Thursday, November 21, 2013

She flings the knife between us

He says, “My God, you are in heat. Now how does that happen, in your condition? Cool off already, in front of the boy! What do you expect of me? You wanted to get married, so now we’re married. Mazel Tov! What more do you want?”
“I want you to look at me,” she says, thrusting her chest out in front of her. “You haven’t been here for two weeks, since the wedding. And now that you’re here, you ain’t really here. Am I even wanted here? I’m a woman. I need to feel desired, and I need to be held by a man.”
At this point I feel obliged to peep in, for the third time, “I am not a boy.” 
And she wipes her brow. “My God,” says Anita, as she turns away from my father. “I’m so hot. Don’t you wait too long.” And with a harsh motion, she flings the knife on the cutting board, right there between us. 
It gives a sharp sound, which startles my father. His mouth is mirrored in the surface of the blade, and suddenly it becomes clear to me that the oven is not the only one fuming—so is he.
He raises his eye to her, and jealousy escapes. He glares at me, and a warning shoots out. What does he want from me? There is nothing I can do. He hates me for staring at her and he hates me for trying not to stare.


Ben in Apart from Love



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