GOLDA
There was something wrong, Golda knew it. Ben was so withdrawn, silent, sitting on the sofa in the parlor, staring straight ahead. Often, he fell asleep like that, his head lolling heavily forward, chin on his chest. A small snore would escape his mouth, and sometimes he would jerk his head up, waking himself. Then gradually his head would sink again, and he would sleep.
Golda sat beside him, staring at his face. He was still a handsome man, she thought. His hair had streaks of gray, but he hadn’t lost any of it. She felt a softness within her, and she put her hand over his, but he didn’t stir. She had been so afraid he would never love her, but she knew now that he did.
There was a certain way he brushed her shoulder when she sat in her “embroidery” chair, the tufted chair she had bought herself with some of her earnings from her sewing. She would look up at him as if to ask what he wanted and see there was nothing in particular he wanted to say except, I’m here. I’m glad you are too.
And at night, in their bed, he still reached for her in the dark, and she always turned to him and melted into the warmth of his embrace. His hands, work worn and cracked from his labors, still felt gentle on her bare skin, still brought a surprising response from her, even after all these years. Yes, she knew he loved her. It was obvious. The way he looked at her over the supper table when he was enjoying her food and smiled at her with satisfaction; the way he came to her with work problems and questions; the way he shared his worries about the children and their future. It all made her feel their closeness and their partnership in life.
But now something was wrong, and it worried her. Ben wasn’t confiding in her. There was a shiftiness about him, as if he was hiding something. She asked him, “Ben, is everything all right? Is there something I can help with? I know things are hard. But you know I can help. I’m making pretty good money on the embroidery. I’ll help.”
He shook his head. “No. Don’t worry. I’m fine. Just figuring out things.”
“Tell me and I’ll help you figure,” Golda said. She felt like the air was thick in the room. The daylight was waning, and one long shadow came through the window and onto the sofa.
“I will, I will. But first I want to think it through, what I want to say. I’ll tell you then.”
But he never came to her and told her anything. They each worried alone, in silence.