by Yishai Sarid
“He’s a murderer,” I said. “I saw that in his eyes. I should have killed him there, in the cab.”
“All of us are murderers,” said Daphna. She was very thin and her eyes were sad. I went to the windowsill, smelled the plants, listened to the voices in the yard and the street. She sat shriveled up, barefoot, covered with some cloth. She said it was getting cool, but the rain didn’t come.
“Where is Yotam?” I asked.
“He’s here,” said Daphna quietly. “In his room. He comes out only at night. Takes money from me. Comes back filthy and shaking in the morning.” I looked at the door to the corridor where the monster sits at the dark end.
“You should throw him out,” I said angrily.
“I can’t,” she said. “He’s my son. He’s Hani’s son. He’s all I’ve got left now.”
He sat drooping on the corner of the bed with his hair covering his face and small bloodstains on the sheet beneath him. It was a child’s room and he filled it with the smell of a sick old man. I entered with firm steps and combed through the room. I checked the drawers and the hiding places. I crammed all the stuff I found into a bag. He shook himself and tried to get up and go out, pushed me. I shoved him to the wall. Daphna changed the sheets and cleaned the room quickly with a broom and a rag. He went wild and cursed and spat. I was very strong, I restrained myself, I tightened my hold so he couldn’t get away. Daphna put a bowl of fruit and bread and water on the small desk. We went out together and locked the door behind us.
We sat in the kitchen to wait.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Yishai Sarid studied law at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and received a graduate degree in public administration from Harvard University. He works as an attorney and contributes articles to the Hebrew press. Limassol is his second novel.