Tonight The Little Old Lady is making a Chanukah party. It will be lovely and happy and the children shall enjoy it. And there will be digital frames and other lovely things and she still will not tell me what she desires. I wish I knew it so I could give it to her. I do not believe it is a material thing. She is not one for the physical, my lady of spirit. I salute her because I wish to be her when it is my time.
It's the festival of lights, the one creation above all others that should resonate with my soul, and I ought to be happy, oughtn't I? But all I can think of are the people I miss.
My grandfather died on the fourth night of Chanukah. I miss him. I wonder what he would make of me if he saw me today. Would I please him?
"Who are you? No idea. I want to be whatever your eyes will see in me, yes. And if you are too frightened to look- then maybe I will be."
~page 39 of Be My Knife by David Grossman
But do I really want to be what I see in your eyes? I think I would rather be myself and have your eyes reflect an entirely different universe, as it happens in The Last Unicorn, eyes that have never seen anything but beauty, even the terrible, dark kind that haunts us. And whose eyes do I speak of, anyway? How many eyes can capture us...people see so very little.
"We could be like two people who inject themselves with truth serum and at long last have to tell it, the truth. I want to be able to say to myself, 'I bled truth to her' yes, that's what I want. Be a knife for me, and I, I swear, will be a knife for you: sharp but compassionate, your word, not mine. I didn't even remember that such a delicate soft tone was allowed in the world, of a word with no skin (if you say it aloud a few times, you can feel salty hard earth as water starts pushing through its veins). You're tired, I will force myself to say good night."
-Be My Knife by David Grossman, page 8
Do I want such knives? I have bled enough.