A moment later Dr. Rhoda Felsberg arrived, went directly to Tom’s side, and began to check his vital signs. “Is he cognizant?” she asked, a little out of breath from running up the three flights of stairs from her office on the first floor. Like her brother, she had a New Jersey accent.
“Hi, there,” Tom said with a half grin in answer to her question.
“Oh,” she said, a little surprised. “How do you feel?”
“Well, I have a terrible headache and when I opened my eyes it felt like somebody was dragging razor blades over them.”
“I thought I got all the glass out,” Rhoda Felsberg said, followed by an indiscriminate sound that Tom interpreted as a negative assessment of his condition. “When you opened your eyes, did you see anything?”
The full meaning of her question was apparent at once. “I don’t think so,” he said haltingly. “Am I … blind?”
“We can’t say yet,” she answered. Her voice had no emotion but seemed somehow reassuring. “I need you to open them again slowly and let me look inside. Then we’ll go from there.”
Tom felt her sit down on the bed beside him. Wincing, he opened his eyes, hoping desperately to see something. He didn’t. He felt Dr. Felsberg’s hands on his face as she examined him. They were strong but soft, and despite all else that was going on, he noticed the faint sweet fragrance of her perfume as she leaned down close to him and peered into his eyes with her ophthalmoscope.
“Can you see the light in my hand?”
“I can see a light spot.”
“Good, at least that’s a start,” she said. “Your pupils both seem to be working properly. But I’m afraid there must still be a few tiny particles of glass.” Tom felt her put some eyedrops in his eyes, which brought quick relief from the pain. “I’m going to bandage your eyes to keep them closed until we can get you to an ophthalmologist.”
“Will I be able to see again?”
“It’s too soon to say for sure,” she answered as she helped him to a sitting position and began to bandage his eyes. “You should be glad just to be alive. I removed several pieces of glass from each eye when you were first brought here. You’re actually very fortunate. If the glass had gone much deeper, the vitreous fluid would have escaped and your eyeballs would have simply collapsed.”
Tom had no idea what vitreous fluid was, but the thought of his eyeballs collapsing was quite alarming and at least in this regard he did indeed consider himself fortunate.
“The scarring to your corneas is quite extensive,” she continued. “In addition, both of your retinas have been burned. Was there a bright flash when you were injured?”
“Yeah, I think so,” he said, thinking back to the last thing he remembered.
“The burns on your retinas are our biggest worry. The corneas can be replaced with transplants but there’s no way to repair a damaged retina. I may be able to remove the remaining glass myself, but I’d feel better if we had a qualified ophthalmologist do it.”
“How soon can that be done?”
“Well, it could take a while.” The tone of her voice said a while might be a very long time indeed.
“Why? What’s going on here, anyway? Will you please tell me why I’m here instead of in a hospital?” Tom was trying not to panic, but it wasn’t easy. He had just been told in gruesome detail that he may never see again.
“Please, Mr. Donafin. We’re friends. We want to help you, but you’ve got to realize a lot has changed since your accident. Israel is an occupied country. If you’ll be patient I’ll explain everything. But first you need to try to eat something.”
Only then did Tom notice he was starving, so he didn’t object.
In the kitchen, Rhoda Felsberg and her brother Joel spoke in hushed tones.
“So, now that he’s awake, are you finally going to move him in with your other patients?” Joel Felsberg asked.
“No,” Rhoda answered. “I’m not.”
“Why not?”
“Because Rabbi Cohen said he should stay here.”
“There’s no reason for him to insist that you keep this man in your personal care.”
“He’s the rabbi,” Rhoda answered, as though no further justification were necessary.
“Yeah, well he may look like Hasidim, with his earlocks and all dressed in black, but I’ve heard that the other Hasidic rabbis won’t have anything to do with him.” Right now Rhoda was glad Joel wasn’t more aware of religious matters; if he had been he would have known that Cohen’s standing with the other rabbis was actually far worse than he imagined. It had not always been this way. At one time Cohen had been thought by many to be the heir apparent to the Lubavitcher Rebbe: Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, considered the most politically powerful rabbi in the world. Now, however, it was not only the Hasidic rabbis who wouldn’t have anything to do with him; none of the other rabbis, not even the most liberal ones, would even mention his name without spitting to show their disgust.
“Oh, and since when did you start to care what the rabbis think?” Rhoda asked her brother, not letting on.
“The point is, he’s a kook,” Joel answered.
“Come eat,” she said, not wanting to argue the matter.
“Rhoda!” Joel said, trying to get her back on the subject as she took the pot of soup and some bowls and headed back to Tom.
“Come eat,” she said again more sternly, then added, “We’ll talk about it later,” though she had no intention of allowing the subject to reemerge.
Rhoda put a spoon into Tom’s hand and set his soup on a tray in front of him. Tom found it difficult to eat without being able to see, and his first few bites were a bit messy. Rhoda gave him a napkin but as he began to wipe his mouth, he felt the scars that covered his face from the explosion. Silently, he traced the scars with his fingers.
“How bad am I?” he asked.
“You had lacerations over most of the front of your body. Most of the scars will disappear eventually,” Rhoda answered. “Some minor plastic surgery may be needed later for some of the scars on your face. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
Tom reached down and felt his arms, shoulders, and chest. “Well, I guess I was never really that much to look at anyway,” he said, trying to hide his pain in humor. He paused. “So, how about that explanation? What am I doing here and when can I see an ophthalmologist?”
“The night after the war began,” Rhoda explained, “you were brought here by Rabbi Saul Cohen, who found you buried under rubble about five or six miles from here. Since then you have been either unconscious or disoriented and delirious.”
Tom shook his head. “I don’t remember anything since the explosion,” he said.
“Well, unfortunately, the war didn’t go so well,” she continued. “Israel fought hard but it soon became apparent that the Arabs were getting the upper hand. The United States and Britain tried to help by providing emergency supplies and food. I think they could have done more, but a lot of their politicians kept saying they couldn’t afford a war, especially after both countries had lost so many people just two months earlier in the Disaster. Then it was discovered that the Russians were supplying arms to the Arabs. Of course the Russians denied it, but the UN Security Council voted to set up a blockade of the Arab ports.”
“You’re kidding! How on earth did they ever get the vote past the Russian delegate on the Security Council?” Tom asked.
“That’s the really strange thing. The Russian delegate didn’t show up for the vote,” Rhoda answered.
“That’s crazy,” Tom blurted. “The Russians made that mistake in 1950 when they boycotted the UN because of its exclusion of Red China. That’s what allowed the Security Council action against their allies in Korea. The Russians would never let that happen a second time.”
“Well, I don’t understand it, but they did,” Rhoda said.
“I don’t know what the big mystery is,” Joel said sarcastically. “I think they had the whole thing planned ahead of time.”
“What do you mean?” asked Tom.
“Joel, just let me tell the story,” Rhoda said. “You can give us your theories later.”
“Sure, go ahead. But he’ll figure it out pretty quickly for himself if he’s got half a brain.”
“Where was I? You made me forget,” Rhoda chided her brother.
“The UN voted for a blockade,” Joel reminded her.
“Okay, so there were a lot of charges back and forth but finally the Russians agreed not to provide any more arms to the Arabs, and the UN agreed not to impose the blockade. A few days later things seemed to be changing in Israel’s favor. We had taken back a lot of land that we lost earlier and what was left of our air force was clobbering the Arab air and ground forces.
“Then the Israeli Intelligence—the Mossad—found out that because the Libyans couldn’t get additional conventional weapons from the Russians, they were planning to launch a chemical attack. To prevent that, the Israeli Air Force launched a preemptive strike against the Libyan chemical weapons storage facilities. Unfortunately, most of the air strike didn’t get through because the Libyans anticipated the attack.
“When it became apparent there was no other way for Israel to stop the chemical attack, Prime Minister Greenberg sent a message to the Libyans saying that if Israel was attacked with chemical weapons, we would immediately respond with a massive nuclear attack on Libya.”
“So Israel finally admitted it has nukes?” Tom asked.
“The exact wording of the message wasn’t released to the press, but he apparently made it very clear that’s what he meant,” Joel answered.
“Anyway,” Rhoda continued, “despite their agreement with the UN, the Russians agreed to sell the Arabs additional conventional weapons, claiming it was the only way to prevent a chemical/nuclear exchange.”
“Yeah,” Joel interjected. “It was a perfect excuse for the Russians to do exactly what they wanted in the first place.”
Tom still didn’t understand what Joel was driving at, but for now he let it pass. Rhoda continued. “So the Mossad tracked the Russian ships they thought were going to deliver the arms to Libya, and just before they entered Libyan waters, our air force attacked. They sank four cargo ships and a bunch of escort vessels, but it turned out the whole thing was a decoy. While most of the Israeli Air Force was busy in the Mediterranean and the army was busy with the Arabs on our borders, advance teams of Russian commandos landed north of Tel Aviv and took over an airstrip. The whole thing must have been planned perfectly because no sooner had they taken the airstrip than Russian troops and equipment began landing.”
“Wait a second,” Tom said. “You mean Joel was telling the truth about Tel Aviv being occupied by the Russians?”
“Not just Tel Aviv,” Joel answered. “It’s the whole country.”
“Man, what a world to wake up to!”
“Yeah, seems that some of the Russians weren’t happy with the way things have worked out since the collapse of the Soviet Union,” Joel said. “Some of them still want to rule the world. Of course, they told the UN they were simply responding to our ‘unprovoked’ attack on their naval vessels and that they were really just a peace-keeping force. They said their only intention in occupying Israel was to prevent a chemical/nuclear war. And just to make it seem more legitimate they brought a few troops from Ethiopia, Somalia, and a few other countries so they could say it was an ‘international’ peacekeeping force. Only now they refuse to leave.”
The next morning Tom awoke to the smell of breakfast cooking and the sound of Rhoda Felsberg’s voice calling his name.
“Mr. Donafin, are you awake?” It was hard for her to be sure with his eyes bandaged.
“Yes,” Tom answered.
“Do you feel like having some breakfast?”
“That sounds great, thank you. But actually the first thing on my mind is finding the bathroom.”
“I can bring you a bedpan, or if you feel like you’re ready to walk a few steps, I’ll guide you there.”
Tom was already standing, though his legs felt incredibly unsure beneath him. “I think I’m ready for the real thing,” he said.
“Come on then,” she said and put his hand on her arm to lead him through the apartment.
“I’ll take it from here,” Tom said when he felt tile instead of carpet beneath his bare feet.
“Can you find your way back to your room? I need to go check the breakfast.”
“Sure,” Tom said. “I’ll bet I can even find the kitchen.”
After Tom finished, he slowly made his way to the kitchen, where Rhoda had set the table for two and finished cooking the meal.
“A little to the left,” she said as he started to walk into a door-jamb.
Tom found the table and sat down. He had a very strange look on his face. “I … um …”
“Is something the matter?” Rhoda asked.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “When I was in the bathroom I noticed something that didn’t seem … uh … quite right. I, uh, well … I …” Tom stammered for another moment. Had he been able to see, he would have seen the look of embarrassment on Rhoda’s face as she realized what he was talking about. “Never mind,” he said finally.
Rhoda was glad to let the subject drop. “I have some good news,” she said, quickly changing the subject. “I called an ophthalmologist friend and he said he can see you first thing tomorrow.”
“That’s great!” Tom said.
“Don’t get too excited yet. He only said he could examine you and try to get the rest of the glass out, not that he can get you admitted for surgery.”
“Oh. Well, maybe he can at least tell me what my chances are of getting my sight back.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m hoping for.”
“You know,” Tom added, “there’s no reason I have to have the surgery done here, is there? I could go back to the States.”
“Well, yes, you could,” Rhoda said hesitantly. “Ben Gurion Airport is in pretty bad shape, but I understand that the Russians are still letting a few flights out.”
Tom noticed an unexpected hint of disappointment in her voice.
“Speaking of the States,” Rhoda continued. “Isn’t there anyone you need to call to let them know you’re alive?”
Her voice said she was fishing for something she didn’t want to ask outright. Tom let it pass and replied to her direct question. “I don’t have any family,” he said. “My parents, two brothers, and a sister all died in a car wreck when I was six. That’s how I got this mangled-looking skull. I was the only one to survive.”
“Sounds like you’ve had your share of close calls,” Rhoda offered.
“Yeah. I guess so.”
“Did they do surgery on you?” she asked out of professional curiosity.
Tom let out an odd chuckle. “Yeah. They waited awhile though. They figured I’d die within a few days anyway, and even if I did make it, I’d be a vegetable. I guess I’m lucky it happened so long ago, back in the days before they’d pull your feeding tube to hurry you on your way. Anyway, four days after the accident I woke up and started talking to the nurse. That convinced them I might make it,” he said dryly, “so they went in and dug around and pulled out a bunch of broken pieces of skull and a few extra brains I guess I didn’t need. They left me with a steel plate that has a habit of setting off metal detectors at airports.”
Rhoda smiled awkwardly.
“I do have a friend I should call,” he continued, getting back to her original question. “He probably thinks I’m dead.”
“Is that Decker?” Rhoda asked.
Tom gave her a funny look. “How did you know that?”
“You mentioned him several times while you were delirious.”
“Oh.”
“Anyone else?” she asked.
“Well, I had some friends named Rosen here in Israel, but they died in the Disaster.” Tom was going down a very short list of the people he counted as his friends. Until th
e Disaster, Joshua and Ilana Rosen had visited him every day at the hospital in Tel Aviv. Their son, Scott, had survived the Disaster, but Tom hardly considered him a close friend. “I really ought to call NewsWorld,” he said. “That’s where I work. But to tell the truth, I’d rather wait until after we’ve been to the ophthalmologist before I call them. I’m a photojournalist, or at least I was. I’m not sure there’s much call for blind photographers.”
“No. I guess not.”
“How about you?”
“Pardon?”
“Your family.”
“Oh, well, of course, there’s my brother, Joel, whom you met yesterday. His wife and son died in the Disaster. I really liked her, and he was a real sweet kid. The three of us used to go to worship services together. That’s how I know Rabbi Cohen. Joel’s a computer systems analyst for the Israeli government, doing something with strategic defense, but he’s not allowed to say what. That was before the Russians relieved him of his responsibilities, of course. I feel bad for him; he’s lost nearly everything in the past couple of months. My parents and younger sister live in the States.”
Tom nodded and after an appropriate pause asked Rhoda if she knew what time it was in Washington.
“About midnight,” she answered after doing a quick mental calculation.
“Good, Decker ought to be home. Can I use your phone?”
“Sure,” she said. “I should warn you that getting an overseas call out is not an easy task. There’s really no logic to it. After the occupation began, I called repeatedly to let my folks know I was all right. I must have dialed a hundred times before I got a call through. When I did, it went straight through and sounded as if they were right next door. Of course, it’s not just from the occupation. There was a lot of damage from the war.”
Rhoda dialed the number Tom gave her, and handed him the phone. “The middle button at the very bottom redials,” she said. “If you don’t get through, feel free to try as many times as you like.”
“It’s ringing,” Tom said, surprised.
“That won’t happen again in a million years,” Rhoda said, astonished by Tom’s stroke of luck.
In His Image Page 22