Ossi

Pandora’s Box Paris, the city of love. Hussi and Craig returned home from their trip to India. They had stopped in Paris to unwind and relax between Ossi’s trip to the “unknown” and the sudden visit to India. They simply had to get away, and they were in no mood for more drama. Paris, the city of light. They loved visiting this beautiful city, and they often did. The light, the music, colorful flowers, and smiling faces, happy people everywhere. The ride back home to Provins was pleasant and relaxing. Tall trees danced to the rhythm of the wind, and the wild, noisy river gushed through the rocks, unafraid of challenges in its way. Sometimes, you could glimpse deer running through the trees. The birds warbled, and the sky was decorated with a rainbow of colors. Nature in its full glory. And Ossi, she loved taking a break from those two … sometimes. While parking the car, they noticed JC, one of the chefs, smoking outside. He looked disturbed and uncomfortable, and when he saw them, he took one more puff from his joint and then approached them. JC looked at Hussi. “She’s a mess. She got a phone call, and, ever since, she’s been a mess.” Jean Claude, known as JC, had worked with Ossi since she had begun to help her grandparents manage their place. It was a farmhouse with a vineyard and olive groves. Many years ago, her grandparents had purchased the property and had turned it into a guest house. JC always found ways to make Ossi laugh, especially when she was on edge, which happened often. JC and his partner, Pierre, were a perfect match, and spending time with them was a genuine pleasure. JC was a chef, and Pierre was a baker. It was always a treat to sample the variety of desserts that Pierre prepared and served after JC’s exquisite meals. Ossi and JC had met in culinary school, and JC was happy to support her in this adventure, moving to the guest house that had belonged to her grandparents. A few years later, with Hussi’s help, they had turned it into a charming, boutique-style hotel, “Chateau de Lille.” Hussi and Craig entered the lobby. In the background, they could hear the faint strains of a Jacques Brel love song. At the front desk was Gina, Ossi’s right hand. As soon as Gina spotted them, her eyes misted over, and she welcomed them back with open arms. Ossi and Gina had worked together for over ten years and had formed a deep and lasting friendship, despite their different personality. Ossi was an intelligent, sophisticated, and graceful woman, but she lived in a dark world of her own. She was absentminded, moody, and had no patience for anyone or anything. She had a short fuse or, as Hussi and Craig always said, “She has no fuse …” Gina, however, serenely walked on clouds, always pleasant and upbeat. She saw the cup half-full and was admired for her attention to detail. She was strikingly attractive, tall, slightly pale, with short, natural hair like snow. Gina also had a language talent and could converse in French, Italian, English, and Arabic. Why Arabic? She had married a charming, witty Moroccan, Habib, and they had two remarkable boys. Both had become chefs and owned a renowned Moroccan restaurant in Paris. They were a huge part of Ossi’s life. Stepping back from the warm embrace, Gina mentioned Ossi. Hussi and Craig could feel the tension. They tried to draw out time, postponing the drama and dreading the confrontation. Hussi was tired, and Craig wasn’t in the mood to deal with Ossi’s drama. Clearly, this was gravely serious. Ossi always got moody this time of year. She had lost her husband and daughter. Then, shortly after, her brother-in-law had shot himself. Then Udi, the love of her life, had received a direct hit, and his plane had gone down. So, celebrating Israeli Memorial Day wasn’t high on Ossi’s priority list. Ossi’s family had begged her to come home to Jerusalem to visit the cemetery with family and friends. Everyone else went every year. Ossi would refuse, but then she always showed up last minute. What was different this year? Hussi and Craig took the stairs, following the sweet smell. With a half-smile, they glanced at each other, and Craig said, “Let’s hope she’s high enough. She’ll be easier to handle.” “Good cop, bad cop?” Hussi asked. “Yes, I feel like being the bad cop,” Craig said. “But you suck at being bad. I will do it,” Hussi argued. “Okay then, no good cop. Two bad cops.” Hussi found Ossi’s phone and checked the incoming calls, whispering, “We want her to talk. It’s about time. Then we will mention the India trip.” They found Ossi in her little garden. She looked comical, wearing Craig’s huge T-shirt. She had cut the sleeves, leaving no room for the imagination. It had been white at one point, but since she wore it while gardening, it was messy, and she looked … Ossi. She sang softly with Jacques Brel, “Ne me quitte pas, il faut oublier, tout peut s’oublier.”1 The garden looked amazing. It was obvious someone lovingly cared for it. Ossi talked to her flowers, smiling and singing to them while cleaning their leaves, and they loved her back. Her roses were healthy, colorful, and stunning, especially the red ones. In her left hand, she held a joint filled with pungent hashish. She took a long drag, slowly turning around, letting the smoke hang in the air between them and herself. “I made it clear that I want to be left alone. I am not in the mood.” “Then get in the mood,” Hussi said with a raised voice. “What’s going on?” Craig asked her quietly. “We go through this every year,” Hussi added. “What happened this year? We need to talk.” “No, we don’t. I am not in the mood, so—” “Poor Udi, can you imagine?” Hussi cut Ossi off as he looked at Craig. “What? What did you say?” she whispered. “Exactly what you heard. We are going nowhere. Start talking.” “What do you know about Udi? Who did you talk to? He’s been dead for many years. What on earth do you know about him?” she yelled. “Plenty. Start talking,” Hussi said. Ossi had known this day would come, the day she would open up and share with her men, who she adored and loved. She would have to divulge her life story, her miserable life story. As hard as she tried, she knew she could no longer avoid it, especially now because of the call, the call that had brought her past crashing into her present. Ossi tumbled onto the lounge chair, trying to get comfortable. “I am not getting into details,” she warned. Craig walked across the garden, towering over her. “I’m all about the details. Start talking.” And so, she did … When Udi and I turned sixteen, my parents treated us with a trip to Eilat—Uri and his sister, Lisa, Udi, and I—and they allowed us to invite a few of our best friends. We were about to have the time of our lives. We took a bus and arrived at a luxury hotel. While checking in, Udi insisted that I share a room with him because Mom and Dad told him, “Do not let her out of your sight.” I wanted to share a room with Lisa, my best friend. While we were fighting, everyone else figured out their room arrangements, so I had no choice but to share a room with Udi. When we walked into the room, I was instantly struck by the stunning view of the Red Sea, reflecting the red color of the sunset with diamond sparkles as the tiny waves crested. The balcony begged me to investigate, and what I saw took my breath away—the azure color of the pool, the lounges, and the table umbrellas, even the flowers were all blue and white, replicating the national colors of Israel. It was pleasant and peaceful, exactly what my soul called for. After quickly unpacking, we met everyone at the lounge, and the party began. Since our parents had flown to Paris, and like all unsupervised teenagers, we were ready to party hard and break loose. The drinks flowed, the music called us to the dance floor, and the beat was on. Udi and Uri watched my every move. Uri looked at me with open admiration; while I wasn’t sure what Udi was thinking, he did not look happy. Too bad, I thought. I’m here to have a good time, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I was told that I had grown from a pretty little girl into an attractive young woman. I felt all eyes on me. It was common knowledge that Uri liked me a lot. Since we were young kids, he had told my parents he would marry me. I didn’t take him seriously, but I did notice that many girls were obsessed with him and Udi. Udi and Uri, childhood friends, planned to join the Air Force and become pilots like their fathers. Uri hoped that Udi would marry Lisa, his younger sister, who was madly in love with Udi, so it looked pre-destined. She was smart and beautiful, funny … a real sweetheart. How lucky Udi was. We partied until well after midnight. Then we stumbled back to the room, completely wasted, and this is where my hell began, in this hotel, on this night, in this room, on this bed. Udi put his arms around my waist and helped me to bed. Slowly, so slowly, he started to undress me. I remember it took forever, and I didn’t understand what he was doing. I thought he was helping me, but I knew something was about to happen by the look in his eyes. I saw madness. I couldn’t move. I tried to say his name, to call him, but no voice came. Udi didn’t waste time; he was all over me. He covered my face with kisses, his cheeks rubbing against mine, and he whispered in my ear, “You belong to me, Ossi. I waited years for this opportunity. It was my idea to have this long weekend. It was my idea for our parents to go to Paris. It was the only way I could have you to myself. You’re mine, Ossi, mine forever.” Udi kept forcing himself on me the next day and the next night. He demanded that I ask for more and tell him how much I liked it. He kissed every part of my body over and over again, sometimes gently and other times harshly; he couldn’t get enough of me. “You are here to pleasure me, and you will love it. You will do what I want, and that’s how it’s going to be,” he whispered. Udi said that the only reason for my existence was to satisfy his needs and that he would teach me everything I needed to know about love. He warned me that everyone would think I was lying if I ever said anything to anyone, telling me, “It is all about me—Udi. I am the one everyone adores and worships. You are invisible. No one will ever believe you. Get used to it; this is your life from now on. You belong to me forever.” I had to obey him and Uri, who eventually joined in, and do any tasks they assigned to me. I had to be always available for all their s****l needs and fantasies. They had two years to enjoy my services, and they used it to the maximum. s*x was their priority. We spent most nights in Udi’s room. Sometimes, when they wanted to spice things up, they would come to my room, which was next to our parents’ bedroom. I had to keep quiet while they had fun exploring and loving my body. They loved that I was helpless and that they could do anything they pleased, knowing our parents’ bedroom was nearby. I lived in hell. To survive, I focused on my schoolwork and aced all my classes. I became a voracious reader, reading three or four books simultaneously, and I was part of several sports teams. I looked at Hussi and Craig as they sat across from me. Their faces were pale. They were speechless. “How about a joint?” I asked. “Yes, joint break. Or how about a shower? We all can use one.” Not waiting for an answer, Hussi turned on the shower and took off his clothes. Then he walked over, undressed me, and led me into the shower. Craig joined us, and together, we stood under the water in silence. “I need to pee,” I cried. Craig kissed my neck. “Go ahead.” I put my head on his shoulder and cried. Hussi stepped out, brought towels, and offered coffee. While the coffee was brewing, Craig rolled a joint. No one talked. I was exhausted and miserable. I resented that they had forced me to open this Pandora’s Box. For all these years, I had tried to spare them the agony of knowing my horrible past. The past, I eventually realized, would return to haunt me when I least expected it. After a sweet joint and Hussi’s delicious coffee, with his pleasantly soft voice, Craig said, “Ready when you are.” “I’d rather not go on,” I told him. But Hussi gave me “the look,” and so I continued.