The TV had a variety of cable channels. This fact had perplexed my mind for I grew up in a thrifty house where we had 34 channels only, though I suspect the scarcity of channels was actually due to my mom’s desire to surf easily through channels. The availability and variety had caused me to stand in front of the TV, on the treadmill in the gym room, trying to decide which is more productive thing to watch: National Geographic or Channel 2 in the Israeli TV. Working out was a good thing for me. I would rank it among the things I would do if I want to have my Mira time, which is a time I give to myself to feel better, release stress, or simply enjoy something somewhere.
It is typical of Mr. Zilde to come to the gym in the times that it was empty. He liked the freedom of a more open space and he despised the smell of sweat just as much he loathed the appearance of young men with exaggerated puffy arms and legs. For these reasons Mr. Zilde made it a habit of his, after a meticulous study he conducted surreptitiously to know which times have the least number of people, to come in the morning only in the weekends, while the rest of the week he juggled between early morning with the rising sun, or at noon when the air of the Carmel was the most clear and most abundant with pine smell.
What Mr. Zilde did not know is that he became an indispensable part of Mira’s life, a young student who studied Psychology then and pondered philosophy so much so that once when she was on the treadmill, she zoned out to the world of Nietzsche and the genealogy of morality that she almost fill on her face. Mr. Zilde unconsciously and quite loudly encouraged himself of his goals. “5 minutes!” He would abruptly announce to the self-engrossed audience who admired the puffy muscles every once in a while. Mira, who had a tendency to melancholy and early sudden drowsiness (we’re talking about 10pm student life time), a melancholy ignited a stupor of a constant nature, in which she lost the motivation to workout, left weights and be healthy, for the simple reason that the purpose in life is of no existence. However, she tried to be efficient and took advantage of that annoying screaming man. So that’s why Mira had surreptitiously calculated, similar to the way Mr. Zilde had did the same before her, the times when he works out. Actually she has noticed that two other students come in the same times. She thought of whether they, similar to herself, have Mr. Zilde in their gym life’s essential pack. However, she did not want to rush into conclusions, though it was really tempting to draw the causality on the fact that every time she was working out (with Mr. Zilde being there of course) they were there as well, with their brand-fitness leggings and Bluetooth-based headphones, for this is how reason and result work, correct? Her attempt to bridge her objective observe and collect data method has proved failure so far with real life incidents.
After further pondering, she decided that this question was not as important as the question of Mr. Zilde himself. Has he ever noticed her existence? He seemed to be in a hurry all the time. He had this air that imposed his significance even in a Nike shorts and sweat-drenched t-shirt. He greeted the worker in the gym with a loud hail across the room. He changed the music that all of the lifting room shared. So the probability that Mr. Zilde had noticed Mira is very slim. Yet, she does notice him.
The nature of human being and the way they think is the most interesting thing in her eyes. Humans are weird. Unpredictable. Violent. Benevolent. Curious. Inventive. Evil. Oblivious. She entertained herself with cracking personalities of the people she met. She enjoyed the challenges; the more complex a personality is the better. She thought she has succeeded in cracking the puzzle of Mr. Zilde, then she was proved wrong by one incident: it was a January morning. Mr Zilde was in the bathroom, men’s bathroom that shared the same ceiling with the women’s bathroom. She heard him curse and beat himself, then talk on the phone soothingly then back again violent insults and bad words that she had goosebumps.
Mr. Zilde was a masochist. She felt it, for she was a masochist herself. But one masochist is different than another masochist. One tent is different from another tent, said Ghassan. and just like Mary Oliver has said that “the beast inside of us is shouting that this is what it wants…to drown”. Masochists were honest with themselves. They relished with destroying that will bring momentary pain but then establish the base for building, in which one finds great joy. joy and pain. Pleasure and pain. But she never said it out loud, that is that she was a masochist. She never has because she was afraid to do it.
This is not a story nor a recollection. It is an insight to a torn mind of Mr. Zilde, Mira and the numerous weight-lifting sessions. This end might bring disappointment. I apologize. I didn’t mean to end it that way but the heaviness of the topic, just as heavy as the weights he dropped his sweat on made me relinquish this quest of writing a story.
AICHA BINT YUSIF 