Until Sweet Death Arrives

by Amnon Binyamini

  She did not understand what he was talking about, “What’s gotten into you, Michael?” she demanded. “What’s all this talk about money? You worked for your money, Michael; you worked hard.”

  She realized that, absorbed in her own anguish, she had ignored the pain her devoted neighbor was experiencing because of Nahum’s cruel decline. Moved to compassion, she went to kiss Michael on the forehead in a gesture of thanks and acknowledgment.

  Michael recoiled in confusion when she leaned towards him. “So, alright,” he managed to say, “I’ll go to my apartment. You’re right, Mrs. Edna. Mr. Nahum needs a proper program of activities. At the center. Not with me.”

  When he finally dared to look at her, he saw the tears welling in her eyes and exclaimed, Mrs. Edna! Why are you crying? I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  She did not answer. Instead, she smiled and said, “You’ll still be looking after Nahum. As always, you’ll dress him in the mornings, then you’ll take him to the center and then, at noon, you’ll go and bring him home. I never intended for Nahum to do without the wonderful care you give him.” She was quiet for a moment and then continued, “I’m not sure they’ll have him there. They want him to come for a week; and if he fits in, they’ll accept him.”

  Michael arrived early the following morning, woke Nahum, washed, dressed and fed him and, accompanied by Edna, took him downstairs to wait for the center’s minibus. After a rather long wait, it arrived and Michael helped Nahum inside. Michael saw that their fellow passengers were a pair of blank-faced old people. Edna kissed Nahum through the open window, waved and said to Michael, “Keep an eye on him for me.”

  Michael answered, “Don’t worry Mrs. Edna; I’ll look after him. You can rely on me.”

  She stood with tears in her eyes, watching until the minibus was out of sight.

  Two more passengers were picked up on the way to the center. One was a stooped, constantly mumbling old woman and the other a very old man.

  The center was in Jaffa, on a street leading off Jerusalem Boulevard. They were pleasantly received by a sturdy, simply dressed, middle-aged woman with blue eyes and an angelic face. She greeted each of the arrivals with smiling caresses and led the way upstairs to a large hall, took Michael aside and asked, “Who are you?”

  “I’m Nahum’s care giver, Michael.”

  “I’m Miriam,” she said, “I suggest that you come back at eleven. Three hours will be enough for Nahum on his first day. Tomorrow you can leave him for an hour longer. By the end of the week, we’ll know if Nahum should stay or not.”

  They were talking in Miriam’s office. Michael looked around the room and asked if he could wait there. Before she could reply, he pleaded, “I’ll sit here quietly and wait for Mr. Nahum till eleven o’clock. You won’t hear a sound from me. I won’t disturb you. Please, I ask you, please.”

  She looked at him without speaking and he pressed on, “You see, I promised Mrs. Edna that I’d keep an eye on him the whole time.”

  “Alright,” said Miriam, smiling broadly.

  Michael sat down at once in a corner of the room and lowered his head.

  Miriam went into the room where Nahum and the other passengers from the minibus were waiting and shut the door.

  At exactly eleven o’clock, she returned with Nahum in tow. Michael jumped to his feet and asked, “Does Mr. Nahum feel at home yet?”

  She smiled and answered, “It’s too early to tell. It takes a lot of patience.”

  Michael sat waiting for Nahum every day, asking the same question and receiving the same answer. “Patience, Michael, patience, patience, patience.”

  On the fourth day, when Nahum followed Miriam out of the big room and Michael asked the usual question, he did not receive the usual answer.

  Miriam regarded him with her pale eyes and, without her customary smile, said, “Nahum is a hard nut to crack, Michael. Our Nahum’s a very special type.”

  Michael had no idea whether she meant that Nahum did or did not feel at home there.

  On the fifth day, Michael heard shouts coming from the room and hurried to find out if Nahum was alright. He pushed the heavy door and stepped into the big room, where he saw people sitting around a large table playing board games. A smiling woman of about sixty was sitting near the door with a rag doll in her arms. She held the doll gently in the crook of her elbow and stroked its hair, while she gazed happily, lovingly into its face. Eventually, she covered its eyes with her hand and crooned, “Go to sleep my baby, close your pretty eyes. Angels will awake you…” The old woman did not notice Michael standing and looking at her in wonder.

  Michael turned away and concentrated on finding Nahum, but his line of sight was blocked by a man, wearing glasses with thick lenses, standing absorbed in deep reverie, his head down and his hands thrust into his pockets. After a moment, the man took four steps forward, stopped, nodded, returned to his standing meditation and then took four steps backwards. He repeated the sequence endlessly.

  Michael’s attention was drawn to a unit of shelves at the other end of the room. It was filled with colored rags, teddy bears, rag dolls and stuffed toy animals of all kinds. A man was standing in front of the shelves with his back to the room, pushing colored rags into his pockets. Scraps of cloth bulged from the tops of his socks, when there were no more rags left and his pockets were full, he grabbed whatever came to hand and began to fill the space between his body and his clothing. While he did this, he glanced furtively from side to side.

  Venturing deeper into the room, Michael resumed his search for Nahum. A gaunt old woman with snow white hair and an ulcerated face caught Michael by the hand and asked, “Are you from here?”

  “No. I’m looking for Mr. Nahum. Mr. Nahum Peterson. He’s new.” He wanted to tell her that he had come into the room because of the shouting. He wanted to explain that Mrs. Miriam let him wait for Nahum in her room every morning, till Mr. Nahum settled in, but all he said was, “I’m not from here.”

  “I’m from Warsaw,” said the gaunt old woman, keeping her grip on his hand.

  “I look after Mr. Nahum. I’m not from here. I sit in the director’s room and wait for Mr. Nahum to settle in.”

  The old woman’s fingers tightened on his hand and she said, excited, “I’m from Warsaw. Daddy said no complaints. I want to come with your child. I don’t speak Hebrew so much. I read the newspaper in Polish. I can read Polish. He said give me your address. He said your child speaks so good Polish. Nobody will know he is a Jew. Isaac was father’s name. He said I agree and he was doing it.”

  Michael did not understand a word of what she was saying. He tried to free his hand, but she held fast. She took air into her fragile lungs and continued, “One day I went from the ghetto. The Germans had guards. Lots of people in Germany all in the army. All the goyim catch me in Warsaw. My relation was Bodstein. I go and there was work for me. I work and I say, ‘Yakov, Yakov is my son. I say Yacov Hochta Duma, and then the Germans take him.”

  She retreated into her thoughts. Her grip slackened. Michael freed his hand and went away quickly. He approached a group of people sitting and looking at a blackboard in the middle of the room. He sat among them, relieved to have escaped from the old woman. He swiveled his head from left to right in search of his ailing employer. Then he caught sight of Miriam standing next to the board with a broom in her hand. There was broken glass on the floor and she was sweeping the pieces into a pile. Michael saw that most of the glass was at the feet of a familiar figure sitting near Miriam. It was Nahum.

  “Who knows what Mr. Nahum did?” Michael wondered.

  When Miriam straightened from sweeping up the shattered glass, she saw Michael. He got to his feet, intending to explain and apologize for his presence in the room. However, before he said anything, she told him he could stay.

  “Did you see what Nahum broke?” she asked, not expecting an answer. “Lo
ok at our Nahum, sitting there so quietly, not disturbing us. Right, Nahum?”

  She looked at Michael, who had not noticed that the gaunt old woman had come to sit by him. He quickly moved his hand out of her reach. She leaned towards him and whispered secretively, “I know Polish and I read a Polish newspaper. One day I left the ghetto and then there were lots of Germans; and I said Yacov Hochta Duma and then the Germans took him. My son.”

  Miriam came and leaned over the old woman, stroked her face and said, “Hannah, you’re telling Michael about the ghetto, aren’t you? I’m so pleased you found Michael to talk to.”She continued her loving caresses for a while, before adding, “You know, Hannah, Michael is our guest, so now that you’ve told him about the ghetto, you can sit quietly.”

  Hannah nodded and looked into Miriam’s eyes like a trusting child.

  Michael sensed someone standing behind him saying, “We walk and walk and walk and then we go back. You want to walk with me? Yes, me. Sure. Sure.”

  He looked up and saw that the man was talking to his own reflection in a mirror on the wall. Michael was about to say something when Miriam called to him from where she was standing, chalk in hand, next to the blackboard.

  “Michael,” she said, “Don’t say anything. Rule number one at our center is to respect everyone under our roof. As long as nobody disturbs anyone else, we let things flow. And now,” she said, turning to the circle of people sitting in front of her, “let’s play a memory game.”

  Michael startled himself by exclaiming, “A memory game?” He covered his mouth in embarrassment, wanting to explain that he did not mean to sound incredulous or insulting.

  “That’s alright,” Miriam said, “you can relax with us, Michael. You’re surprised, aren’t you?”

  In a respectful, apologetic tone of voice, he said, “It doesn’t sound logical to play memory games with people with Alzheimer’s. I didn’t mean to…”

  Miriam interrupted him with a smile, “I’m glad you asked. You’ll hear the answer in a moment.” She then gave her full attention to the people sitting in a semi-circle in front of the blackboard, their eyes expectantly on every movement she made.

  “Who can tell me why we play the memory game?”

  A lively old woman near the blackboard raised her hand like a schoolgirl; and without waiting for permission to speak, said “We play the memory game to help us to keep our memory.”

  In spite of her elderly appearance, she sounded like a spoilt seven or eight year old.

  “Correct,” said Miriam. “Now let’s all learn it together.”

  Only a few responded and repeated the sentence and Nahum was not one of them. He sat with his head up, starting at a point in the center of the blackboard.

  “Now we’ll play Country, Town, Animal, Vegetable, Mineral,” said Miriam. “Ready? Who knows something beginning with A?”

  “America!” shrieked the woman with the childish voice.

  “Very nice. Now, who knows a town beginning with A?”

  The same old woman shouted, “Eilat!”

  “Eilat begins with E,” said Miriam calmly and before the same participant could come up with another answer, she turned to a man wearing a big knitted skullcap, “Mordechai,” she said, “will you give us the answer – a town beginning with A?”

  “Ashkelon,” he answered at once.

  “Very good,” Miriam encouraged. “And who knows an animal beginning with A?”

  In the ensuing silence, Michael heard soft music and, looking around, saw that it was coming from a tape recorder on one of the high windowsills. Miriam scanned the faces in front of her, waiting for an answer. Then she repeated the question. Again, nobody answered. Everyone sat wrapped in the soothing music that permeated the silence.

  “Maybe you?” she pointed at Nahum. “Come on, try. An animal beginning with A.”

  Michael wanted to get up and tell Miriam that although Mr. Nahum was younger than most of the people in the room; and although maybe his face showed understanding, he was almost completely brainless and unable to absorb more than the absolute minimum. He wanted to ask Miriam if she had not noticed this during the time Mr. Nahum had spent in her care.

  However, he remained silent, anxiously waiting to hear what Mr. Nahum would say to Miriam. Nahum said nothing, his gaze fixed on the point in the middle of the blackboard.

  Miriam approached him, “Come on, Nahum. Try.” As though startled awake, Nahum looked at Miriam. Her blue eyes watched him lovingly and, in a quiet, unthreatening tone, she said, “Nahum, maybe you know an animal beginning with A?”

  The music was the only sound in the room. Even the woman with the childish voice did not volunteer the answer.

  “Nahum, an animal beginning with A, A,” Miriam repeated. Nahum stared at her as she leaned over him, patting his shoulder. He gave her a fierce look and stood up. Then he looked from her to the people sitting in front of the blackboard.

  Miriam persisted, “Nahum, an animal beginning with A, A.”

  Nahum suddenly started to speak, “A is h…u…g…e, I said. I am A. I am A he said; what do you mean I don’t have to I said I am a huge A, yes…yes. That’s what I told him.”

  Someone in the room remembered and shouted “America!” Nahum carried on talking,“ America…America, tick…tick…tick…America… Huh? So why didn’t you say so? How much did you give him? Hundred hundred? Fine. Fine.”

  Miriam interrupted the flow and asked, “Nahum, Nahum, are you with us? I need an animal beginning with A; please try, dear; animal with A”…

  Nahum continued, “I said you bring A, Okay? And he said, yes, A Okay.”

  Someone shouted, “America!”“A is America.”

  Nahum was now energetic and active. “Big A. Big America…tak…tak…tak…tak…”

  Miriam did not give up, “Nahum, listen to me,” she said, “Let’s try. An animal beginning with A. You can do it. Try. With A. An animal beginning with A.”

  Nahum fell silent. He looked at Miriam. All of a sudden he said, “B…B…B…C…C…”

  Miriam had an idea. If Nahum could not cooperate with her, why not cooperate with him?

  “D,” she said.

  “E,” he answered.

  Miriam: “F.” Nahum: “G.”

  “H,” shrieked the woman with the childish voice and, raising her finger, she went on repeating the letter, demanding attention.

  “H? H? H? Nahum asked; then he declared, “H is not good!” His voice became a discontented growl. He was angry. Miriam knew from experience that it was time to change to another activity.

  She inserted a tape in the tape recorder and clapped her hands, ”Let’s sing and dance!”

  Nahum was still standing tensely at the blackboard, complaining, “Not good!”

  Miriam sang along with the tape recorder, “It’s a hap-hap-happy day!” and smiled at Nahum. Clapping, she danced towards him. His body relaxed and he stopped saying, “Not good.” He kept his eyes on her feet and began to sway to the rhythm of her movements.

  “Come,” she invited.

  He did not need a second invitation and stepped forward with his arms raised in imitation of Miriam and copied her movements a little awkwardly. But he was obviously conscious of the rhythm and mouthed the words, “It’s a hap-hap-happy day…py day…py day,” Nahum was dancing. and singing.

  Michael sat up, a joyful smile on his face. He was so proud of his charge, so happy to see him dancing, cooperating with Miriam; it was so long since he had last seen him in such good spirits.

  “When I ask Miriam if Mr. Nahum fits in with the center, I’m sure she’ll say that he does. He fits in,” Michael told himself.

  The music stopped and Miriam went to insert another tape. The room was quiet. The group was still sitting in a bemused half-circle in front of the blackboard, watching Nahum, who continued to
sway and sing, “It’s a hap-hap-happy day” with a smile on his face.

  Michael called, “Mr. Nahum, Mr. Nahum you can stop dancing. The music’s finished. Can’t you hear, Mr. Nahum?”

  Nahum ignored him. “It’s a hap-hap-happy day!” he sang, arms upraised, body swaying. Michael shook his arm and told him to stop.

  “Leave me!” Nahum roared, dancing.

  Michael noticed that a stuffed toy, a panda, was crammed into Nahum’s pocket. He tried to take it in order to return it to the shelf, but Nahum shouted, “No!” His eyes glinted with anger and offended pride. He stopped dancing.

  Michael said, “Mr. Nahum, you put something that doesn’t belong to you in your pocket. We have to put it back. The panda belongs to the center. I’ll give it back to Miriam.” So saying, he snatched the panda from Nahum’s pocket.

  Nahum yelled, “Leave it…leave it…go….go!” But Michael had the panda and when Nahum saw this, he began to vent his rage on everything in his path. He threw the blackboard onto the floor, shattering it; he threw a vase at the wall and it smashed to pieces. He babbled senselessly. He walked towards Michael, whose face turned from red to white and then to sweaty yellow. A new song burst loudly from the tape recorder and Miriam hurried over to Nahum and Michael.

  “Michael! What have you done? Why did you stop Nahum from dancing?”

  He tried to explain, but she was very angry, too angry to listen.

  “Why did you take the panda from him? Didn’t I tell you that rule number one is to respect the people under our roof?”