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Authors: Orly Castel-Bloom
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why he’s in such a hurry.”
“Another operation, what do you think,” said Lirit. “The only thing that interests them is money. You’re acting not quite normally.”
“Yes, I feel a little strange too. Vo-mi-ting dish!” yelled Mandy.
“Mommy!” cried Lirit and she leaped for the kidney-shaped green dish.
“Here, here it is . . .” Lirit brought the dish to Mandy’s mouth.
Mandy succeeded in raising herself a little while mumbling in ex-Rhodesian English, and vomited all the liquids. Then she closed her eyes.
“They gave me too much anesthetic. Disgusting.”
The patient fell back onto her stomach with the help of her daughter, moaning all the time:
“Ai, ai, ai . . .”
Without opening her eyes and with great difficulty she said to herself:
“I want to wear bare-backed dresses again . . . but it hurts so much. Never mind . . . it will pass . . . it’s not a disease, it’s only plastic surgery.”
And to Lirit she said, “You understand, darling Lirit, I couldn’t bear having my shoulder blades rubbed out and a back as flat as a plate with a canal for a spine. I said to myself, forget the spine, but the shoulder blades! I couldn’t take it. And now look what a position I’m stuck in . . .”
Tears poured from her eyes and were absorbed straight into the white sheet, on which was written in decorative Hebrew letters: Medical Frontline.
“In two days’ time I’ll be allowed to get up, to lie on my back. Everything will be all right,” she consoled herself. “Come here a minute, Liritkeleh, help me, dear. I want to turn my head to the other side. It’s hard, it hurts, but I’m sick of having it on the same side all the time. All I need are bedsores on my face!”
As gently as she could, but with a little sting of malice, her daughter said:
“Mother, you have to flow with time. To accept the change.”
“When you grow up, you accept the change,” muttered Mandy.
“But you have to. It’s stupid to fight the wheels of time . . .”
“How’s Dael?” cried Mandy suddenly and stretched a tiny bit, because of the pain. It was only now that she remembered this worry. “Was there any exchange of fire mentioned on the news? Did they say an Israeli was killed in the shooting, his family not yet notified?”
“Everything’s fine, I spoke to him fifteen minutes ago.”
“Thank God,” said Mandy. “That’s what I feared the most. I’m under the anesthetic, and something happens to him.”
Lirit thought: What difference does it make if she’s anesthetized when something happens to him? What’s she missing that’s so urgent for her to know?
“What about your father?” Mandy sighed again.
“He’s probably still up in the sky,” said Lirit and looked at her mother lying on her stomach as helpless as an overturned tortoise. There was a lot of compassion in the daughter’s look. And on the other hand, to be on the safe side, she thanked God that she was still young with her whole life before her, and not like her mother who was buried in a pajama factory. She, whatever her situation in life might be, still had a lot of opportunities!
5
BAHAT MCPHEE WAS AN ABSENTMINDED WOMAN, WHICH led to deficiencies in her orientation in space. In her late forties the condition worsened, to such an extent that she would lose her car even when she parked it outside the underground parking lots she hated. Not long ago she had lost it when she parked (by mistake) two streets away from her home, since the parking space reserved for her was occupied, and it never occurred to her to appeal to the authorities.
One day, in the middle of searching for her car in minus four of the underground parking lot, McPhee had a revelation. She understood that people’s terror of death was a post-traumatic phenomenon. Death was so terrible that their minds consented to remembering only the fear they experienced when it happened, and not the event itself.
McPhee knew that difficult and central events in
“Another operation, what do you think,” said Lirit. “The only thing that interests them is money. You’re acting not quite normally.”
“Yes, I feel a little strange too. Vo-mi-ting dish!” yelled Mandy.
“Mommy!” cried Lirit and she leaped for the kidney-shaped green dish.
“Here, here it is . . .” Lirit brought the dish to Mandy’s mouth.
Mandy succeeded in raising herself a little while mumbling in ex-Rhodesian English, and vomited all the liquids. Then she closed her eyes.
“They gave me too much anesthetic. Disgusting.”
The patient fell back onto her stomach with the help of her daughter, moaning all the time:
“Ai, ai, ai . . .”
Without opening her eyes and with great difficulty she said to herself:
“I want to wear bare-backed dresses again . . . but it hurts so much. Never mind . . . it will pass . . . it’s not a disease, it’s only plastic surgery.”
And to Lirit she said, “You understand, darling Lirit, I couldn’t bear having my shoulder blades rubbed out and a back as flat as a plate with a canal for a spine. I said to myself, forget the spine, but the shoulder blades! I couldn’t take it. And now look what a position I’m stuck in . . .”
Tears poured from her eyes and were absorbed straight into the white sheet, on which was written in decorative Hebrew letters: Medical Frontline.
“In two days’ time I’ll be allowed to get up, to lie on my back. Everything will be all right,” she consoled herself. “Come here a minute, Liritkeleh, help me, dear. I want to turn my head to the other side. It’s hard, it hurts, but I’m sick of having it on the same side all the time. All I need are bedsores on my face!”
As gently as she could, but with a little sting of malice, her daughter said:
“Mother, you have to flow with time. To accept the change.”
“When you grow up, you accept the change,” muttered Mandy.
“But you have to. It’s stupid to fight the wheels of time . . .”
“How’s Dael?” cried Mandy suddenly and stretched a tiny bit, because of the pain. It was only now that she remembered this worry. “Was there any exchange of fire mentioned on the news? Did they say an Israeli was killed in the shooting, his family not yet notified?”
“Everything’s fine, I spoke to him fifteen minutes ago.”
“Thank God,” said Mandy. “That’s what I feared the most. I’m under the anesthetic, and something happens to him.”
Lirit thought: What difference does it make if she’s anesthetized when something happens to him? What’s she missing that’s so urgent for her to know?
“What about your father?” Mandy sighed again.
“He’s probably still up in the sky,” said Lirit and looked at her mother lying on her stomach as helpless as an overturned tortoise. There was a lot of compassion in the daughter’s look. And on the other hand, to be on the safe side, she thanked God that she was still young with her whole life before her, and not like her mother who was buried in a pajama factory. She, whatever her situation in life might be, still had a lot of opportunities!
5
BAHAT MCPHEE WAS AN ABSENTMINDED WOMAN, WHICH led to deficiencies in her orientation in space. In her late forties the condition worsened, to such an extent that she would lose her car even when she parked it outside the underground parking lots she hated. Not long ago she had lost it when she parked (by mistake) two streets away from her home, since the parking space reserved for her was occupied, and it never occurred to her to appeal to the authorities.
One day, in the middle of searching for her car in minus four of the underground parking lot, McPhee had a revelation. She understood that people’s terror of death was a post-traumatic phenomenon. Death was so terrible that their minds consented to remembering only the fear they experienced when it happened, and not the event itself.
McPhee knew that difficult and central events in
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