“Why? Why? Why did I leave him with you? What have I done? Why did I abandon him?” She was not talking to Michael, she was whispering to herself, but Michael heard every word.
Edna felt the circulation return to her legs. She stood up and began to pace around the room busily formulating a plan of action. First she would phone the editorial office of Today and ask for Avraham’s help. Then she would phone the police and report that Nahum Peterson was missing, emphasizing that he suffered from Alzheimer’s Disease before giving them his physical description: sixtyish, tall, bearded, green eyes, sloping shoulders, confused, unable to understand anything. Nevertheless, his appearance was misleading. His illness was not immediately apparent. He could be taken for normal, sane.
The phone rang. The only sound she heard when she lifted the receiver was sobbing.
“Michael? Is that you? Who is it?” Receiving no answer other than more sobs, she was about to hang up when the sobs were interspersed with coherent phrases, “It’s me…Michael…my fault…all my fault…forgive…I’m so sorry…you’re right, Mrs. Edna…you made a mistake to trust me…”
Her voice shook, “Michael, I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m sure you’re not to blame. But you must get off the line now, because I have to make some urgent calls. You must get off the train at the next stop and go straight back to where you last saw Nahum. Stay right there on the spot and keep your eyes open. Okay? Now let me start phoning for help.”
No sooner had she replaced the receiver, Miriam phoned. “Hello, how’s our Nahum?”
“Nahum has disappeared.”
“Disappeared? What do you mean? He left the center hours ago. Michael was hot on his heels! I saw them go.”
Edna wanted to know why Michael had to run after Nahum and what it all meant, but, as she told Miriam, her only interest at the moment was to get help immediately. Miriam promised to get in touch with the relevant bodies in order to enlist their help in finding Nahum.
Edna finally phoned the newspaper and Avraham began to chat politely, saying he and his wife planned to visit them soon. Edna cut him short.
“Nahum is missing. I need your help urgently. He went missing in the area of the Tel Aviv North railway station. I need a lot of people to form search parties before it gets dark.”
“I’ll get onto it right away. I’ll take most of the staff and leave at once. Don’t worry, Edna. You stay home, near the phone. I’ll keep in touch. Meanwhile, inform the police, now!”
As always, Avraham was quick to understand and needed no long explanations.
Edna reported Nahum’s disappearance to the police and asked them to arrange an immediate search of the railway tracks.
46.
Nahum was tired when Michael left him on the sidewalk near the station. He was sitting on the dirty pavement with his legs outstretched. His dull gaze was fixed on a cigarette butt in his hand. He crumpled the tobacco in the palm of his hand and put it into his mouth.
“Look, Mommy, there’s a man eating cigarettes! Is he hungry?”
The child’s mother took a coin from her purse, whispering to the little boy, “No, he just wants people to feel sorry for him and give him money.” She dropped the coin next to Nahum and moved on.
Nahum, oblivious, was rubbing flakes of tobacco between his palms. After a while, he rubbed his chin and cheeks with his tobacco-stained hands, stood up and shambled towards the busy street, with his gaze fixed on the sidewalk. After a few meters he spotted a cigarette butt in the gutter and was bending towards it when a taxi pulled up.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
Nahum gave him a blank stare. The taxi was blocking the traffic and the driver leaned over and opened the door, “Get in; get in!” he said impatiently.
Nahum climbed laboriously into the front seat and sat down. The car radio crackled and a voice said, “Jackie, can you take a fare to Rehovot?”
Nahum murmured, “Fare to Rehovot.”
‘No. I’ve just picked up a fare,” the driver said. He glanced at Nahum who was sitting with his eyes closed, repeating softly, “Rehovot…fare to Rehovot.”
“What? Where to, Mister?”
“Rehovot…fare to Rehovot,” Nahum said.
“Looks like everybody’s going to Rehovot today! Over and out!” the driver said. Turning his head towards Nahum, he added, “Fasten your seat belt, please.”
Nahum had relapsed into drowsy silence and did not respond.
“If a cop stops us and see you sitting there without a seat belt, I’ll get a heavy fine. You must buckle up, understand?”
Still no answer. “Tourist?” the driver asked, “Don’t you speak Hebrew?”
Nahum signed deeply and his head dropped forward. He was asleep. The afternoon traffic was moving at a crawl; and, shaking his head in irritation, the driver managed to reach over his sleeping passenger and fasten the safety belt.
“Now you can sleep all you like, till we get to Rehovot.”
Almost half an hour later, they reached the outskirts of Rehovot. The radio crackled and a woman asked, “Anybody free in Rehovot?”
The driver answered, “Twenty-four here, twenty-four; I’m almost in Rehovot. I’ll be free in about ten minutes. Over.”
“Pick up corner of Menuha and Bar-Shaul.”
“Okay.” When the driver returned the mouthpiece to its holder, he noted that Nahum was awake and asked, “So, what’s the address, mister?”
Nahum leaned forward, his attention riveted on the mouthpiece. He snatched it and said, “Hello, hello. Okay. Good, I said a hundred-hundred. He said five, Too bedad, bedad, bad.”
The drive was busy overtaking a bus and did not notice that Nahum was talking into the radio. All he could hear over the noise of the traffic was that Nahum was saying something in Hebrew. “Aha, so you do speak Hebrew, after all!” he remarked.
Then he realized that his passenger was talking into the radio and shouted, “Hey! Don’t do that!”
Nahum went on speaking, earnestly explaining something, “Okay, so I ate a lot. So he said newspaper. Newspaper. No. Why? Why?”
The driver pulled the instrument from Nahum’s hand and said, more in amazement than anger, “Tell me, what are you doing? You can’t touch the radio? Are you nuts?”
At this point the woman’s voice broke in, “No fooling around with the radio; I repeat, no fooling around with the radio.”
Nahum ignored the driver. He was fascinated by the voice coming from the instrument and again took the mouthpiece from the holder on the dashboard, “Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta. Don’t want to, he said. No. What suddenly. Good. So then. Okakyokayokay. Good.”
The driver was furious. “Who d’you think you are? Are you deaf? Didn’t you hear what I said? You can’t touch the radio! Are you crazy?”
“Don’t mess with the radio.” The woman’s voice came through loud and clear and then after a pause, “Twenty-four, twenty-four, where are you? Your fare’s waiting for you. What’s taking so long?”
“I’ll be there in five minutes. I’ve got a problem here.”
Nahum was very agitated because the driver had taken the instrument away from him so brutally when he was in the middle of saying something. He made an attempt to grab the instrument from the driver’s hand.
The driver yelled, “Leave it alone! Stop that! What did I tell you? Are you deaf?”
Nahum’s face turned red. He clamped his hand on the driver’s wrist and roared into his face, “Whore! Shit! Sonsonson-a-bitch! Shit! Sonabitch!”
The driver jammed on the brakes and leaned close to Nahum, “What did you call me? Maniac!”
Nahum did not hesitate; he flattened his hand on the driver’s face and shoved. The driver jumped out and ran around to Nahum’s side of the cab. “I’ll teach you, you bastard! Come on. Come on, you maniac. I’ll teach you a thing or two!”
Nahum remained where he was, looking at the empty seat next to him. Suddenly the furious driver wrenched the door open, pulled him out of the car and began hitting him, shouting, “Maniac! Bastard! Son of a bitch! You hit me? I’ll show you!”
Nahum fell to the sidewalk, doing nothing to protect himself. The driver finally exhausted himself and began searching Nahum’s pockets for the cab fare. All he found were some rags, a rotten apple, a rag doll and two odd socks. He stared at Nahum for a moment, before shaking his head. Then he got back behind the wheel and drove off.
Nahum lay bleeding from the nose, with his head and shoulders almost in the path of the traffic, sadly gazing up at the gathering clouds. A light winter wind stirred his gray hair. It was some time before he slowly got to his feet and turned to face a citrus orchard that began on the fringes of the narrow sidewalk. The traffic had dwindled to a fast-moving, stream of cars and the occasional bus. By now it was dark and he stood immobile, listening to the strengthening wind in the trees and the distant cries of jackals.
Suddenly he began to walk between the rows of trees. His steps quickened and he bumped into a tree, fell, stood up and walked, driven by some inner urge to keep on going, to wander deeper into the orchard. There was no sign of a path, no glimmer of light, no moon or stars to guide him; but Nahum did not need paths or signs. All he needed was a patch of earth where he could put his feet and walk. His body desired movement. Uncontrolled, unwilled and stormy movement.
The crests of the orange trees rippled in the wind. Drops of rain began to strike his face. The soil began to stick to his feet. Something dark knocked him down. He stood up, half-blinded, stubbornly plodding through the mud. Nothing could stop him. Nothing could save him from the dictates of his cruel illness. He must wander on and on, lost in the mist that covered everything.
47.
As soon as she heard that her father was missing, Gilat rushed to her parents’ apartment, where she found Edna pacing distractedly from room to room.
“I’m to blame, only me.” She sobbed bitterly in her daughter’s arms. “I should never have left him in Michael’s hands. I should never have sent him to the day care center. I wanted to make things easier for myself. I wanted to go back to my career. It’s my fault that your father is lost. I’m responsible for it. Me.”
“Mom, calm down. Calm down. How can you say that? It isn’t your fault. Understand? You’re not to blame for anything. What you’ve done for Daddy all these years, all by yourself, is heroic. Stop torturing yourself!”
“You don’t know anything about me, Gilat; you don’t know your mother at all!” Edna had a strong urge to confess, to bare her heart to her daughter, to rid herself of the years of distress.
“You don’t know me, Gilat,” she repeated. “I would stand in front of your father and talk to him. Look into his blank eyes and say things to him. I’d tell him that I was worn out, that I wanted to die, that taking care of him was killing me!” She lifted her head and looked directly at Gilat.
“When we were alone, just him and me, I’d cry with self-pity, I’d complain about being confined to these four walls, complain about the burden that had landed on my weak shoulders.”She stopped to take a deep breath before continuing, “How I would blame him for my miserable fate! Days on end, walking around the apartment, sometimes going for a whole day without seeing daylight, hoarding my anger against him, your poor father, screaming at him that I refused to accept what was happening to me. And that’s when I decided to use Michael.”
Gila let her mother lean against her and succumb to the flood of tears and words; but instead of exhausting the outpour, this had the opposite effect. Edna’s self-accusations mounted and she gasped repeatedly, “Me. I’m the only one to blame. If I would have accepted the full responsibility for his care, as a devoted wife should, he would still be here!”
“That’s enough, Mother. Stop blaming yourself. You’ve done nothing wrong. Calm down.”
The telephone rang. Edna forced herself to stop talking, took a deep breath and dried her eyes. Her voice was tense, but steady, when she said, “Yes?”
It was Avraham. “Any news?” he asked.
“I was hoping to hear something from you,” Edna answered.
“So far there’s nothing to tell. We’ve covered the whole area. So far, no luck. My people have promised to carry on the search all night. I’ll come and see you later on.”
Edna’s crestfallen face made it unnecessary for Gilat to ask if there was anything to report. Someone knocked softly on the door. Edna dashed to open it, hoping with her heart of hearts to find her husband standing there with Michael. But Michael was alone. He stood with downcast eyes, shivering with cold, forlorn, fearful, and unsure if he would be allowed to enter.
“You’re shaking like a leaf, Michael!” Edna said, hiding her disappointment. “Come, come in; I’ll make some tea.” She turned and hurried to the kitchen.
He remained standing on the doormat. Edna was filling the kettle when she heard him wail, “Look what I’ve done! It’s all…all because of me! I’m a complete failure, Edna. I’ve always known that I’m a failure. You should never, never have trusted me to look after Mr. Nahum. Look what I’ve done!”
Edna went to him, put her arms around him and led him into the apartment. “Michael, Michael, come and sit down. You’re not to blame,” she said to comfort and reassure him. “Don’t torture yourself. I know how much you’ve suffered while you’ve been looking after Nahum. How loyal you’ve been to Nahum and me. No, you’re not to blame. You’re not the one who’s responsible for what’s happened to Nahum.”
She made a cup of tea for him and watched him drink it. When he had drained the cup and stopped shivering, she asked him to tell her everything, even the minutest details, leading up to Nahum’s disappearance. He described Nahum’s flight from the center, the wild chase to the station, his brief diversion at the station when he was trying to get a taxi, his horror on discovering that Nahum had slipped away. His frantic search on the moving train. Edna listened with rigid attention, her face white, probing for information until it was clear that Michael had given her all the information he had.
The hours dragged by. Neighbors and friends, hearing that Nahum was missing, began to come and share the vigil with Edna. Her calls to the police brought no news.
Gilat went to the balcony for a breath of fresh air. What she saw stopped her in her tracks. It was raining. She hurriedly closed the sliding windows and shutters as well as the connecting door to the apartment.
“Why are you closing the balcony? I want to get some air.” Edna was standing behind her.
“I think we should stay with our friends. It’s rude…”
Edna interrupted her, “You go in and sit with them. I’ll join you in a moment.”
“Mother, why…”
Edna was in no mood to argue, she brushed past Gilat and said, “Don’t tell me what to do! I simply want a moment to myself. Why are you being so insistent?”
When Edna opened the balcony door and crossed to the windows, she did not need an answer to her question. She heard the rising wind and the heavy rain rattling the closed shutters.
“No. Not rain. Just, please, not rain! How will he survive the night!” She frantically opened first the window and then the shutter and received a blast of wind and rain on her face.“Nahum,” she whispered.
Gilat approached to draw her mother away from the balcony.
“Leave me! Don’t touch me, Gilat! You don’t understand. This is the least I can do – to share, to get wet with him, to freeze in the wind, to be together with him wherever he is. How can I be here, safe?”
She drew a deep breath and continued, “I will stand here and share the minimal human sensations that he must be feeling, the sensations that don’t need brains or logic or a sound mind, do you understand?”
Gilat stepped back. Standing behind her
mother, she enfolded her in her arms. “I understand. You’re right, mother. My dear mother. I should have thought of it. I’ll stand here, too. The three of us – you, me and Daddy – will wait out the storm. Maybe, wherever he is, somehow he’ll feel us here, wet and cold and afraid just as he is, together with him, sharing his nightmare.”
Edna had stopped crying, but Gilat was shaken with sobs. The rain continued to fall.
Edna lifted her hands to the sky and whispered, “You in Heaven; You who see what we suffer; I’m not asking much. I accept Nahum as he is now. Sick. Unknowing. Blank. Please bring him to me. As he is. I won’t pity myself anymore. I won’t complain against my fate. I’ll rejoice in my Nahum just the way he is.”
She fell silent. Gilat held her tight and waited with her eyes closed to hear more of her mother’s whispered prayer. Edna, lifting her face in the rain, resumed her soft plea. “My Nahum is already dead. Long dead. What am I asking, after all?” Tears and rain on her cheeks, she continued. “He’s been dead for a long time, nothing but a walking corpse. I’m begging. Please find him for me, Father in Heaven. Find him so I can also find some peace when his dead body is finally at rest. Let the earth cover his poor humiliated body so I can prostrate myself on his grave.”
There was a sudden lull in the wind and rain.
“Come, Mother. Let’s go inside. Daddy’s not cold now see? The rain and wind have stopped,” said Gilat and they went back to the crowded living room. It was already four in the morning and there was still no news.
Avraham had arrived while they were out on the balcony. He was talking to the police on the phone; and when he saw her, he greeted her with a wave of his hand and lowered his voice as he continued his conversation. However, when she came into the room, Edna heard him say, “Who knows where the poor fellow has wandered on a night like this. If you don’t find him in the next few hours, I don’t think you’ll find him alive…”
48.
Edna and Gilat pounced on the telephone when it rang at six in the morning. Avraham and Michael were dozing nearby; everybody else had left. The first rays of light were glinting in the sky. Edna snatched the receiver from Gilat’s hand.
Until Sweet Death Arrives Page 21
