Until Sweet Death Arrives

by Amnon Binyamini

Michael did not know what to say. He was ashamed of himself. He decided to take shelter in Miriam’s room and wait till it was time to take Nahum home. He opened the door to leave the big room when he realized he was still holding the panda. Leaving the door open, he went back to Miriam and handed the panda to her, at the same time apologizing for his unfortunate behavior. Miriam was not listening; she had caught sight of Nahum slipping out of the room, on his way to the main entrance.

  “Run after him!” she shouted in agitation. “Take him home; he’s terribly tired and nervous. Look after him!”

  Michael ran as fast as he could after Nahum, who was very quickly making a dash for Jerusalem Boulevard. Michael managed to catch up with him before he reached the busy road and grabbed him by the arm. Nahum gave him a big smile and he breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Here’s the number 18 bus stop,” Michael said, breathing hard, “we’ll wait here till the bus comes, okay?”

  “Okay,” he said with a smile and continued walking. Michael stopped him by hanging onto his arm until the bus arrived a few minutes later.

  There were no empty seats and the driver asked the standing passengers to move to the back. Nahum, however, refused to budge and gripped the back of the seat behind the driver. Michael urged him to move. Just then a seat near them became vacant.

  “There’s a seat, Mr. Nahum. “You can sit there,” he said. Nahum did not respond and Michael tried to force him into the seat.

  “Leave me! Leave me!” Nahum protested.

  The bus swerved and Michael supported Nahum when he almost lost his footing. Then he tried to pry Nahum’s fingers from the back of the seat, to get him to sit down.

  “Stop! Leave me alone!” Nahum yelled.

  A passenger in his early twenties, who had been watching the scene from the beginning, could not restrain himself and, turning to Michael, said, “Stop bothering him!”

  Michael ignored him and pleaded with Nahum, “Please sit down, Mr. Nahum. Come, here’s a seat for you.” He noticed that the young man had turned his head and was watching every movement. He had no intention of explaining the situation to the young man, who looked ready for a fight, so he decided to give up.

  The bus was traveling very fast and their stop was next. Michael rang the bell, thinking with relief that he would soon be rid of the interfering young man. Nahum, meanwhile, kept an iron grip on the seat back. The bus drew up at their stop and the driver opened the door. There was nobody waiting at the bus stop and they were the only ones who wanted to get out. Before Michael could move, the driver shut the door and began to drive off.

  “Just a minute! Open the door; we’re getting off!” The driver stopped the bus, opened the door and waited.

  “Come on,” Michael said to Nahum, “we have to get off here. We’re nearly home.” Nahum ignored him totally. Michael took his arm, and in a worried voice said, “Please, Mr. Nahum, we must get off here.”

  “Go away!” roared Nathan.

  “Quickly, we are getting off the bus.”

  “Go away!”

  There was no way to persuade him. The passengers were staring. Michael was at his wits end. The young man made up his mind. “I’m telling you to leave him alone,” he said in a threatening tone.

  “Leave me alone, you bastard!” Nahum shouted.

  “Take your hands off him,” said the young passenger.

  “But this is our bus stop. We have to get off here,” Michael was pulling Nahum’s arm, desperately trying to put an end to the scene, to get away from the hostile young man and the disapproving passengers.

  Nahum was enraged and deeply offended. He snapped out of his bewilderment, gave Michael a look of burning hatred and shouted, “Fornicator! Pimp! Get out of here!”

  A woman joined the attack, saying indignantly, “I’ve been sitting here quietly watching you bully this poor man. Aren’t you ashamed? What do you want of him?”

  Michael looked from one to the other and tried to explain, “He’s…he’s…not right in the head… I look after him…he’s sick…it’s Alzheimer’s…”

  The young man looked at Nahum, clearly not believing what Michael said. His response was swift. “You’re a liar. I don’t believe a word of it.”

  Nahum shouted, “Liar!”

  Holding Nahum’s hand, Michael continued on his way to the door. ‘Soon, soon’, he told himself. ‘When I get off this bus with Mr. Nahum, it will disappear and I’ll never again see those passengers who say I’m a liar’…

  Nahum pulled his hand out of Michael’s grip and shouted, “You shit! Leave me alone! You pimp! Fornicator!”

  Finally losing his patience, the bus driver closed the door and drove off. Michael lowered his head in shame and embarrassment. The bus stopped for a few seconds at each of the next four stops and Michael gave up the struggle to get Nahum past the door. He stood loosely holding Nahum’s arm, now and then glancing at the young man who never took his eyes off them.

  Suddenly, when the driver opened the door at the fifth stop, which was outside the central train station, Nahum dashed out of the bus and Michael managed to squeeze past the door just before it closed. Craning their necks, the passengers caught sight of Nahum sprinting along the sidewalk with Michael limping as fast as he could behind him.

  42.

  Michael stuck close behind Nahum, relieved to note that he was slowing down. When he realized that Nahum was heading for the train station, he began to think fast. There was a row of taxis outside the main entrance. He decided to take a cab home; he had enough of buses. Meanwhile, Nahum had reached the row of cabs and Michael came to a halt just behind him and, very gently, so as not to alarm him, touched his elbow. Nahum jerked his head back and, seeing Michael, let out a desperate cry. Michael winced and withdrew his hand. He would do anything to avoid another confrontation with well-meaning bystanders, nor did he wish to subject himself to Nahum’s dreadful curses.

  Nahum started to walk away. After a few paces, he undid his pants and let them drop to his ankles.

  “What are you doing?” Michael cried in dismay. He managed to grab Nahum with one hand and pull up the pants, staggering behind him and pleading with him to stand still and behave himself. Nahum shot a look of pure rage at Michael and pushed him away, letting the pants fall to his ankles again.

  A religious woman who came upon the scene of an elderly man in his underpants wrestling in the frantic embrace of a young man, looked away spitting and hurried past, muttering, “What have we come to?”

  The moment Michael managed to pull up Nahum’s pants; the latter sat down in the middle of the sidewalk. Michael, controlling his panic, decided to allow Nahum to sit where he was while he ran for a cab. As he hurried towards the taxi rank, he looked back. Nahum had collected a pile of cigarette butts from the sidewalk and was about to stuff them into his mouth. Michael dashed back and prevented him from doing so, then back again in the direction of the taxi stand. He banged on the window of the nearest cab and panted, “Free?” The driver shook his head.

  When he found a free cab and fell into the back seat, the driver said, “Fasten your seat belt.”

  “Just a minute,” said Michael, “I want you to stop there, next to that man,” pointing to Nahum sitting some meters away on the sidewalk.

  “What’s up with him?”

  “He’s sick.”

  “What do you mean by ‘sick’?”

  “He’s not cooperating.”

  “What does that mean, ‘not cooperating’?”

  Michael felt as if the words were choking him, “Stubborn. Sick. He doesn’t understand anything. Sick!”

  The driver said, “Maybe you should find another cab. I won’t take responsibility.”

  Michael jumped out. There were no more cabs at the stand. He ran to the both at the head of the taxi stand and pleaded with the girl behind the counter, “I need help, I
have to have a cab immediately for a sick person!”

  “Maybe you should get an ambulance?”

  Michael answered quickly, “No, I mean, he isn’t sick like that…he’s just…he doesn’t understand.”

  She raised her eyebrows, indicating that she needed more than that to persuade her. “Where is this sick person?”

  “There, on the other side of the road. Sitting.” He pointed.

  The sidewalk was empty.

  43.

  With his last remaining strength, Michael broke into a run. When he reached the spot where Nahum was sitting, Michael stopped and looked around. Buses passed, people streamed in and out of the station entrance, but the only indication of Nahum’s presence on the sidewalk was a pile of cigarette butts. Michael had no idea where to start looking. He broke into a cold sweat at the thought that Nahum might have made his way into the station and a nightmarish picture flashed through his mind – Nahum lying between the railroad tracks. At that moment, he caught sight of someone wearing a jacket that looked like the one Nahum was wearing. The stooped figure vanished into the station and Michael, now running almost effortlessly, followed. He had never covered so much ground so quickly.

  A brawny young security guard standing at the station entrance regarded Michael suspiciously as he ran in, his eyes darting around the hall in search of the familiar figure.

  “How do you get down to the tracks?” he asked the guard, “Quick, tell me!”

  “Where do you need to go?” the guard asked.

  “What’s the difference? I have to get down to the tracks!” Michael shouted.

  After a narrow-eyed look into Michael’s sweaty, desperate face, the guard pointed and said, “There, under the bridge.”

  Michael ran wildly in the direction of the bridge until he arrived at the ticket barrier. He pushed the turnstile to no effect. He considered climbing over it, but knew he was not physically capable of such a movement. A group of boisterous soldiers approached and Michael asked them frantically, “How do I get through?”

  “Did you buy a ticket?”

  “Where do I get one?” he was almost sobbing with despair.

  “At the entrance.”

  He retraced his steps at a run. He went to one of the windows and shouted, “Quick, quick! A ticket!”

  “Where to?”

  “What have you got?”

  “Just tell me where you want to go,” said the girl behind the glass. “Haifa, Beer Sheva….”

  “Haifa, Haifa, just give me a ticket!”

  He paid and ran back, this time successfully passing through the turnstile. He saw people entering a train under the bridge and pushed his way down a flight of steps onto the platform. Panting and covered in perspiration, he ran with his head turned sideways to see the inside of the carriages, driven by the irrational thought that Nahum had somehow managed to get through the turnstile; and hoping against hope that he would find him here.

  “Mr. Nahum, Mr. Nahum, if you hear me, please come out. I’m begging you, come out. Be understanding, Mr. Nahum; give me a break! Show a sign. Listen to me. I have to find you; don’t do this to me. Don’t get lost. Don’t let me lose you…Mr. Nahum!”

  44

  Some of the passengers looked away in embarrassment, sensing this genuine distress, others sniggered at the sight of this crazy, disheveled man running up and down the platform trying to peer into the windows. As the doors were closing, Michael lunged inside and landed on the floor of the carriage. The ticket inspector, who seemed to realize that Michael had a real problem, helped him to his feet, saying, “Take it easy!”

  “I have to find him. He’s sick. He can’t look after himself. I take care of him.”

  “You must walk through all the carriages and look for him. Also in the toilets.”

  “Do the windows open?” Michael asked in a rush of new anxiety.

  “No, nobody can get out.”

  “Thank God!” Michael said, turning to start his search from the first carriage, where some very young soldiers were singing a song about being brave and never giving up the fight. He realized that all the passengers in this part of the train were in army uniform and Nahum would have stood out clearly if he were among them. Moving on to the next carriage, he passed a woman holding a crying infant on her lap; a young woman avidly reading a paperback; two women absorbed in conversation; a sleeping schoolboy and a man and woman kissing. Steadying himself by holding onto their seat, he stopped and turned quickly to peer back down the aisle, hoping to see Nahum emerge from hiding, but he was not to be seen.

  “Yes? Have you seen enough? Did you want something?” The man was looking at him on the point of becoming aggressive.

  Michael shook his head in embarrassment and moved on. The train sped over the tracks, rocking Michael from side to side as he made his way anxiously through the carriages, steadying himself on the backs of the seats. He was so tired and weak. His legs were shaking with the strain of the unaccustomed exercise on this nightmarish day. His head was spinning with fear and tension of a kind he had never experienced before.

  He tried to plan what he would do when he found Nahum. How would he get him off the train? He felt he would not be able to face the insults and curses Nahum would rain down on his head, the embarrassment he would have to endure. He reached the end of the train without finding Nahum. He decided to go through every carriage again, avoiding the curious looks from the passengers.

  When he came to the carriage full of soldiers, somebody shouted, “What’s up with you? Have you lost your mommy?”

  Roars of laughter followed and, too dejected to reply, not knowing what his next move should be, he turned back in the direction he had already covered twice. The ticket inspector was standing in the space between the carriages.

  “Any luck?” he asked sympathetically.

  Michael shook his head and plodded on. Nobody was paying much attention to him by now, and he came to the last carriage without incident. His heart missed a beat at the sight of four or five soldiers clustered around an old man sitting with his back to him. The jacket he was wearing looked familiar. The old man waved a handful of playing cards and the soldiers burst out laughing. Where did Mr. Nahum get hold of a pack of cards? Michael wondered as he staggered towards the group. Why were they laughing at him? Couldn’t they see he was nothing but a mindless old man?

  “Don’t laugh at him. He can’t understand anything. He’s got Alzheimer’s.”

  The soldiers stopped laughing, the smiles left their faces. They stood staring at Michael in embarrassment, or confusion, while the old man, still clutching the pack of cards, turned slowly to look at the newcomer. Their eyes met. The joyful shout died on Michael’s lips. These were not Nahum’s eyes. They were not green, nor were they devoid of expression. The old man was not Nahum. Michael had to face the fact that Nahum, whom he had promised to protect, whose eyes, ears, mouth and mind he had promised to be, for whom he was totally responsible, was not on the moving train.

  45.

  Edna was caught in the slow moving later afternoon traffic. She glanced at her watch, impatient to get home. She was later than usual and Nahum and Michael would be waiting for her.

  This morning, for the first time in two years, she had been able to take Gilat’s advice and check the possibility of returning to work on a part time basis. When she visited the offices of the legal firm in which she had been a partner, she realized to what extent she was out of touch with her profession and the outside world. Beyond the walls of Nahum’s room, life went on – sane, happy and full of interest. She had forgotten that life could be like that, centered as she was on caring for Nahum without any hope of his recovery.

  She could hear the telephone ringing as she was unlocking the door and hurried to answer it, wondering why Michael had not done so. By the time she lifted the receiver to her ear, all she heard was the dial tone.
She opened the door to her husband’s room, expecting to find him asleep with Michael dozing in the chair beside the bed, but the room was empty.

  “They should have been home hours ago,” she murmured as she dialed the number of the day care center.

  “Miriam’s busy on the other line. Please leave your number and we’ll call you as soon as she’s free,” the secretary informed her.

  When the phone rang, she said, “Edna Peterson speaking.”

  “Mrs. Edna! Oh my God, Mrs. Edna!” she heard Michael scream. “Mr. Nahum, it’s Mr. Nahum…he’s gone!”

  “Nahum’s at the center,” she said.

  “No. He isn’t there. I was there with him this morning,” Michael was calmer, but there was a tremor in his voice. “He ran away from me. At the railway station. He’s disappeared.”

  Although she was seated in the armchair, Edna had a falling sensation and her whole body felt suddenly heavy. “Michael, I want a clear answer; what do you mean, disappeared?” she asked, close to hysteria.

  “I was sure he managed to get onto the train under the bridge and I ran to find him. I looked in every carriage, but he wasn’t on the train,” Michael answered, even more terrified when he heard the unrestrained fear in Edna’s voice.

  “Train? What train? Michael, answer me at once. What train?”

  “I’m on the Haifa train. I thought Nahum…when I didn’t find him…I thought he got on the train…so…so I jumped on and then…and then…it turned out he wasn’t here…on the train…”

  Her mind refused to function. She was drained, helpless, her feet stuck to the carpet, incapable of even the slightest movement.

  Michael was first to recover, “There’s no time Edna… I’ll tell you everything when I see you, but now it’s important…send somebody to the railway station right now, I’m stuck on the express to Haifa, Nahum’s alone at the North Tel Aviv station… It’s dangerous. He could get onto the tracks. He doesn’t know better!”