Even Sima, the pockmarked nurse with the scowling face, started to like him and sang his praises to Mama and Papa: he is the brightest most helpful child she has ever seen, not like other children, who have no use for the sick and elderly. He’s an old-fashioned boy, she said, and Aron noticed Mama watching her face so she’d know how to imitate her later at home. Even the doctors spoke highly of him, and he loved to accompany them on their rounds before supper, tagging modestly along, waiting behind the hospital curtains, where he could hear the soothing hum of the long words they used to describe symptoms and medicines and treatments; how awesome death is, sending out a thousand dread diseases like long, thin arms to embrace humanity, and maybe every illness is different somehow from the same illness when another person has it, maybe doctors are wrong to call them by the same name, who knows, because how can you compare. From his hiding place behind the curtain he peeked at the doctors and nurses around the bed. All he could see of the groaning patient was his long, crooked fingers, speckled brown, gripping the mattress, hanging on to it for dear life; maybe the man had never even heard of the disease he was about to die of, maybe he’d lived his life contentedly, in ignorance of the new disease that would come into the world, especially for him, and Aron wanted to escape, it wasn’t right to peek, those fingers were very disturbing, the way they clutched the mattress like they would never let go, refusing to acknowledge what even Aron knew, that a week agosomeone else had been lying there, and a week from now this man too would be gone, and suddenly he heard a gasp, and the doctors’ coats began to flutter as though a breeze were blowing on them, and the man sat up with a supreme effort, and for a minute his face was reflected in the window, hollow and bony like the skull of a prophet or an animal, vouchsafed a glimpse of the eternal. And now the haggard eyes saw Aron hiding, and gaped at him with the toothless mouth, and Aron was petrified: I’ve had it, he found me out and he’ll expose me so everyone will know—he froze at the idea—but that’s ridiculous, what could they do, and suddenly the head turned and vanished. Only the groans persisted. Aron drew the curtain and quickly fled through the ward, annoyed with the patients for lying on their beds and squawking at the nurses, never realizing that death was on its way, their own terrible death, and what did they complain about, that their slippers were too tight, that they didn’t get a boiled egg for supper; but why is he trembling. Death, death, he whispered to himself to see if anything would happen, if anyone would peek out at him to see who was calling; nothing happened, of course, and yet he trembled inwardly as he said it again, as he whispered “Death” behind his hand, so they wouldn’t see him and be suspicious, who wouldn’t, it’s all in your mind, maybe this was what his bar mitzvah rabbi had sensed about him, and what if you were, say, a secret agent sent by Death to prepare humanity for its sorrows. “Is that you again?” He was startled by an amiable old doctor with a croaking voice, the one who told the family that Grandma could be cured simply by draining the blood from her brain. “A minor surgical procedure,” he said, but Mama and Papa weren’t about to entrust Grandma to the likes of him. “Know what I think, boychik, I think that after hanging around us doctors so long, you too may wind up, God forbid, a doctor.” And the nurses joked with him and asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up, but they said it in the false-impression voice, one of them even patted his head, so he answered in his corrective tone: “I’m still debating whether to become a brain surgeon or a classical guitarist,” hoping that would set them straight, but as they walked away, amazed at his maturity, he felt a pang of regret, maybe he should have been a little more direct about their error, so they’d understand, why not, they were used to problems, that was their job, after all.
He wanted to share his experiences with Gideon: once on their wayhome from school he tried to describe the special emotion he felt when the family was together at Grandma’s bedside, and how rewarding it was, truly rewarding, to care for her down to the smallest details, like her meals and medicines and laundry, even her evacuation, that’s what they called it now, and the hospital generally—the wards and corridors and intercoms, and the charts and the daily roster, with everything so neat and orderly and serious, said Aron, knowing that the word “orderly” would grab Gideon’s attention, and you get a sense that everything in life and in the hospital and in the body is logically planned, like math, like an equation, and when you put the details together you see the larger picture, you start to understand what it’s all about. Gideon was quiet a moment, and then said with a sideways glance that personally he wouldn’t want to be involved with things like that for so many hours a day, and Aron answered, vaguely superior, Sure, oh naturally. And then he said, “Okay, bye, see you tomorrow, they’re waiting for me,” and just like that he walked away. Who cares about Gideon. Who cares about Zacky. Who cares that spring is bursting out with a warmth and a golden light that made everyone in class seem a little tipsy, and the girls were wearing their minis, those new short dresses that let you see practically everything, and Zacky invented a special mirror tied to his sandal with a rubber band, you stick your foot out in front of a girl, that’s the kind of thing he’s good at, and the girls haven’t caught on yet, it’s the boys’ secret, they walk up and burst out laughing, it’s pathetic, while here he is, at the center of a battlefield, striving against suffering and death, shoulder to shoulder with Papa and Mama and Yochi, marching to a single drum, with grim determination and nerves of steel.
Their devotion to Grandma was simply incredible, how quickly they had grown accustomed to the changes and disruptions she brought into their lives: all their leisure was spent at Grandma’s bedside, observing her expressions, guessing her unspoken wishes, rolling her over to prevent bedsores, spoon-feeding her water when she had the hiccups, and thinking up a thousand and one ways to make her take another bite of egg, another sip of tea … Never a grumble or word of complaint, as they put everything else aside and concentrated on Grandma, though they didn’t deceive themselves, they knew exactly what lay in store, when it comes it comes, the will of heaven, it was a miracle she’d lasted this long, but they treated her with so much dignity, their every movementappropriate and precise, that Aron was proud to take part in this ancient rite of leading Grandma Lilly out of the family and into the outstretched arms of Death.
Only once was the rite spoiled for him: he was alone at home with Mama when suddenly she rushed to his side. What happened, what did I do? And then she grabbed him and hugged him so hard she nearly cracked his bones. She never behaved like that unless he was sick. With trembling fingers she held his chin and he saw that her eyes were full of tears. He was frightened. Mama, who didn’t let anyone see her cry, was biting her lip to control herself, and suddenly she started sobbing: For God’s sake, haven’t we paid our debts with interest on the interest; oh please, let the troubles with Mamchu make amends so from now on, everything will turn out, and everything … Aron buried his face in Mama’s hand, alarmed at the urgency in her voice, because it wasn’t him she was talking to; she gripped his face with flinty fingers, tilting it reproachfully, as though exhibiting a piece of evidence to a judge, and her sadness made him want to be even smaller and he was scared suddenly that he, a child, had been privy to the procedure, the mysterious balancing of the family accounts with Fate.
They also gave up their social life. There were no more evenings with the few friends they had, and Papa stopped going over to Peretz Atias’s on Sunday afternoons to watch wrestling on Lebanon TV, and Aron was relieved not to have to watch those cruel giants anymore, in front of Sophie Atias yet, who kept parading around with her baby and showing her off. And there were no more Friday-night rummy games either. Mama confessed she hadn’t enjoyed them in years, enough already, she said, it was fine when we were younger, the cards and the joking, but we have to act our age, she said, and suddenly Aron realized that his parents were getting older, soon they would be forty-five. They’d even stopped listening to the news every hour on the hour. “So what could happe
n already?” Papa would say, and Aron would think, A currency devaluation, but then he realized that what was happening here overshadowed everything else in their lives, effacing it completely, it almost seemed.
And once, or maybe twice, as the four of them sat around Grandma’s bed, figuring out how long the effect of the tranquillizers lasted or reviewing the food she’d eaten that day and the number of times she had evacuated since they started feeding her pablum, and talked aboutclipping her nails on Friday, and the new ointment Mama discovered at the Romanian pharmacy, and about the Araber from Abu-Gosh who was going to whitewash the apartment, because there were stains on the walls again, pretty soon there would be people coming to pay condolence calls, once or maybe twice it happened that Aron was startled out of the peace that bore him gently over the voices and the words: as he looked up at Mama and Papa and gratefully beheld their serious faces, the way they kept pondering those unknowns with silent sighs like an endless lament, and beside them, Yochi, who was equally devoted and probably loved Grandma Lilly more than anyone, though as usual she barely spoke, she merely listened blankly to what they said, as if here too there were things to be learned which would one day serve her in good stead, like an anthropologist collecting specimens of conversation about the coldhearted nurse who had changed for the better, about white blood corpuscles and the social security forms that cheated them out of welfare money only because Grandma could still be continent sometimes, Aron suddenly looked up and caught sight of something in Yochi’s face—she was choking with rage, shuddering with hatred.
Aron trudged upstairs from the furnace room, wiping the expression off his face so Mama wouldn’t know. Seven months had gone by since his last visit to Grandma. Just before his parents fizzled out: he’d seen it coming, he was really sensitive to things like that these days, so he stayed away. They didn’t even know they were fizzling out. They simply started grumbling to each other, in front of him and Yochi, that it was hopeless, neither here nor there, said Mama sadly, like not being able to swallow or to vomit either, and Aron understood and kept silent. And then they started explaining on the phone to Gucha and to Rivche that it didn’t matter anyway, since Grandma didn’t know whether she was dead or alive. It’s a wonder she’s still breathing. She only wakes up to take another sleeping pill. It’s true she’s young, relatively speaking, but when it comes it comes, once it has you by the claws it never lets go. And then just before Passover they did some redecorating, the house looked like a hovel, so they painted and hung new curtains and wallpaper, and they bought a buffet; at first they considered fixing up the old one but the carpenter found a worm in it, and Mama swore it didn’t get the worm in our house but from a stranger’s furniture at the carpenter’s shop, and she would never let it back in our salon; and thenthey bought a new lamp fixture. All this kept them busy for a couple of weeks, months, months and months of shopping and checking and comparing prices and debating half the night, and there wasn’t always time left for other things. Occasionally Mama went to feed Grandma and roll her over and put the ointment on her bedsores, but when she came home she didn’t tell what was new anymore, and no one asked. So what could be new already? Once, though, she confessed to Yochi that sometimes when she was taking care of Grandma Lilly she would pour out her heart to her, to her body, that is, the way you do when you visit a grave, and Yochi thought, Ah, I guess I have to die before you’ll talk to me like that, but eventually Mama gave up, she wasn’t made of steel, you know, and at first Mama’s heart pounded every time the phone rang, maybe they were calling from the hospital to tell them it was over, but she got over that in time as well; Grandma wasn’t living in the street, she was in a proper institution, receiving excellent care; and sometimes a whole week went by without anyone saying, Grandma.
The alcove stayed empty. They offered it to Yochi, with your exams coming up and all, said Mama unctuously, if you want top marks and an army deferral you’ll need a little peace and quiet, won’t you, dear? And then Yochi let her have it: In the first place, who said she wanted an army deferral, and in the second place, she wouldn’t set foot in the alcove as long as Grandma was alive, and Mama shut her mouth, and Aron saw that look in her eyes again, as if she were remembering a terrible crime she had committed long ago, and the alcove door stayed shut, though sometimes Aron would peek in, which is how he discovered that Grandma’s embroidery with the parrots and the monkeys and the palm trees had disappeared. For a moment he was mortified and wanted to run to Mama and tell her something horrible had happened, maybe a robber had stolen it, but suddenly he remembered what Yochi told him once, that he had to learn how to survive around here, and he controlled himself and didn’t say a word to anyone, and now he kept his eyes open as only he knew how; in fact, two days later the hook for the embroidery had also disappeared, and the day after that, the hole in the wall was filled with toothpaste. And then things started turning up in the trash bin, like Grandma’s dresses and shoes, and her hairpins and ribbons, and her braid. And Aron gathered them in secret and hid them away.
Now he took the empty can out to the pantry and noticed Mama watching his face. Spiegler, Spiegel, Primo, Bellow, Drucker, Talby, Rosenthal, and Young—he named the players on the soccer team, enabling himself to walk past her without revealing anything. Papa was on the Bordeaux sofa in the salon already with a newspaper over his face. They had barely spoken to each other since the day Edna Bloom came in asking him to work at her house. Aron went to his room. Under a halo of light behind her desk sat Yochi writing, homework or letters, soon he’d know.
The Book of Intimate Grammar Page 18