“Yes!” she shouted.
“This is the Rishon police station. Is this the Peterson family?”
“Speak, speak! This is the Peterson home.”
“May I speak to Mrs. Peterson?”
“Speaking. That’s me.” Her harsh breathing could be heard in the silent room.
“Have you reported a sick man missing?”
“Yes, yes! For God’s sake, tell me, have you found him?” In a barely audible voice, she added, “Is he alive?”
“We’ve found an elderly man, wet to the skin. He hasn’t said a word. Can you come here as soon as possible?”
“I’m leaving at once,” Edna shouted and hung up. The four occupants of the room moved as one, as if they had rehearsed the scene. Avraham was the calmest of the four and it was he who pointed out that they had failed to ask the address of the police station in Rishon, but they decided to ask for directions when they reached the town.
In the early light of the new day, the wet surface of the roads and the layer of leaves were evidence of the previous night’s rough weather. The traffic was fairly sparse, consisting mainly of trucks and a few cars. Avraham and his anxious passengers traveled in withdrawn silence. When they stopped at a red light near the entrance to Rishon, Avraham asked a taxi driver for directions to the police station.
The town was stirring in preparation for the day ahead; pedestrians and traffic began to fill the streets and Avraham had to drive behind a slowly moving line of vehicles. The tension in the air mounted. When they were within sight of the police station, Avraham suggested that – to save time, Edna, Gilat and Michael should get out while he looked for a parking spot. Before he completed his sentence, Edna opened the door and sprinted towards the police station followed by Gilat and Michael.
A sleepy desk sergeant sat up when Edna burst in and said, “I’ve come about my husband. You phoned to notify me that he’s been found. Peterson, I’m Edna Peterson. My husband went missing last night. He suffers from Alzheimer’s. Where is he?”
The policeman rubbed his eyes and said, “Ah. Yes. Peterson. The room at the end. Your husband’s sitting there. They’ve given him a blanket and a hot drink. Don’t worry, he’s in good hands.”
All three of them turned and ran down the passage just as Avraham arrived. Edna was first to reach the door, but could not open it. She rattled the handling, shouting, “Open up!” and to the desk sergeant, “Are you sure this is the room?”
“Knock,” he said. She hammered on the door with her fists.
“Quiet, quiet!” came a voice from the other side of the door, followed by the sound of a key turning in the lock. A young policewoman opened the door and asked, “Are you his wife?”
Edna did not even look in her direction. Her eyes were fixed on the blanketed figure sitting in a corner of the room. “This isn’t Nahum!”
At her inarticulate cry, Gilat and Michael pushed into the room. They saw a bald old man gripping a mug in both hands. When he saw them, he huddled deeper into the folds of the blanket. The policewoman looked pityingly at Edna.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“Maybe they found another man,” Edna said, “maybe in another room…?”
The policewoman shook her head, “Not here. Sorry.”
Avraham put his hand on Edna’s shoulder. “Edna…” he said quietly, but Edna cut him short, all signs of weakness and despair suddenly vanished.
“No. It’s alright. We have to get back home as soon as possible. Maybe the search parties found some trace of him. Or maybe there’s a message from another police station. Let’s go.”
They filed out of the building with Edna energetically in the lead.
The return journey was as silent as the first, except for the news on the radio. There was no mention of a lost, tired, mindless old man.
Avraham drove them home and then went on to his office at the newspaper. Wearily, they climbed the stairs to the Peterson apartment, including Michael, who did not stop at his own door on the way up. The three of them sank wordlessly into the softness of the sofa and easy chairs in the living room.
Eventually, when Gilat stood up and suggested making breakfast, Edna snapped at her. “Do you think somebody’s making breakfast for your father at the moment? Do you think I could eat or drink anything at all when my head’s full of pictures of your father lying somewhere, hungry, cold, thirsty…if he’s alive at all!?”
Gilat sat down heavily, in tears. Michael seemed to be beyond feeling or reacting. He sat staring numbly at the telephone.
In a sorrowful whisper, Edna repeated, “If he’s alive at all.”
“Don’t say that, Mother. I can’t bear it.”
Hours passed. The telephone was silent. Edna stood up at intervals and paced up and down the room, while Michael sat with his chin on his chest, glancing at her every so often. Her restless pacing brought her to a halt next to the bookcase at the far end of the room; and she stood absentmindedly staring at the shelves. She pulled out a book and began to study what was written on the fly leaf.
“What are you reading, Mother?”
No answer. Edna concentrated on what she was reading.
“Mother?”
“It’s the Book of Psalms. Your grandfather gave it to me when I married your father. I’ve never read it. Now, now, all I can do is stand here reading it.”
She went and sat in one of the armchairs, slowly turning the pages of the book and murmuring, “This is the only thing left for me to do for your father. The only thing,” she said. As she turned the pages, her lips began to move.
Gilat watched her mother. She noticed that the weariness and wrinkles on her mother’s face seemed to melt away as the pages turned in her hands. She went to sit on the arm of her mother’s chair, reading with her. The words seemed to answer the dark hours they were experiencing. They drew her in, held her. She gathered them to herself hungrily, reading in a soft voice, “…From the depths I call out to You, my God; Lord, hear my voice; hear my pleas…”
49.
Gilat and Michael were asleep in their chairs. Edna was in the bathroom washing her face. She had promised herself to stay awake until she heard what had become of her dear one. Her legal partners had visited her early that morning, bringing advice, consolation, consideration, encouragement. She had looked at them attentively, not hearing a word they said, listening for the ring of the telephone. Every time it rang, her heart missed a beat, her face paled. Calls came from family, friends and acquaintances, but none with even a scrap of information about Nahum.
There was a ring at the door as she was patting her face dry. Avraham was at the door, his face expressionless. She waited for him to speak.
“I phoned the police.”
“What? What did they tell you?”
Two old men were found in Rehovot. One appeared to be a homeless person.”
Edna waited tensely for him to say more. He was silent.
She exclaimed, “I don’t believe Nahum could get as far as Rehovot. He had no money, he can’t express himself, he simply wouldn’t know how to get there. Have you forgotten what we went through in Rishon?” After a moment’s thought she added, “You said one of them is a homeless person. What has that got to do with us?”
Gilat woke up, “Is there some news?”
“Avraham says they’ve found a homeless person and another man in Rehovot.”
“Homeless? What about the other man?”
Avraham said quietly, “The other man died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.”
Edna sat down, staring wide-eyed at Avraham. In the ensuing silence, she whispered, “That’s what I’ve been afraid of the whole time.”
Avraham was still standing in the doorway. Gilat sat next to Edna, stroking her arm. After a moment, she turned to Avraham and asked shakily, “What did they say about the
man who died?”
“They found no documents of any sort on him.”
“Nahum didn’t have any identifying papers on him,” Edna said, lowering her eyes.
Michael stood up and came over to her, “Mrs. Edna, I think we should phone the Rehovot police and get a description of the homeless man. Maybe it’s Nahum.”
Edna waved him aside with an irritable gesture and continued to sit staring at the floor. “I knew it would end like this,” she murmured.
Gilat hurried to the telephone. “Who said the dead man is father? I’m phoning the police. Michael’s right. Maybe the homeless man is Daddy.”
The desk sergeant at Rehovot asked Gilat to wait while she made enquiries. Minutes dragged by until someone said, “Peretz speaking.”
“I’m calling about my father, Nahum Peterson. We reported him missing last night. I understand you have found a homeless person. Would you please give us a description of the man? He might be my father.”
Peretz was very precise and businesslike, he said, “He’s sitting opposite me right now. I will begin to describe him.”
He cleared his throat, “Sad, green eyes, pursed lips, drooping face, pocket full of wet leaves. He’s now sitting quietly, extremely tired. However, about an hour ago, when they tried to take him to another room he resisted and fought back terribly.”
By now, they were leaning close to the receiver, including Michael, who shouted, “Tell me, did he say son-of-a-bitch and whore bastard?”
Serious and precise as before, Peretz answered, “He did. Exactly. Those were exactly the words he used.”
Gilat said excitedly, “We’re on the way. Keep a close eye on him till we come!”
A nerve-wracking hour later, bursting with hope, the desk sergeant informed them that Peretz was in his office and had been sitting with the homeless man for hours.
“Where? Where?” they chorused.
When they were shown into the room, Edna had an attack of fear. She could not raise her eyes. She had to force herself to raise them and turn her head to see if it was indeed her husband sitting there, or an unknown homeless man. She was afraid she would be flung back into despair, or if it was Nahum, afraid to be confronted with his suffering.
He was sitting on a wooden bench wearing a torn shirt. Barefoot. His face bruised and beaten. His eyes red and baggy. Sad. Pained. Without recognition. He sat gaping in silence on the bench.
All of a sudden his hollow eyes discovered her. He smiled. Smiled even wider. Edna ran to him. Nahum grabbed her hand. Then he pinched her arm hard. Then he scratched her, digging his nails into her arm, drawing blood. Edna laughed, kissed him over and over saying “Nahum, my Nahum, my Nahum...”
Nahum pinched and pinched her and she said, “Pinch me, Nahum, pinch me again. As hard as you can. You’re so cross with me for not being there when you needed me. When you were alone there in the dark. And you didn’t even know my name, to call me. And I didn’t come. Pinch, pinch, it’s really me, Nahum, I’m here, you can feel that I’m real. You can feel even though you can’t understand that you’ve survived the nightmare, and I’m here, my Nahum.
She laughed and cried, encouraging him to communicate with her by means of his fingernails. He sat smiling at her, at Gilat, at Avraham. The only one who did not get a smile from him was Michael.
Suddenly, as Edna clung to him he said, “Walked…walked…walked…cried…cried…cried…dark…daaaarrrk…dark…”
They drove home. Edna, Gilat, Michael and Avraham wept silently all the way. Edna stroked Nahum’s weary face and he held her arm and pinched her.
At home, Edna washed his battered feet in a basin of warm, soapy water. Then she wiped his face and body with a warm, damp cloth; dressed him in clean pajamas and put him to bed.
His mood improved. The sadness and fear left his reddened green eyes and he lay gazing at the ceiling, muttering, “I said a hundred…a hundred… No. No. What d’you mean? Chook…chook…chook no… What d’you mean… What d’you…oh…och…mean?”
50.
April 1998
Even though it was more than a year since she had fled from her ex-husband to the shelter for battered women, Gilat still drove with intermittent glances at the rearview mirror to make sure his car was not among the vehicles behind her.
She spent four months at the shelter, where she was encouraged by Nava and the other social workers to stand up for her rights. As a result, she began divorce proceedings against Dov. Among other things, he threatened to commit suicide, but Gilat remained firm. She made it clear that if he harassed her, she would lodge a complaint against him on the grounds of his attempt to murder her and the children. Two of the shelter’s social workers would give evidence regarding the manner of her arrival at the shelter. Having no choice, Dov agreed to the divorce.
Gilat eventually left the shelter and went to live outside the city in a secluded rental apartment. Edna reported to Gilat that, after the divorce, she had frequently caught sign of Dov scouring the neighborhood of the Peterson’s apartment in his black car, in an attempt to find her. Gilat visited her parents’ home irregularly and with extreme caution.
This evening, in keeping with her defensive strategy, she parked her car some distance from the apartment. In spite of her tension, she was in a good mood. She was wearing the kind of blouse that would have provoked a violent scene with Dov when she was married to him. She smiled to herself as she was locking the car, reflecting that she had earned the right to live as she pleased, to allow herself to be attractive. To accept that the world could be beautiful.
She was walking past the familiar neighborhood shops, most of which were already closed, when someone touched her elbow.
“Hello, Gilat. You’re looking great!”
In an instant, her still fragile self-confidence was shaken and she turned in alarm to face the speaker. To her relief, she recognized the owner of the grocery store and stopped to exchange a few words with him before moving on, walking a little faster than before, looking over her shoulder now and then, unwilling to be taken by surprise again.
At the entrance to her parents’ building, she turned for a quick survey of the surroundings before pulling the door shut behind her with a little sigh of relief. At least for a while she could relax without having to be on the alert against Dov’s obsessive stalking.
When she received the final divorce decree, she was certain that she was finally free of him and could open a new chapter in her life. However, she soon learned that Dov could not shake off the ties of his past and she would encounter him in unlikely places and at unlikely times. Through her lawyer, she informed him that she would lodge a complaint against him for harassment, but he merely denied that he was harassing or interfering with her in any way, adding, “In a democratic country everyone is free to be seen in public.”
She was turning her key in the lock of her parents’ front door, when she heard shouts and thuds inside the apartment. She flung the door open and was confronted by her mother, her hair wild and her clothes in disarray.
“Just in time!”
“What’s going on, Mother?”
“Daddy’s having another attack. He’s hitting us.”
“Where is he?” she said, pushing past Edna.
“In his room, with Michael,” she answered like a sleepwalker.
Gilat found Michael standing in the middle of the room, protecting himself with his arms against the blows that Nahum was raining on his head.
“Michael! Michael!” Gilat yelled, “Why are you standing there like an idiot letting Daddy hit you? Either hit him back or get away from him. Don’t just stand there!”
Michael obeyed at once. He jumped out of reach of the flailing fists and stood with the two women in the doorway.
“What’s he done to you, Michael?” Gilat asked, deeply concerned.
Michael answered quickly,
“No, it’s nothing. Don’t worry, Gilat. Mr. Nahum’s sick. He doesn’t understand what he’s doing.” After a pause, he added, “Nobody dies from a few punches.”
Gilat walked towards her father, ignoring Edna’s anxious warning not to get too close to him, “Give him a chance to calm down,” she said, “he’s dangerously violent right now!”
Gilat smiled at Nahum and said, “Daddy, what’s the matter with you?”
Nahum looked at her calmly, as if he had just woken up from a deep sleep, as if he had not been shouting and wildly pummeling Michael and Edna a second before.
“Daddy, why do you behave like that?” she asked, not expecting an answer.
Edna and Michael went to the living room, bruised and exhausted. Gilat led Nahum to the chair beside his bed and, after waiting to be sure he would stay where he was, went to join Edna and Michael. Her mother was slumped in a corner of the sofa and Michael was standing next to her, head bent.
“Come and sit down next to me, Michael,” she said. “What a terrible day you’ve had with Nahum!”
He did as he was told and Gilat came and sat with them. Michael surprised them by suddenly and firmly declaring, “I think we have to find a place for Mr. Nahum. He can’t be at home anymore.”
Edna and Gilat did not immediately absorb what he was saying. Edna was first to look at him, her eyes wide with shock. “How can you? How can you talk like that, Michael? Do you think I’d abandon Nahum? Never, Michael! Never in my life!”
Gilat supported her mother, “Have you forgotten how we suffered when Daddy got lost? Do you think we could bear it if he wasn’t here, at home?”
Michael returned to being himself. Shy as before. Devoted as before. Submissive and loyal as before. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Edna. I don’t know why I suddenly said those things.”
He looked at his watch and said, “Mrs. Edna, you’re forgetting the monthly meeting.”
Until Sweet Death Arrives Page 22
