The excrement had stained the waistband of his pajamas. Without thinking, I pulled his pajama pants down. It was worse than I had imagined. The excrement was smeared across his back and legs. I tried not to breathe. I flipped him on his back, undid the diaper tabs, and pulled. Then his bottom half was bare and for a moment I felt sorry for him, wondering if he could tell what I was doing and how it made him feel, if he felt anything at all. The situation was ghastly: most of his body and the bedding were covered in shit. Wipes were not going to be of any use. I remembered what Osnat had said about showering him, even though, as she put it, “this is hardly relevant because I give him a shower in the morning,” and I decided to put him in the special showering wheelchair, the one with the hole in the seat. I decided that there was no other way. A shower was what he needed.
I raised Yonatan’s head and tucked my arms under his armpits. He was far heavier than I had anticipated. My hands were wrapped across his chest. The special wheelchair was positioned alongside the bed. I pulled him as hard as I could and smeared shit all across the sheets. With considerable effort, I managed to get his uncooperative body into the wheelchair. According to the explanations I had received, this was all supposed to be relatively simple. He was to be placed in the chair and then tied in for support. Only there was no way to keep him steady and tie him in at the same time. Each time I took one hand off him he started to slide out of the chair.
You have to act as though you’re under fire, I told myself. I summoned every ounce of strength I had and in the end was able to press his heavy body into the chair and tie the straps around him. I took the sheets off the bed and threw them into the washing machine in the bathroom. Then I pushed the wheelchair into the bathroom and turned on the shower, waiting for it to get warm. What does this person, this thing, even know? If he felt anything at all, it must be hatred for me. Yonatan probably hates me more than anything else in the world, I thought. I’ll get this over with, deal with the rest of the night, and never see him again.
Later that night I wasn’t able to fall asleep. I lay down on the sofa, closed my eyes, and tried to think of soccer moves, a drill that usually put me to sleep. Instead I found myself practicing my conversation with Osnat, accusing her of lying about the nature of the job, and telling her that I would not be continuing. “By eight he’s usually asleep”. . Is that right? Well, why was he wide awake till midnight then? And yes, this was after I’d showered him, washed his hair, and wrestled him into his new diaper and pajamas.
In the morning I was supposed to take a shower myself, change clothes, and go straight to the office, “feeling fresh and well-rested,” as Ayub put it. I passed on the shower. It made me nauseous to think that I might have to stand naked and barefoot in the exact spot where the filth had poured off Yonatan the previous night. All thoughts of the previous night were revolting. I had washed my face, brushed my teeth, and used a towel from the staff closet, but I had been sorry that I had not brought my own.
Osnat arrived at five past seven. She had her own key.
“Good morning,” she whispered. Yonatan was still asleep.
“Good morning.”
“So, is everything all right? He seems to be sleeping nicely,” she said, yawning.
“Everything’s all right,” I heard myself say.
I took the undershirt, the T-shirt, and the pants I was supposed to wear that day and stashed them in the staff closet. I moved my toiletries kit there, too. “Have a good shift,” I told Osnat and hurried down the stairs. Why hadn’t I said anything? What am I going to do now? I thought. I was angry with myself and I felt my face flush.
Waiting at the bus stop on Herzl Boulevard, I imagined Wassim making coffee and hurrying Majdi out of bed. This was my first time leaving for work without them. Why the hell had I not said anything to Osnat? Maybe I’ll just disappear, I thought, without saying anything. What could possibly happen if I don’t show up tonight at seven? It would be a little awkward, and Osnat would definitely talk to Ayub, who would talk to Wassim, but all of that could easily be explained. I could also call her as soon as I got to the office and tell her that I would not be coming back. Some things have to be handled in that way. A clean cut. I decided that’s what I would do. So I’d lose a shirt and a pair of pants. It was a small price to pay.
The 23 bus was stuck at a red light before the stop. It didn’t run often but it was the best bus for me, as it went straight to the courthouse and from there it was just a two-minute walk to work. I counted the coins in my hand. I always tried to have exact change because I hated making the drivers do the extra work. A white car veered into the bus stop. I hated drivers who pulled in to bus stops.
“Excuse me,” I heard a voice call out. I swiveled my head. “I’m Ruchaleh, Yonatan’s mother. Where are you headed?”
I leaned forward and looked through the open window at the driver of the car.
“Wadi Joz.”
“Okay, get in, it’s on my way.”
I looked back one more time at the 23, which was pulling up to the stop, and then opened the car door and hurried in.
I made sure to look straight ahead and tried to breathe quietly.
“I’m headed to Mount Scopus. Wadi Joz is on my way,” she said in a tone that reminded me of her son’s expressionless stare.
“Thank you very much.”
“I saw you on the way down the stairs this morning. I was sitting in the kitchen.”
I nodded in silence and only then realized that there had been someone else in the house during that night of sleeplessness. At no point did I feel or hear her presence, there had been no shutting of doors and no footfalls. No sign of life at all.
“It was a rough night last night,” she said, and I wasn’t sure if she was asking or telling. “I came upstairs to say hi when I got home but I saw that you were busy with Yonatan in the shower and I didn’t want to bother you.”
I nodded bashfully. She had been there, and she knew what I had been through.
“I know this will sound strange to you,” she said, “but he was testing you last night. That’s why I didn’t get involved.”
I didn’t respond, and the two of us stayed silent. The roads were full of traffic and we moved along slowly from light to light. I looked over at the cars trapped beside us and tried to guess where they were all headed.
“Where do you need to go in Wadi Joz?” she asked when we reached Route 1.
“Right by the district court would be perfect,” I said, because I knew that it was on her way to the university and that most Jews didn’t like driving deep into Arab neighborhoods.
“That’s where you live?”
“No, that’s where I work, at the bureau of social services.”
“But that’s not near the courthouse,” she said.
“No, but it’s a two-minute walk from there.”
She drove past the courthouse, turned right, and then left into Wadi Joz, stopping right in front of the office.
“See you tonight,” she said, without a trace of a question mark.
MARLBORO LIGHT
Daud Abu-Ramila, my only active case, was waiting for me outside the office. He sat on the floor, hugging a big bag. “I’m clean today,” he said, adding with a laugh, “got the rehab started already.” This was the day I was to take him to the clinic in Lifta. He had already been through the committee, met all the requirements, and been told that the bed for the Arab residents was now available.