by Chaim Potok
“Did you ask him if it was deliberate?”
“No.”
“How can you say something like that if you are not sure? That is a terrible thing to say.” He was controlling his anger with difficulty.
“It seemed to be deliberate.”
“Things are always what they seem to be, Reuven? Since when?” I was silent.
“I do not want to hear you say that again about Reb Saunders’ son.”
“Yes, abba.”
“Now, I brought you this.” He undid the newspapers around the package, and I saw it was our portable radio. “Just because you are in the hospital does not mean you should shut yourself off from the world. It is expected Rome will fall any day now. And there are rumors the invasion of Europe will be very soon. You should not forget there is a world outside.”
“I’ll have to do my schoolwork, abba. I’ll have to keep up with my classes.”
“No schoolwork, no books, and no newspapers. They told me you are not allowed to read.”
“I can’t read at all?”
“No reading. So I brought you the radio. Very important things are happening, Reuven, and a radio is a blessing.”
He put the radio on the night table. A radio brought the world together, he said very often. Anything that brought the world together he called a blessing.
“Now, your schoolwork,” he said. “I talked with your teachers. If you cannot prepare in time for your examinations, they will give them to you privately at the end of June or in September. So you do not have to worry.”
“If I’m out of the hospital in a few days, I’ll be able to read soon.”
“We will see. We have to find out first about the scar tissue.”
I felt myself frightened again. “Will it take long to find out?”
“A week or two.”
“I can’t read for two weeks?”
“We will ask Doctor Snydman when you leave the hospital. But no reading now.”
“Yes, abba.”
“Now I have to go,” my father said. He put his hat on, folded the newspaper and put it under his arm. He coughed again, briefly this time, and stood up. “I have to prepare examinations, and I must finish an article. The journal gave me a deadline.” He looked down at me and smiled, a little nervously, I thought. He seemed so pale and thin.
“Please take care of yourself, abba. Don’t get sick.”
“I will take care of myself. You will rest. And listen to the radio.”
“Yes, abba.”
He looked at me, and I saw him blink his eyes behind his steel-rimmed spectacles. “You are not a baby anymore. I hope-—” He broke off. I thought I saw his eyes begin to mist and his lips tremble for a moment.
Billy’s father said something to the boy, and the boy laughed loudly. I saw my father glance at them briefly, then look back at me. Then I saw him turn his head and look at them again. He looked at them a long time. Then he turned back to me. I saw from his face that he knew Billy was blind.
“I brought you your tefillin and prayer book,” he said very quietly. His voice was husky, and it trembled. “If they tell you it is all right, you should pray with your tefillin. But only if they tell you it is all right and will not be harmful to your head or your eye.” He stopped for a moment to clear his throat. “It is a bad cold, but I will be all right. If you cannot pray with your tefillin, pray anyway. Now I have to go.” He bent and kissed me on the forehead. As he came close to me, I saw his eyes were red and misty. “My baseball player,” he said, trying to smile. “Take care of yourself and rest. I will be back to see you tomorrow.” He turned and walked quickly away up the aisle, small and thin, but walking with a straight, strong step the way he always walked no matter how he felt. Then he was out of focus and I could no longer see him.
I lay on the pillow and closed my right eye. I found myself crying after a while, and I thought that might be bad for my eye, and I forced myself to stop. I lay still and thought about my eyes. I had always taken them for granted, the way I took for granted all the rest of my body and also my mind. My father had told me many times that health was a gift, but I never really paid much attention to the fact that I was rarely sick or almost never had to go to a doctor. I thought of Billy and Tony Savo. I tried to imagine what my life might be like if I had only one good eye, but I couldn’t. I had just never thought of my eyes before. I had never thought what it might be like to be blind. I felt the wild terror again, and I tried to control it. I lay there a long time, thinking about my eyes.
I heard a stir in the ward, opened my right eye, and saw that Billy’s father had gone. Billy was lying on his pillow with his palms under his head and his elbows jutting outward. His eyes were open and staring at the ceiling. I saw nurses alongside some of the beds, and I realized that everyone was preparing for sleep. I turned my head to look at Mr. Savo. He seemed to be asleep. My head was beginning to hurt a little, and my left wrist still felt sore. I lay very still. I saw the nurse come up to my bed and look down at me with a bright smile.
“Well, now,” she said. “How are we feeling, young man?”
“My head hurts a little,” I told her.
“That’s to be expected.” She smiled at me. “We’ll give you this pill now so you’ll have a fine night’s sleep.”
She went to the night table and filled a glass with water from a pitcher that stood on a little tray. She helped me raise my head, and I put the pill in my mouth and swallowed it down with some of the water.
“Thank you,” I said, lying back on the pillow. “You’re very welcome, young man. It’s nice to meet polite young people. Goodnight, now.”
“Goodnight, ma’am. Thank you.”
She went away up the aisle.
I turned my head and looked at Billy. He lay very still with his eyes open. I watched him for a moment, then closed my eye. I wondered what it was like to be blind, completely blind. I couldn’t imagine it, but I thought it must be something like the way I was feeling now with my eyes closed. But it’s not the same, I told myself. I know if I open my right eye I’ll see. When you’re blind it makes no difference whether you open your eyes or not. I couldn’t imaging what it was like to know that no matter whether my eyes were opened or closed it made no difference, everything was still dark.
CHAPTER THREE
ASLEEP, I HEARD A SHOUT and a noise that sounded like a cheer, and I woke immediately. There was a lot of movement in the ward, and loud voices. I wondered what was happening, there was so much noise and shouting going on and a radio was blaring. I began to sit up, then remembered that I was not yet permitted to sit and put my head back on the pillow. It was light outside, but I could not see the sun. I wondered what the noise was all about, and then I saw Mrs. Carpenter walking sternly up the aisle. She was telling people to stop all the shouting and to remember that this was a hospital and not Madison Square Garden. I looked over at Billy. He was sitting straight up in his bed, and I could tell he was trying to make out what was going on. His face looked puzzled and a little frightened. I turned to look at Mr. Savo, and I saw he was not in his bed.
The noise quieted a little, but the radio was still blaring. I couldn’t make it out too clearly because every now and then someone would interrupt with a shout or a cheer. The announcer was talking about places called Caen and Carentan. He said something about a British airborne division seizing bridgeheads and two American airborne divisions stopping enemy troops from moving into the Cotentin Peninsula. I didn’t recognize any of the names, and I wondered why everyone was so excited. There was war news all the time, but no one got this excited unless something very special was happening. I thought I could see Mr. Savo sitting on one of the beds. Mrs. Carpenter went over to him, and from the way she walked I thought she was angry. I saw Mr. Savo get to his feet and come back up the aisle. The announcer was saying something about the Isle of Wight and the Normandy coast and Royal Air Force bombers attacking enemy coast-defense guns and United States Air Force bombers attacking sho
re defenses. I suddenly realized what was happening and felt my heart begin to beat quickly.
I saw Mr. Savo come up to my bed. He was angry, and his long, thin face with the black eyepatch made him look like a pirate.
“ ‘Go back to your bed, Mr. Savo,’ ” he mimicked. “ ‘Go back to your bed this instant.’ You’d think I was dying. This is no time to be in bed.”
“Is it the invasion of Europe, Mr. Savo?” I asked him eagerly. I was feeling excited and a little tense, and I wished the people who were cheering would be quiet.
He looked down at me. “It’s D day, Bobby boy. We’re clopping them good. And Tony Savo has to go back to his bed.” Then he spotted the portable radio my father had brought me the night before. “Hey, Bobby boy, is that your radio?”
“That’s right,” I said excitedly. “I forgot all about it.”
“Lucky, lucky us.” He was smiling broadly and no longer looked like a pirate. “We’ll put it on the table between our beds and give it a listen, eh?”
“I think Billy will want to hear it too, Mr. Savo.” I looked over at Billy.
Billy turned and stared in the direction of my voice. “Do you have a radio here, Bobby?” He seemed very excited.
“It’s right here, Billy. Right between our beds.”
“My uncle is a pilot. He flies big planes that drop bombs. Can you turn it on?”
“Sure, kid.” Mr. Savo turned on the radio, found the station with the same announcer who was coming over the other radio, then got into his bed and lay back on his pillow. The three of us lay in our beds and listened to the news of the invasion.
Mrs. Carpenter came up the aisle. She was still a little angry over all the noise in the ward, but I could see she was also excited. She asked me how I was feeling.
“I’m feeling fine, ma’am.”
“That’s very good. Is that your radio?”
“Yes, ma’am. My father brought it to me.”
“How nice. You may sit up a little if you wish.”
“Thank you.” I was happy to hear that. “May I pray with my tefillin?”
“Your phylacteries?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I don’t see why not. You’ll be careful of the bump on your head, now.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
She looked sternly at Mr. Savo. “I see you’re behaving yourself, Mr. Savo.”
Mr. Savo looked at her out of his left eye and grunted. “You’d think I was dying.”
“You are to remain in bed, Mr. Savo.”
Mr. Savo grunted again. She went back up the aisle.
“Tough as a ring post,” Mr. Savo said, grinning. “Turn it up a bit, Bobby boy. Can’t hear it too good.”
I leaned over and turned up the volume of the radio. It felt good to be able to move again.
I got the tefillin and prayer book out of the drawer of the night table and began to put on the tefillin. The head strap rubbed against the bump, and I winced. It was still sore. I finished adjusting the hand strap and opened the prayer book. I saw Mr. Savo looking at me. Then I remembered that I wasn’t allowed to read, so I closed the prayer book. I prayed whatever I remembered by heart, trying not to listen to the announcer. I prayed for the safety of all the soldiers fighting on the beaches. When I finished praying, I took off the tefillin and put them and the prayer book back in the drawer.
“You’re a real religious kid, there, Bobby boy,” Mr. Savo said to me.
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I looked at him and nodded and didn’t say anything.
“You going to be a priest or something?”
“I might,” I said. “My father wants me to be a mathematician, though.”
“You good at math?”
“Yes. I get all A’s in math.”
“But you want to be a priest, eh? A—rabbi, you call it.”
“Sometimes I think I want to be a rabbi. I’m not sure.”
“It’s a good thing to be, Bobby boy. Cockeyed world needs people like that. I could’ve been a priest. Had a chance once. Made a wrong choice. Wound up clopping people instead. Lousy choice. Hey, listen to that!”
The correspondent was saying excitedly that some German torpedo boats had attacked a Norwegian destroyer and that it looked like it was sinking. There were sailors jumping overboard and lifeboats being lowered.
“They got clopped,” Mr. Savo said, looking grim. “Poor bas— poor guys.”
The correspondent sounded very excited as he described the Norwegian destroyer sinking.
• • •
The rest of that morning I did nothing but listen to the radio and talk about the war with Mr. Savo and Billy. I explained to Billy as best I could some of the things that were going on, and he kept telling me his uncle was the pilot of a big plane that dropped bombs. He asked me if I thought he was dropping them now to help with the invasion. I told him I was sure he was.
Shortly after lunch, a boy came in from the other ward bouncing a ball. I saw he was about six years old, had a thin pale face and dark uncombed hair which he kept brushing away from his eyes with his left hand while he walked along bouncing the ball with his right. He wore light brown pajamas and a dark brown robe.
“Poor kid,” said Mr. Savo. “Been in the ward across the hall most of his life. Stomach’s got no juices or something.” He watched him come up the aisle. “Crazy world. Cockeyed.”
The boy stood at the foot of Mr. Savo’s bed, looking very small and pale. “Hey, Mr. Tony. You want to catch with Mickey?”
Mr. Savo told him this was no day to toss a ball around, there was an invasion going on. Mickey didn’t know what an invasion was, and began to cry. “You promised, Mr. Tony. You said you would catch with little Mickey.”
Mr. Savo looked uncomfortable. “Okay, kid. Don’t start bawling again. Just two catches. Okay?”
“Sure, Mr. Tony,” Mickey said, his face glowing. He threw the ball to Mr. Savo, who had to stretch his right hand high over his head to catch it. He tossed it back lightly to the boy, who dropped it and went scrambling for it under the bed.
I saw Mrs. Carpenter come rushing up the aisle, looking furious.
“Mr. Savo, you are simply impossible!” she almost shouted.
Mr. Savo sat in his bed, breathing very hard and not saying anything.
“You are going to make yourself seriously ill unless you stop this nonsense and rest!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mr. Savo said. His face was pale. He lay back on his pillow and closed his left eye.
Mrs. Carpenter turned to the boy, who had found his ball and was looking expectantly at Mr. Savo.
“Mickey, there will be no more catching with Mr. Savo.”
“Aw, Mrs. Carpenter—”
“Mickey!”
“Yes’m,” Mickey said, suddenly docile. “Thanks for the catch, Mr. Tony.”
Mr. Savo lay on his pillow and didn’t say anything. Mickey went back up the aisle, bouncing his ball.
Mrs. Carpenter looked down at Mr. Savo. “Are you feeling all right?” she asked, sounding concerned.
“I’m a little pooped,” Mr. Savo said, not opening his eye.
“You should know better than to do something like that.”
“Sorry, ma’am.”
Mrs. Carpenter went away.
“Tough as a ring post,” Mr. Savo said. “But a big heart.” He lay still with his eye closed, and after a while I saw he was asleep.
The announcer was talking about the supply problems involved in a large-scale invasion, when I saw Mr. Galanter coming up the aisle. I turned the radio down a little. Mr. Galanter came up to my bed. He was carrying a copy of the New York Times under his arm, and his face was flushed and excited.
“Came up to say hello, soldier. I’m between schools, so I’ve only got a few minutes. Couldn’t’ve seen you otherwise today. How are we doing?”
“I’m a lot better, Mr. Galanter.” I was happy and proud that he had come to see me. “My head doesn’t hurt a
t all, and the wrist is a lot less sore.”
“That’s good news, trooper. Great news. This is some day, isn’t it? One of the greatest days in history. Fantastic undertaking.”
“Yes, sir. I’ve been listening to it on the radio.”
“We can’t begin to imagine what’s going on, trooper. That’s the incredible part. Probably have to land more than a hundred fifty thousand troops today and tomorrow, and thousands and thousands of tanks, artillery pieces, jeeps, bulldozers, everything, and all on those beaches. It staggers the mind!”
“I told little Billy here that they were using the big bombing planes an awful lot. His uncle is a bomber pilot. He’s probably flying his plane right now.”
Mr. Galanter looked at Billy, who had turned his head in our direction, and I saw Mr. Galanter notice immediately that he was blind.
“How are you, young feller?” Mr. Galanter said, his voice sounding suddenly a lot less excited.
“My uncle flies a big plane that drops bombs,” Billy said. “Are you a flier?”
I saw Mr. Galanter’s face go tight.
“Mr. Galanter is my gym teacher in high school,” I told Billy.
“My uncle’s been a pilot for a long time now. My father says they have to fly an awful lot before they can come home. Were you wounded or something, Mr. Galanter, sir, that you’re home now?”
I saw Mr. Galanter stare at the boy. His mouth was open, and he ran his tongue over his lips. He looked uncomfortable.
“Couldn’t make it as a soldier,” he said, looking at Billy. “I’ve got a bad—” He stopped. “Tried to make it but couldn’t.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, sir.”
“Yeah,” Mr. Galanter said.
I was feeling embarrassed. Mr. Galanter’s excitement had disappeared, and now he stood there, staring at Billy and looking deflated. I felt sorry for him, and I regretted having mentioned Billy’s uncle.
“I wish your uncle all the luck in the world,” Mr. Galanter said quietly to Billy.
“Thank you, sir,” Billy said.
Mr. Galanter turned to me. “They did quite a job getting that piece of glass out of your eye, trooper.” He was trying to sound cheerful, but he wasn’t succeeding too well. “How soon will you be out?”
