by Dov Nardimon
“I’d be happy to, and then I’ll join you in the orchard. I’m free ’til lunch.”
“And then what?” asked Arye as he rose up to wipe down the sweat trickling down his forehead, unstoppable even by his thick eyebrows. Eddie got his tall stature and the top half of his face from his father, as his mom put it proudly the day her youngest child was born.
“But the mouth, nose, and high cheekbones he got from me,” she would point out with the pride of a woman who, as a young girl, was considered the most beautiful in the village.
“I’ll tell you and Mom at breakfast.”
During the day the father and son worked side by side with hardly any words being spoken. They were both the silent type, and Eddie was deep in his own thoughts.
The smells of fresh milk and damp orchard soil lifted his spirits. Many years had passed since he left the routine of farm life behind him, but he cherished those smells—the smells of his home and childhood—that were scorched deep into his mind. A wave of warmth and home-sickness would wash over him whenever he came by a dairy farm or a freshly watered plot of land whether during his army service or on a trek somewhere in South America or Africa. Those were the smells that reminded him of his home village and of working with his dad, who always held him up to the highest standards. Arye’s father, who was one of the first settlers in Hefer Valley in the early 1900s, had instilled in Eddie this spirit of determination. At that time, the valley was a swampy, malaria-infested area, and many of the pioneers died during the first years of settlement; they were committed to conquering the swamps and inhabiting the wilderness.
As afternoon approached, Eddie felt closed in by the walls of the house, and after making sure his father did not need his help anymore, he decided to head out to Tel Aviv at early afternoon. As he was driving, the thought crossed his mind to go to the airport and welcome Rose there. He was surprised at how much he wanted to see her again, but he decided it was best not to display too much emotion and not to arrive earlier. She suggested they meet at the hotel at 9:00 p.m., so it was best to stick to what she said.
It was 8:00 p.m. He still had an hour to spare. He parked his car in the grubby parking lot under the dreary Atarim Square and wandered aimlessly through the city. Deep in his thoughts about the dilemma of his professional future and about the surprise meeting with Rose, he paid no attention to the sirens of ambulances and police cars from afar. Only as he approached the hotel and saw the crowd of people in front of it did reality sink in: he saw a charred tourist bus with victim identification personnel working in and around it, collecting human remains. Next to the bus still covered in smoke, stood the skeleton of a car—that of the suicide bomber who stuck to the bus and blew himself up. Being away for six months, Eddie had grown to forget that part of life in Israel.
“When did this happen?” he asked a woman who was standing next to him, watching silently.
“Half an hour ago. I live across the street, and I was just on my way home,” said the woman, glad to relieve the tension by talking to anyone who was willing to listen. “Those poor boys and girls. They just got here from England.”
“How do you know that?” asked Eddie, horrified.
“Look at the banner at the front of the bus. You can still make some of it out. It says in English that the World Zionist Organization welcomes the delegation, or something like that.”
Eddie rushed over to the hotel entrance. The glass doors were shattered and a guard stopped him from entering.
“I have to get in. A friend of mine was in that group; she’s waiting for me.”
“Then you better check the Ichilov hospital. None of the people on the bus made it inside the hotel, and the few of them who were not hurt went on the ambulances with their friends.”
Eddie turned back quickly and ran up the street to the nearest intersection, hailing every passing cab.
“To the hospital, as fast as you can,” he told the driver who pulled up next to him.
“I’ll try to get you as close as possible, although the whole hospital area is blocked with all the ambulances and emergency vehicles.”
“See what you can do. A friend of mine may be there.”
“I’ll do my best,” said the driver, who thought to himself, He should pray she’s at the hospital and not at the morgue.
“You should get out here; it’ll be faster if you walk.” The driver stopped at the corner of Weizman and King Saul, a three minutes’ run from the hospital.
“What do I owe you?”
“Never mind about the money now. Run to your friend, and let’s hope she’s all right,” said the driver. “For my daughter, it was too late,” he mumbled quietly.
“Thank you,” said Eddie, having missed that second part of sentence. He lunged out of the taxi and ran to the hospital.
He was stopped at the entrance to the Emergency Room but after many explanations and pleading was allowed in to see if Rose was there. He went from bed to bed, peeking through the curtains and over the heads of doctors and nurses, leaning over the bleeding wounded, until in the fourth bed he thought he found her. He knew it was Rose by her red shoes that had blue and yellow butterflies on them. Crazy shoes were one of Rose’s fads—a way of expressing her quirkiness. The shoes were a gift from Eddie. He bought them for her as a going away present only a week earlier when they were touring Carnaby Street near the end of their time in London together Her face was covered with an oxygen mask, and a doctor and nurse were busy inserting an IV and performing all sorts of tests.
“Shut the curtain please,” said the nurse, telling him off as he approached Rose’s bed.
“She’s my friend; let me come closer so that she can see me.”
“She can’t see anyone right now. She’s unconscious, and you’re in the way.” The nurse snapped at him.
The doctor next to her lifted his head and said gently, “Wait for us in the hall. We’ll call you once we have her stabilized. Don’t go anywhere; we may need your help.”
“Thank you,” said Eddie, confused by the doctor’s calm and collected demeanor. He stepped out into the hallway and stood against the wall so as not to disrupt the flow of doctors and nurses rushing back and forth among the patient beds, the labs, and the operating rooms. The place was as busy as a bee hive; the cries of the wounded and the voices of the medical staff trying to calm them down filled the air.
A male nurse in turquoise scrubs marched to Rose’s bed pushing a cart with portable respiration equipment. He drew the curtain and quickly but carefully, with the help of the doctor and nurse, moved Rose to the operating room bed. He pulled the bed to the hallway, walking backward, then rushed toward the operating room with Eddie on his heels, trying to figure out where he was taking Rose.
“To the operating room on Floor One. You can come with me in the elevator if you want to help.”
“What surgery is she having?”
“She has a tear in her lung from a shard that’s lodged and causing bleeding. They’re going to take it out. It’s a relatively simple procedure,” the nurse said, trying to keep Eddie calm. “Are you her husband?”
“A friend,” said Eddie shyly.
“She’s young, and this isn’t anything too complicated. I’m sure she’ll be fine. Press ‘one’ please. Let me push the bed in first, then follow us.” The short descent only one floor down seemed to Eddie like an eternity. Rose was lying there motionless and looked lifeless. Only the up-and-down motion of the ventilation machine told him she was still alive.
“You can’t go into the operating room. Wait here. We’ll call you when she’s in recovery. Thanks for your help.”
The door of the operating room opened automatically to let Rose’s bed in, then shut lightly. Everything was quiet, and Eddie looked around him. On benches near the wall, sat two groups of family members holding each other, their faces frozen with angst. They were all staring at the doors of the operating rooms, wishing for and dreading the moment when someone would come out to give
them an update about their loved ones who were fighting for their lives. There was a water cooler and a disposable-cup dispenser in the corner of the waiting room. Eddie poured himself a cup of water and took a seat among the families, preparing for a long and nerve-racking wait.
Chapter 17
The clock above the operating room doors showed 10:15 p.m. Eddie was surprised at how relatively early it still was. He felt as if much more time had passed since the explosion took place. He tried to retrace the past two hours since he wandered the city streets, blissfully unaware of the sirens and their horrifying meaning. His thoughts took him back to his conversation with Rose the night before when she called to let him know she was coming to Israel.
So much had happened since his own return to the country. He thought of Amit, probably making his way from Africa to Australia at this very moment, so far away from the complicated reality Eddie had found himself tangled up in since his return. Less than a week had passed, but nothing was as he had planned. His job migrated off to the United States, and he had to decide whether or not to follow. Meeting Reuben encouraged him to carry out his Ebola challenge, and talking with Noam and Oded reinforced the sense that he should take his fate in his own hands. And now here he was at the hospital waiting helplessly for news of Rose’s condition, completely unable to influence what was going on.
The entire extent of their relationship consisted of only two weeks together, one in Africa and one in London. Now here she was in this crazy country, and he was the reason she was there.
If by any chance she’s not going to make it out of surgery, I’ll never be able to forgive myself, he thought, tormenting himself. I’ll have to deliver the news to her dad, who welcomed me into his home just a week ago, and he’ll hate me forever for making Rose come here. And if she does make it, will she pull through and be healthy and well? The nurse said it was just a shard in her lung, but what if her brain was deprived of oxygen for some period of time? Will she be herself again? And what really is this thing between us? We both treated this whole thing as nothing more than a fun adventure, and here she is risking her life because of me. This is a common destiny. It has to mean a mutual obligation toward one another, unless I’m a completely conscienceless, heartless bastard.
Eddie had a hard time figuring out whether his concern for Rose overcame his attraction toward her, or whether the love that started to blossom in London was what was making him so anxious about her wellbeing and leading him to pray for her recovery.
Is this the beginning of the love of my life? He asked himself. Perhaps the fact that our relationship did not start with a big bang means it would build up gradually and be stronger? Eddie believed in spontaneity and intuition. That was how he and Rose got started, but circumstances up ’til now led him to think it was a temporary involvement, nothing more.
I must not have wanted her enough, he thought. If I had considered taking things further, I would have initiated something—we would have made plans to meet again. I’d invite her to Israel, or to go to London at some point. The turbulence of the past week regarding his professional future left him perplexed—for the first time in his life, he had no clear goal to fight for. He remembered how happy he was when Rose told him she was coming. Can this be the anchor I was missing or a total escape from making a decision? He asked himself.
Every now and then the doors to the operating rooms would open, and a nurse or doctor would emerge in a hurry to get somewhere with a stern , preoccupied look on their faces. Each family was still anxiously waiting for an update. With every opening of the doors, Eddie could feel his nerves growing thinner and thinner.
He wished he could touch Rose, take her hand, and stroke her face. He couldn’t believe that the energetic, vivacious girl he knew was now lying motionless and helpless, barely alive. She’ll pull through. No force in the world can take that girl down, he thought. He rallied and got up to pour himself another cup of water.
It was past 11:00 p.m. when he realized he should call his parents. He knew they must have heard about the attack on the news, and they knew he was in Tel Aviv. Since his return, he had put off buying a cell phone and chose to postpone—as much as he could—the day when he would inevitably have to enslave himself to that device. The six months in Africa taught him there was life without constant access to phones, and a much calmer one. Cell phones had become almost an organic part of every person’s life in the last few years due to the terror wave that flooded the country. Mothers made sure that together with the lunch box, their children would not forget their cell phones when going to school. This night at the hospital, however, made it clear that Eddie would have to join in and buy a cell phone like everyone else, if only to be available at a time like this. He asked a man waiting if he could borrow his phone, which the man was happy to oblige.
“Eddie, where are you? We’ve been worried sick. They said it was a bus of tourists from England. Is it really the group your friend was in? How is she, and how are you?” His mother bombarded him with questions.
Eddie confirmed the bad news and promised he would be in touch first thing in the morning.
“If, God forbid, anything should happen to her, don’t wait until morning, Eddie.”
“Let’s hope I won’t have to wake you up.” Eddie said good night to his parents. He wondered how much of the incident had made its way to London via CNN or BBC. He imagined it had to be all over the news, but he also knew Londoners were not prone to stick to their TV screens like people in Israel did, who were accustomed to attacks of this sort. He could only hope Rose’s father still hadn’t heard the news and that by tomorrow morning it would be possible to give him a more reassuring update.
Around one o’clock in the morning, a doctor in turquoise scrubs entered the waiting room and asked, “Is anyone here waiting for Rose?”
“Yes, I am!” Eddie jumped from his seat.
“What is your relation to her?”
“She’s my friend.”
“The surgery was a success. We removed the shard and cleared her lungs of blood and edema. She’s now breathing with her healthy lung and with the help of a respiration machine. Hopefully in a few days’ time, her injured lung would be fully functioning again.”
“Is she conscious?”
“No, she’ll be sedated ’til morning. She’ll be moved to a recovery room soon, and then you’ll be able to sit with her if you’d like.”
“Yes, thank you, Doctor. She should wake up in the morning. . . that means there’s no brain damage?” Eddie managed to ask what he was dreading most.
“I believe there was no irreversible damage, but we won’t know for sure until tomorrow. We must be patient. All in all, she’s young and strong, and her body responded well to surgery. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other patients waiting.”
The doctor rushed back into the operating room, and Eddie melted back down into his chair. He breathed a deep sigh of relief, and an uncontrollable smile spread across his face. Then he saw the anxious faces of the people around him, still waiting to hear about their loved ones, and felt guilty again.
Chapter 18
The dawn rising on Tel Aviv woke the city up back to its painful routine. On Hayarkon Street crime scene investigators were examining residue of the explosive that had been in the car bomb and the Disaster Victim Identification teams were still devoutly scouring the walls of houses on both sides of the street for human remains. At the hospital rays of the rising sun found Rose lying in the Intensive Care Unit hooked up to tubes, tubes, and more tubes. But Rose, still unconscious, could not tell night from day. Eddie, sitting beside her, got up to stretch his body and looked out the window.
Just another ordinary day, he thought as his eyes glanced over the urban views outside the hospital window. Just an ordinary day for those who were not hurt. Thank God there are those who can go on and live their ordinary lives on a day like today. That’s really the secret to our entire existence here, he thought to himself and turned his gaze to R
ose.
When it was almost 7:00 a.m., he stepped out and called his parents from a pay phone to let them know he would be staying at the hospital until Rose’s condition was clearer. In the waiting room, someone turned on the TV, and the screen was awash with descriptions of the attack. Eddie stayed in the room for a few minutes and watched.
“Our reporter in London has met the first group of parents at Heathrow Airport before their departure to visit their loved ones in Israel,” said the news anchor. “The flight, which was only scheduled for this afternoon, was pushed to earlier this morning, and the tickets were paid for by the Zionist Organization.” The camera zoomed in on the group of concerned parents, and among them Eddie spotted Aubrey, Rose’s dad.
“Do you know anything about your daughter’s condition?” the reporter asked Aubrey.
“I was told she was in hospital, but I don’t know how she is.” Eddie wished he had some way of contacting the distraught father in order to ease his concern a bit. Suddenly he had an idea: he went to the pay phone and asked for the Channel 2 News Room. It took him several long minutes before he was patched through. A production assistant answered, but the news had already moved on to a different matter.
“I want to give a message to the man your London reporter just interviewed. His name is Aubrey Horowitz, and I need to let him know his daughter has had surgery and made it through the night.”
“Sorry,” said the busy assistant. “We’ve moved on to the next item, and the viewers won’t be interested.”
“Damn the item and the viewers; I’m asking for your help to deliver the man a message before he takes off. I’m not asking for any air time!”
“What did you say your name was?”
“Eddie, and he knows me.”
“Ok, I’ll try to get hold of the reporter, if he’s still there, and pass on your message.”
“Thank you,” said Eddie, doubtful she would actually go that little extra mile to soothe a concerned father—now that he was no longer an item.