Disobedience

by Naomi Alderman

And a little voice tickled in my ear, saying, well, this is what you get. I knew that voice. It said it again: this is what you get, Ronit. All you have for comfort is a married man. All you have for strength is a job. What did you think was going to happen? And I gripped the sink tighter, drew a breath, and said, I’m not listening. * * * I didn’t realize I’d said anything out loud until Scott said, “What was that?” I said, because it was the first thing I could think of, “What do you think about my going back to England?” “What do you mean, what do I think?” “I mean, do you think I should go?” “Why the hell not? You’ve got the German project under control, haven’t you?” I’d forgotten this about him, the tendency to relate all life decisions back to work. I wanted to shout, you idiot, that’s not what I meant, and the anger snapped me back into focus and I remembered that I was here, now, in the middle of my own life. I said, “Yes, it’s under control. That’s not the point.” I think he said something then, but the kettle started to boil, so I didn’t hear it. As I walked out with the coffee I said, “I guess I should go. That’s what you do, right? I should go home, see my people, visit my father’s grave. That stuff.” He looked at me. “Sure.” I sat on the couch next to him and stared silently into my coffee. After a while, he said: “What is it that you’re afraid of?” And I almost laughed, almost but not quite. I said, “Maybe that he’ll still be there. Still disapproving. Still ...