I must spend more time with her, my journal. I am losing my knack for thinking in English, now that I mainly speak French in my personal life. Voilà trois biffures, mon journal. Three cross-outs (?).   False spring   He called Ora Rozen the next evening. It had been a year since their encounter, and she was surprised to hear from him. “What is the occasion?” she asked after an exchange of greetings. “Can I call you Doctor Rozen, or not yet?” Ora laughed. “Even when I am Doctor Rozen I don’t want you to call me that. But I am not, not yet.” “But you know a lot about DNA, don’t you? I mean, the latest about DNA fingerprinting.” “Why do you ask?” She laughed again. “Did you make some girl pregnant?” “Not that I know of,” he said, laughing too. “Actually, what I would like to know is if what you told us about DNA from skeletons can be used to identify an individual one. The one that’s supposed to be my father’s, to be specific.” “Ah, it’s interesting that you ask. I was recently at a conference and I heard a talk by Alec Jeffreys, who invented genetic fingerprinting. He said that he is working with German investigators on identifying the body of Mengele. You know who that is.” “Yes, of course. My father’s uncle was in Auschwitz. Didn’t they find his body in Brazil about… five, six years ago?” “Yes. At least, the pathologists concluded that it was Mengele.” “I remember my great-aunt and her friends talking about it. Some of them were in Auschwitz too; they still have the tattoos.” “In Israel it was the biggest news since Eichmann, but the government and the police didn’t trust the results, because there had been some other findings that turned out to be false, so the German authorities decided to keep the case open and eventually do a DNA analysis. Jeffreys started to work on it last year, and he said that once the work is finished and the paper is published, probably next year, it will be a routine procedure.” “That’s amazing!” Daniel exclaimed. He couldn’t wait to tell Cici about the success of the first step of his journey. “But why do you want to test your father’s body?” Ora asked. “From what your mother told me, he had enemies in Israel, and they played dirty tricks on him, so maybe they didn’t send the right body. I would like to know.” “Very interesting.” There was a pause. “And otherwise how are you doing?” “I’m fine. School is good. I went to Germany last summer. I had a great time. And now I have a girlfriend.” He wasn’t sure why he added the last detail. “And how are you?” “I don’t have a boyfriend,” Ora said with a laugh. Daniel waited for more information, but none came. “What about the one you had a year ago?” he asked. “You remember!” She laughed again. Before he had a chance to say Of course I do she went on. “He finished his postdoc and he got a job in Texas.” He waited for her to tell her more about herself, but she didn’t, so he asked, “How’s your thesis coming along?” “It’s coming, but slowly. I think I have another year and a half.” She paused. “So maybe we can see each other again.” Was she coming on to him? He now realized that he had mentioned his girlfriend precisely, if unconsciously, to forestall such a possibility. But it didn’t seem to deter her, any more than her having a boyfriend the preceding year had stopped her from accepting his advances. He decided to play innocent. “Sure,” he said, “we can have coffee some time.” He half-expected her to say Coffee isn’t what I have in mind, but she didn’t. “Coffee would be nice,” she said. “Maybe I can tell you more about the progress of DNA analysis of dead bones. By the way, do you have e-mail?” “No.” “Try to get it. I’ve heard that Columbia will give it to undergraduates this year. It will be a good way to stay in touch when I am not here.” So maybe she wasn’t coming on to me, he thought after hanging up. But then he realized that though he was not in love with Cici, he was sufficiently taken with her that he had stopped paying attention to girls possibly flirting with him, and he had lost that alertness for attention-getting cues that had been such a part of him for two years. He would need it again. It would not last forever with Cici: a year and a half at the most. And even when you’re nineteen, a year and half is not an eternity. He might even need it in the upcoming summer. The recent winter break confirmed their tacit agreement that their major vacations would be separate, and he had no intention, whatever he might do that summer, of spending it in celibacy. And what would he do that summer? He would start thinking about it come spring.   Meanwhile, the winter took on an erratic course. Early February was springlike, and on a Sunday afternoon Daniel and Cici took a walk in Central Park. “By the way,” he asked her after a lull in their conversation, “what does Carmona mean?” “I don’t know what it means, but it’s the name of a town in the south of Spain.” “I am also named for a town…” “I know. You told us all about it in German class.” “You remember?” “Sure I do. I remember everything about you. I had my eye on you.” “You did?” Cici laughed. “Of course I did, and so did probably every other girl in the class. You were the cutest guy there. But when you went for Karen, I was glad.” “You were?” “You know, for me at that time you would have been just another guy to cheat on Tony with. And I liked it that you didn’t just go for looks. Karen was smart and funny. I knew her from Psych Club – she’s a year ahead of me, so I didn’t have any psych classes with her. By the way, I haven’t seen her this year. I wonder what happened to her.” “She went back to Iowa. Her grades took a fall, so she was going to lose her scholarship.” Cici was silent for a while. “Did it have anything to do with you?” “In a way,” he said tentatively. “Let me guess. She fell hopelessly in love with you, and you weren’t interested.” “Not exactly.” “Then what happened?” “Well, we were dating, and… and screwing, and it was sort of routine, but just before the end of the semester she started having orgasms, which she’d never had before, and she went crazy over sex – couldn’t get enough – and neglected her studies.” Cici laughed. “Sounds like a morality tale,” she said. “But, about her falling in love with you, I was joking.” “What do you mean?” “Frankly, I don’t see you as the kind of guy that girls would fall in love with, at least not yet. Lust, maybe: you’re cute, and sexy, and sweet. Maybe a hundred years ago, when girls weren’t supposed to feel lust, they might disguise it as falling in love. Maybe some girls still do it today. But women, by and large, look for some vulnerability in a guy, some place where they can take care of him, where they can give him something of themselves. And you don’t seem to need anything.” “I don’t?” Cici laughed again. “Psychological advice, maybe, but that brings out the aspiring psychologist in me, not the woman.” “I see.” “Anyway, the upshot is that I feel safe with you.” “From what?” “From the risk of falling in love. It’s the last thing I need at this time. Neither do you.” Daniel didn’t feel so sure. Would he ever fall in love? What was it like? Perhaps it wasn’t so simple as Garance made it seem.   Over the Presidents’ Day weekend the weather turned cold and snowy again, but the following Friday it was springlike once more. They were together at his place in late afternoon, preparing to go out for an evening of dinner and salsa dancing, when on the radio they heard the news of the death of Margot Fonteyn. “I saw her when I was eight,” Daniel said, “and my sister was five. My mother took us to our first ballet. It was her farewell tour.” “Do you like ballet?” Cici asked with a tone of surprise. “Sure. I’m not a big fan, but I like it.” “Remember when I was telling you about archetypes? Three years ago, when I was a senior in high school, just before graduation, I went to see a ballet called Archetypes. I hadn’t heard that word before, so I looked it up and that’s what got me interested in Jungian psychology.” “What was it like?” “What?” “The ballet.” “It was strange. It didn’t seem to be about real people, but not so much archetypes as stereotypes: clowns, executives in suits, a hooker… The hooker was danced by Heather Watts, who is one of the main ballerinas.” “Which company?” “The New York City Ballet.” “Let’s go see them some time.” “Sure. Their winter season is just ending. The spring season starts at the end of April, though that gets close to finals. In between there’s the Joffrey, though I don’t like them so much. But anyway, it’s time for us to do some dancing. I’m going to teach you some salsa moves.”   The following week, in his German literature class, Daniel learned the term Kadavergehorsam, meaning corpse-like obedience. The word burrowed into his mind and made him dream of corpses, dreams that, on awakening, he knew to be related to his father and his planned exhumation and DNA testing. That realization, in turn, reminded him that it had been a month since had spoken with Ora Rozen. He owed her a coffee date. He called, and she agreed to meet him Friday afternoon in a coffeehouse on Amsterdam Avenue. It was a mild late-winter day, with the temperature near sixty degrees (Daniel had by this time trained himself to think in Fahrenheit), and though it was breezy and overcast, Ora came into the coffeehouse wearing slacks and a sweater, with no coat. She looked quite fetching, even prettier than the year before. “It’s good to see you,” she said, shaking his hand before sitting down. He felt relieved that she had chosen this form of greeting. “Would you like a cappuccino?” “Sure. Actually the owner of this place is Israeli, so if you ask for kafeh hafukh they will make it exactly the way I like it.” It didn’t seem to Daniel that the coffees were prepared any differently from standard cappuccinos, but it didn’t matter to him. After bringing the cups to the table and sitting down, he said, “You didn’t tell me much about yourself when we talked on the phone.” “You noticed.” She laughed. “Actually there is quite a bit to tell, and I don’t like long conversations on the telephone.” “For example?” “For example, I went to Israel last summer, and I went for two weeks to Cyprus with my mother, and I met Stavros.” “Really! What did you think of him?” “I thought that he is very nice. A real gentleman. My mother and he really love each other. He wants to marry her.” “But… but isn’t he married?” “He will get divorced. He is just waiting till the youngest child is grown up, which is next… no, this year.” “And is your mother interested?” “It would mean moving to Cyprus. She could still do her work: she would join his firm and she would have other lawyers in Israel send her clients. But she’s not sure. When she’s with him she’s almost ready, but back in Israel she changes her mind. Like a woman!” Ora concluded, laughing. “By the way,” she added after a long sip of coffee, “I have photos of them. In bathing suits! And of me too!” “I would love to see them.” “All right. Would you like me to bring them to your apartment?” “Sure.” After some ten minutes of chitchat, mainly about the Gulf War that was now winding down – the cease-fire had been declared two days earlier – Ora glanced at her watch and said that she needed to get back to the lab. She would come by next week with the photos. “Which evening will be good?” she asked. “Uh… Tuesday?” he said. Ora thought for a moment. “Yes, that’s okay,” she said. “About eight o’clock?” “Sure,” he said. He had thought of suggesting dinner together, but it seemed better this way. He told her his address, which she wrote down on a napkin, and they said their good-byes, once again with a handshake.   “Oh, what a nice apartment you have,” Ora said as Daniel let her in. “All by yourself?” “Yes,” he said, “I got lucky.” He didn’t want to specify what kind of luck it had been, nor to mention the fact that a few months hence the place would be his property, once the co-op conversion was completed. “Would you like anything to drink?” “What do you have?” she said as she took off her raincoat – it had not rained that day, but one never knew – and draped over the back of a chair. She was wearing a tight-fitting knit dress. “Beer, wine, soda, juice…” “Some juice will be nice. Maybe orange?” She sat down on the sofa and put her large purse on the coffee table. “Sure, I’ve got it.” While he went into the kitchen to get two glasses of orange juice, she began to take her photos out of her purse. “Do you want ice in your juice?” he called out. “No, thank you. No ice.” He brought a tray with the two glasses and two napkins on it and placed on the coffee table, taking care to avoid the photos that were now crowding it. “Let me see,” he said. “Well, first of all, here is my mother in a bathing suit.” “Wow! She looks good! A lot slimmer than when I saw her!” Ora laughed. “Every spring she goes on a diet so that in the summer she can fit into a bathing suit. And last year she tried even harder, and lost even more weight.” “Because of Stavros?” “I think so. Here is a picture of both of them at the beach.” Stavros’ paunch also seemed smaller than how Daniel remembered it. “And here is me… I mean, here I am.” She laughed again. Ora really did look great in a bikini. She was standing next to a young man who looked familiar to Daniel. Of course! It was the waiter at the Psarolimano! “I know this man!” Daniel said. “Kostas?” “Is that his name? He’s a waiter at the fish restaurant…” “He’s not just a waiter, he’s one of the owners.” “Did you have a… a thing with him?” “Why do you want to know?” “This is a little embarrassing…” “You can tell me, I won’t be embarrassed.” “No, not you, me. You see, when I was thinking about your mother and Stavros, it’s… it’s that I have a hard time imagining older people doing it, so I imagined you and Kostas instead.” “Hey, you have not only a great imagination, but you’re a prophet! The prophet Daniel!” She started laughing harder than ever, but she suddenly stopped, leaned over to him and kissed him, hard and long. He felt paralyzed. “I know you have a girlfriend,” she said when she drew back, laughing again, “just like I had a boyfriend last year.” She began playing with his fingers and led his hands to her back, where she put the fingers of his right hand in contact with the zipper of her dress. He knew that resistance would be useless, and by now he could no longer think of any reason for it. He was conscious of how the present circumstances were the mirror image of the previous year’s: Ora was showing him her photos at his place, he had a girlfriend while she was single, and she had kissed him. In the morning he made an early breakfast for them, and she left after a friendly kiss. By then spring break was only a week and a half away. Cici would be going to Florida for the week, while Daniel had not decided yet what he would do. He had thought of staying in New York, possibly see some shows and hear some concerts, but with Ora in town and Cici away it felt too risky. He did not feel like joining the flocks of American undergraduates who, like migratory birds, flew to Caribbean beach resorts (it seemed as if they no longer went to Florida) for a week of carousing. No, he decided, he would go to Montreal. The mild winter in New York made him miss the snow that he would certainly find in his hometown.