Read Online The Remains of Love by Zeruya Shalev - Free Book Online
Authors: Zeruya Shalev
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If she sees him he’ll pretend he was looking for her, and if not he’ll be spared the need to conduct a tedious conversation, while at the same time proving his dedication, being there and ready to jump in if the need should arise, like a male predator keeping a close eye on his family from a distance while going in search of prey, and in the meantime he’ll scour the ward for other families, or not so much families as couples, one couple in particular to be precise, for whom he’s searching so earnestly he almost loses sight of his sister, chasing after every sparkly fabric that he sees; in fact it isn’t the woman in the red top that he’s longing to see but the man at her side. He wants to hear his voice, find some excuse to conduct a conversation with him; in places like this brief and unexpected relationships are forged.
As he advances towards the main exit he realises that if he had indeed been discharged, it would be beyond the strength of the man to make it to the car park, and thus he would be forced to wait for his wife, sitting by the exit, and that is where the thread should be picked up. It seems to him for a moment that he’s spotted his swaddled form on one of the benches, but when he quickens his pace towards him, he has no choice but to pass close by his unconscious mother and his sister, who is leaning on the side rail of the bed and looking at him in bemusement. Hey, Avni, she waves at him, where have you been? I thought you’d gone without waiting for me. He says, what a thing to say, I’ve been here all the time, I just went down to get a drink. His eyes are straining to see what’s going on in the lobby, and she says, wait here a moment, I need the toilet, and at once she disappears as if she can’t bear his company. So he’s trapped, wondering whether to abandon his mother for a moment and hurry to the door; what can happen, at the most they’ll miss their slot. But all the same he doesn’t dare leave the open-mouthed old woman unsupervised and he makes his mind up and takes a firm grip on the bed, pushing it in front of him and using it to clear himself a path, almost at a run, like an orderly taking a patient for emergency surgery, to the hospital lobby, and all of this to prove how right he had been, or how mistaken, not hurrying there at the outset but instead stretching out on the vacated casualty bed alongside his mother, because there’s no doubt the man was sitting here and waiting, but now all that is left for him is to watch as he is led carefully towards the gold Citroën driven by his partner, an incurable case turning his back on all the doctors and medications, all the questions, hopes, inquiries and demands, gathered in to a place where the last words are said, a dance without movement, a song without sound. With bitterness in his heart he stares at the back of the receding car, then goes out into the sweltering air as if retracing the last footsteps of the invalid on his arduous journey, and already he’s hurrying distractedly across the car park, rummaging in his pocket for his keys, when he remembers to his horror that he’s left his unconscious mother in the lobby, and he runs heavily up the incandescent ramp, arriving out of breath at the place he left just a moment ago, to be meticulously checked out by the concierge as if he’s a newcomer.
No one has touched the bed, he’s relieved to see, as if the bed with his mother in it has become one of the regular fixtures of the hospital, planted in the floor like those benches in the sitting area, but from the end of the corridor his sister is running towards him, and on her face is the expression he’s so accustomed to seeing on the face of his wife, a blend of disgust, rejection and anger, and she pants at him, are you insane? Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you all over the hospital, I thought something had happened. And he too is still panting, confronting this paragon of forthright self-righteous
As he advances towards the main exit he realises that if he had indeed been discharged, it would be beyond the strength of the man to make it to the car park, and thus he would be forced to wait for his wife, sitting by the exit, and that is where the thread should be picked up. It seems to him for a moment that he’s spotted his swaddled form on one of the benches, but when he quickens his pace towards him, he has no choice but to pass close by his unconscious mother and his sister, who is leaning on the side rail of the bed and looking at him in bemusement. Hey, Avni, she waves at him, where have you been? I thought you’d gone without waiting for me. He says, what a thing to say, I’ve been here all the time, I just went down to get a drink. His eyes are straining to see what’s going on in the lobby, and she says, wait here a moment, I need the toilet, and at once she disappears as if she can’t bear his company. So he’s trapped, wondering whether to abandon his mother for a moment and hurry to the door; what can happen, at the most they’ll miss their slot. But all the same he doesn’t dare leave the open-mouthed old woman unsupervised and he makes his mind up and takes a firm grip on the bed, pushing it in front of him and using it to clear himself a path, almost at a run, like an orderly taking a patient for emergency surgery, to the hospital lobby, and all of this to prove how right he had been, or how mistaken, not hurrying there at the outset but instead stretching out on the vacated casualty bed alongside his mother, because there’s no doubt the man was sitting here and waiting, but now all that is left for him is to watch as he is led carefully towards the gold Citroën driven by his partner, an incurable case turning his back on all the doctors and medications, all the questions, hopes, inquiries and demands, gathered in to a place where the last words are said, a dance without movement, a song without sound. With bitterness in his heart he stares at the back of the receding car, then goes out into the sweltering air as if retracing the last footsteps of the invalid on his arduous journey, and already he’s hurrying distractedly across the car park, rummaging in his pocket for his keys, when he remembers to his horror that he’s left his unconscious mother in the lobby, and he runs heavily up the incandescent ramp, arriving out of breath at the place he left just a moment ago, to be meticulously checked out by the concierge as if he’s a newcomer.
No one has touched the bed, he’s relieved to see, as if the bed with his mother in it has become one of the regular fixtures of the hospital, planted in the floor like those benches in the sitting area, but from the end of the corridor his sister is running towards him, and on her face is the expression he’s so accustomed to seeing on the face of his wife, a blend of disgust, rejection and anger, and she pants at him, are you insane? Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you all over the hospital, I thought something had happened. And he too is still panting, confronting this paragon of forthright self-righteous
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