Under the Yellow Lamp

She was always waiting for him by the window. Rain or shine, this window was always open.

At the evening she always lit the buttery-yellowish lamp and sat underneath, hands clasped on the table, eyes half-closed, listening to the 5th symphony by Mahler.
She would sit there calm and still like deep waters, and only at the beginning of fourth part her fingertips began shaking at the rhythm of the music, her lips moving slightly.

Did you know, he told her back then, that Mahler has written this symphony for the woman he loved and sent this to her without adding a single word – a love letter of sorts. You understand? Do you understand what kind of love it was?
She was looking at him solemnly and nodding. Back then she thought she knew what he was talking about.
But she fully understood what he meant much, much later.

He wasn’t very talkative in general.
He would bring her a single flower and 11 lbs. of potatoes so she didn’t have to carry it, would solemnly hand her a chocolate bar along with a ticket for an art exhibition she really wanted to see, fix the faucet and smile.
And every time he smiled, her heart skipped a beat and she forgot how to breathe.
But he wasn’t a man of many words, and he told her that he loved her only once, when they were still in high school.
And he has never ever given her any details about his job.

She was two years his senior. He was 16, she was almost 18.
A huge, irreducible gap if you are a lop-eared teenage boy and she is the smartest and prettiest girl in her class, or maybe the entire school.
But when she left for the army, just as she was about to put her giant backpack on the bus, he was the one who caught her hand, saying “Let me help you”.
And then kept standing at the bus stop, facing the sky and flinching at the tears he couldn’t stop alto-gether, trying to catch her eye.

And then it was his turn to leave for the army. She had asked for a special leave from Toby, her com-manding officer, saying her fiancée was joining the army. Toby was slightly surprised since she never mentioned a fiancée before, but let her go, saying “Well, mazel-tov…”

And that’s what she said to him:” I told my commanding officer you were my fiancée, so now you have to marry me once you’re done with the service.” He closed his eyes and held her as tight as he possibly could. By that time he became as big as a bear. Her very own bear.

And after he was done with the mandatory service, he was offered a position in that special unit he never told her about. Sometimes he would just sit on the porch and smoke all night long, the buttery-yellowish lamp highlighting his hunched back.

The wedding was postponed for a year. He wanted to carry her over the threshold of their own house, he even found a proper house. We just must have some savings, he told her.

One day he just went to work. Said he’d be gone for few days, not an unusual thing. He told her not to worry and not to carry heavy groceries to the fourth floor, he would buy everything when he got back. And he left.

Almost two weeks later she opened a door and saw a military man and two more dressed as civilians. She told them – no, go away. I don’t want to listen to you, I will not listen!
And she didn’t. She stood there, eyes shut and ears plugged with her fingers. The military guy said, “Well, take this, at least. He asked to give it to you in case something happened. Just before he…left…”
He put a CD on the table and went away.

She breathed out, took the CD and with numb fingers inserted the CD into the player and pressed “play”. She knew, she understood what she was about to hear.
The fourth part, Adagietto by Mahler.
A desperate plea for forgiveness, a bitter regret, a tender lust and eternal love, eternal unbearable love…

No, she told Mahler, no, I will wait. They never found his body. He is alive. He will reappear. All sorts of things sometimes happen. He will be back.

And so, she waited. Rain or shine, by an open window under the yellow lamp.

She would sit there still like water, thinking when he comes back, I’m going to tell him that I’ve listened to Mahler’s 5th symphony four thousand two hundred and seventy-five times. Do you understand what kind of love it is? But now you are here, and everything is going to be fine.
Yes, she was whispering to the music, everything is going to be fine…

Translated by Diana Shnaiderman-Pereira