Raquel Says (Something Entirely Unexpected) by Mois Benarroch Page A

read the late summer sunset, I read the last moments of fresh air before the sun burns and the people of Mynonbeing disappear from the city in search of better air. In August the city empties and no one can explain what the skyscrapers and the streets are doing in the middle of the trees. The few tourists that walk down the avenues seem to be in a movie after a strange bomb goes off, decreasing the number of inhabitants on the globe.
    But today I wait for him and he will come, he will follow.
    He will come because today is Friday and because I know he will follow. He will come because for a year he’s been doing nothing but come and he arrives today on the train. He told me he was taking the train this time, a slow train to experience the trip, because a plane seems too fast to come to me. Although months ago he did write me a poem in which he told me we would find each other in an airport, “blessed airport”, he wrote.
    And he will arrive in the next six hours, at two. In the next six hours, that’s a lot of hours.
    I’m not in a hurry, I’m not afraid, I know who he is. Even though I’ve never seen him. I know who he is, just like I know who I am and I know what he is thinking right now at this very moment when he couldn’t take the first train of the morning. He’s thinking about calling me but he thinks I’m asleep and decides to leave it for later. He’ll arrive later, a little later, and I’ll have more time to wait for him and fill myself with memories that will water my sunny afternoons when he leaves, in five days. He also prefers to think about me more, on the train, a few hours more before meeting me, although he already knows me and knows what I think.
    It is Friday and he will Follow.
    My husband woke up a while ago and I want to go to my computer and find Mois on the chat like I do every day. Something incredible has become everyday. Two people talking to each other, two writers writing each other sentences. They complete each other’s sentences, from one city to another, from one world to another. He calls me the end of his exile, and I call him the one who made me a writer. He gave me the confidence to call myself a writer; many had tried before. He changed languages, he left French to return to his mother tongue thanks to our contact. Although he had been trying for two or three years, our meeting brought him to take the definitive step. And that’s why today is Friday, and that’s why he’ll arrive on a Friday. Today both of us are going to be born, both of us are going to be born as one, like Adam, who was both man and woman. Today, and he’ll arrive late, before the end of the Jewish day, the day that just fell into night. At that time, right before completing the Creation, Elohim created man, as if during the six days he was either preparing for it, or was unsure of whether it was a good idea or not.
    On Tuesday he will leave, and to me it already seems like he left or didn’t come, because today is already Tuesday, not just Friday. Today is Tuesday as it is Friday, and when he goes, the city will completely disappear with him, the illusion of the city.
    Today I want the accordion to cry.
    And I write because I live to write. Mois says that as soon as you write the first sentence you’ve already entered the book and you live in the book, and you are different from the others who live in reality, or what is called reality. That’s why I love him and that’s why he is right now dialing my cell phone number to tell me he’ll arrive late.
    Good morning, I say to him, with my shyness wrapped up in the warm shyness that fills me and reaches him through my voice. We decided days ago while chatting on the first sentences we would say to each other this evening. It will arrive at three, okay, do you want me to go get you, no, my cousin is coming and if I tell him not to come he’ll get annoyed so I’ll see you at the hotel, yes, at the hotel. Both of us will dress in green, green pants and