Until Sweet Death Arrives

by Amnon Binyamini

  Gilat stood up, “Come on, Mom, you still have to shower and dress for the meeting with the support group. You’ll be late if you don’t hurry. That’s why I’m here – to look after Daddy.”

  Edna remained seated. She looked weary and drained.

  “Gilat darling, I can’t leave him in this state. He’s very nervous and aggressive today. I’m afraid you won’t be able to control him. I’d better stay home tonight.”

  Mother, don’t worry, I’ll manage,” Gilat urged, “Daddy and I will get along just fine. I’ll keep him busy. Go on! You deserve a break. It’s the least I can do to help.”

  “Do you want me to stay and help you with Mr. Nahum?” Michael asked in an unconvincing attempt to hide his fatigue.

  “No thanks, Michael. You also deserve a rest. Anyway, I’ll be okay with my Dad.”

  Edna gave Michael a searching look and said, “Michael, you must be dead tired. You’ve been looking after him since noon and I’ve just realized that you haven’t eaten a thing since you arrived!”

  Michael did not need further persuasion. He said good night and left the room, his limp aggravated by fatigue.

  “I’m afraid Michael is at a breaking point.” Edna whispered.

  Who knows better than you that taking care of Daddy is an exhausting, thankless task. Now go and change. You’ll be late.”

  As she was leaving, Edna reminded Gilat not to let Nahum go to bed too early, adding, “He’ll wake up in the middle of the night and I won’t get any sleep!”

  “I’ve brought plenty of stuff to keep him busy,” Gilat reassured her, “he’s going to sleep like a baby tonight!”

  She found him sitting peacefully where they had left him. By force of habit, she went to the window and peered through a gap in the curtains, inspecting the street below. There was no sign of Dov. “Nava’s right,” she thought, “as time passes, he’s getting used to the idea that we’re divorced.” She could now give her full attention to her father. She went to the big plastic bag she had brought with her and held it up for him to see. “Look what I’ve brought for you, Daddy!” she said brightly.

  Nahum lifted his head and looked at her. Encouraged, she took a ball from the bag and said, “Let’s play with the ball.”

  He was a devoted basketball fan before his illness and had loved teaching the game to his grandchildren. Gilat assumed that if his brain retained any trace of the man he used to be, he would respond to the sight of the big rubber ball in her hand.

  “Here, Daddy. This is a ball. I’m going to pass it to you. Keep your eye on the ball and catch!” She threw it gently and he caught it. He looked at it, then at her, clearly not knowing what to do with the object he found in his hands.

  “Wonderful!” she cried enthusiastically, “now throw it back to me. Throw the ball to Gilat,” she said slowly, holding out her hands.

  He sat clutching the ball, looking at her with glazed, expressionless eyes. Gilat took the ball, stepped back a pace or two and repeated, “Daddy, this is a ball. Gilat is going to pass it to you. Catch it, Daddy!”

  Again, he caught the ball as it came towards him. Again, Gilat cried enthusiastically. “Wonderful! Now throw it back to me. Shoe me that you understand, Daddy; throw the ball back to Gilat.”

  Nahum clasped the ball to his chest and stared at Gilat. She went to him, intending to take the ball and repeat the action; but when she reached for it he said angrily, “Go. Go. Go.”

  Smiling at him, she managed to wrest it from his grasp and stepped back. A look of alarm crossed his face and he cried, “Go! Go!”

  She threw the ball, but this time he made no move to catch it; and it struck him on the head. He made a bewildered gesture, as if trying to understand what had hit him.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy. Oh, what have I done to you!”

  Nahum was blinking in alarm, turning his head from side to side. Gilat sat opposite him, trying to reassure him with a gentle smile. Keeping her movements slow, she withdrew a plastic whistle from her bag of toys and games. She put it to her lips and blew a few soft blasts, to distract her father from his growing anger.

  “Look, Daddy. Look how I blow the whistle,” she smiled. “Do you want to blow the whistle, like Gilat?” She put it to her lips.

  His eyes moved to the whistle and his face assumed the expression of an infant discovering a new kind of toy. Gilat held it between her fingers and offered it to him.

  “You like the whistle, don’t you, Daddy? Let Gilat show you how to blow the whistle.” She placed it between his lips.

  She expected him to take a breath and blow; but he sat very still, pursing his lips around the whistle. She waited for a while before saying encouragingly, “Daddy, blow the whistle, Blow.”

  Instead of blowing, Nahum clamped his teeth on the whistle, trying to chew it, to eat it. Gilat realized that if she did not get it away from him, the plastic would splinter and he would swallow the fragments. She acted quickly and tried to pry his jaws apart, but he only bit down harder.

  “Daddy!” she screamed into his ear. Startled, he opened his mouth and the whistle dropped into the palm of her hand.

  “Give!” he roared, getting to his feet.

  “Oh, no! Forget it!” Gilat panted, still shaking with the anxiety and effort of her struggle with him. She was horrified at how close she had come to endangering his life. “Forget it. You can’t have the whistle, Daddy!”

  He stood facing her like a child about to have a tantrum. She could not bear the pain of seeing this beloved man reduced to such indignity. She put her arms around him. Stroked his back, patted his cheeks, all the while murmuring, “Poor Daddy. I’m so sorry. I’m so terribly sorry.”

  He began to relax under her gentle caresses. “You feel better now, right? You’re not angry anymore, right?” she said quietly, continuing to stroke his face and pat his shoulders. Speaking as if to a troubled child.

  “Good Daddy, my good Daddy.”

  “Good,” said Nahum, “Good.”

  He leaned against her. Gilat was pleased. She had succeeded in diverting the storm. He was obviously enjoying her touch.

  The phone rang and Gilat stepped away from him to answer it. It was Edna, wanting to know how she was managing.

  “Fine. Just fine, Mother. How’s your meeting?”

  “Apparently I’m not the only one who’s having these difficulties. I’ve got lots of fellow sufferers here and a wonderful social worker. How’s Daddy?”

  “He’s okay now. Calm. He’s even smiling at me.”

  As she spoke, she heard him breathing heavily over her shoulder and, fearing that another bout of anger might be developing, she ended the conversation saying, “Don’t worry; you don’t have to rush back.”

  She turned to find him close behind her, an unfamiliar glint in his eyes, his chest heaving. Then he grabbed her and started to rub against her body.

  “Good,” said Nahum, “Good.”

  She froze. Suddenly she understood. He was a stranger who had no idea who she was. Who wanted her body. She broke away from him.

  “Daddy, I’m Gilat. Your daughter. Don’t get confused.”

  He did not understand a word she was saying. He saw an attractive young woman who was caressing him in a very pleasant manner. He embraced her again and held her tight.

  “Daddy! No! You must not do this!”

  “This, this,” he said.

  “It’s me, Daddy, Gilat. Your little girl. Remember? Your daughter, Gilat!”

  She was terrified by now and instinctively made for the room that had been her safe haven when she was a child, her mother’s bedroom. Before she was able to lock the door, however, he was inside, lunging towards her. She fell onto the bed, with his heavy body on top of her.

  She screamed, “No! Gilat! I’m Gilat! Daddy, it’s Gilat! Stop! Don’t! Leave me alone!”

 
“This, this,” Nahum said, kissing her.

  She fought him, discovering how strong he was for the first time in her life. He kissed her violently on her face and throat and squeezed her so tightly in his arms that she was almost paralyzed. “This,” he said between kisses, “this, this…” Then she saw the heavy clock on the bedside table and her panic subsided as her mind went into action. He had pinned her out flung arm to the bed at an angle which allowed her some freedom to maneuver her forearm to grab the clock and hit him with it. The blow landed on his temple with enough force to make him flinch. This was enough for Gilat to roll out from under him and dash to the adjoining bathroom, where she slammed and locked the door.

  She sank to the floor, mumbling tearfully, “Oh, my God. I don’t believe it…I don’t believe it…”

  When she eventually pulled herself together and stood up, she saw herself in the mirror over the basin. Her hair was wild, her makeup was smeared all over her face and her eyes were red and swollen from weeping. Her lips were swollen, too, from the force of his kisses. She bent over the basin and retched. What she saw in the mirror was the same battered face that had driven her away from Dov.

  “It’s something in me,” she said with revulsion, addressing her reflection. “I provoked Dov with my tight blouses and now I’ve provoked that poor, sick old man, caressing him and patting him and hugging him. How could I have been so insensitive to the fact that he might have some shred of desire left in him? That he couldn’t distinguish between me and any other female!”

  She had a sudden attack of hysterical laughter, which was cut short by the realization that she would have to give some explanation to her mother.

  “What will I say? How will I tell her?” She clenched her fist against her mouth, like a little girl afraid to confess some wrongdoing to her mother. Then she took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment before filling the basin with soapy water and began calmly to wash her face, neck, arms and chest, scrubbing till the skin was pink.

  She was combing her hair when she remembered she had left Nahum unattended. For how long? She had no idea. Everything was driven out of her mind by the fear that her father might have come to some harm; and she ran to find him, expecting to see him sprawled on her mother’s bed. The bedroom was empty.

  “What if he’s wandered into the street?” Her only concern was for his safety. Nothing else mattered; it was as if the whole monstrous incident had never taken place. Unable to breathe, she checked the front door and found it locked. He was still in the apartment. She emitted an explosive sigh and hurried into the living room. There he was. Dozing in the armchair. She stood still nervously for a moment, reliving the fear; but the sight of her father so vulnerable in his sleep brought a sob of pity to her throat.

  She tiptoed to the bedroom, straightened the bedspread and returned the clock to its place on the bedside table. Then she went to Nahum’s room and put on her sweater, buttoning it high on her neck.

  “Daddy. Daddy, it’s me, Gilat,” she said when she came back to the living room.

  He looked at her with blank eyes. Nothing glinted in them. His head sank to his chest as he fell asleep again. There was a red spot on his forehead where she had struck him with the clock. She brought some ice and he sat passively while she bandaged it on his forehead.

  There was a light knock at the door and she heard her mother call, “Gilat, it’s me.”

  “Just a minute, Mother. I’m attending to Daddy.”

  “Take your time, darling,” Edna answered.

  Gilat began to shake, her teeth chattered as if she had a fever. What will I say? How will I explain the mark on his forehead? She mustn’t find out what happened. Nobody must know. Daddy won’t be able to tell her. He’s forgotten the whole thing already. I won’t want to tell her. I’ll just bury the memory of the last hour forever.

  Edna was becoming anxious. She knocked again and asked, “Gilat? Is something wrong?”

  “Coming,” Gilat said and went to open the door.

  Edna came in, relaxed and smiling. “Are you cold?” she asked, “Why are you all buttoned up in your sweater?” Without waiting for an answer, she said, “Listen, Gilat, it seems I’m not the only one having a hard time. Some cases are even worse than Daddy’s.

  On the way to the living room, she murmured either to herself or to Gilat, “Many families send their loved ones to institutions. The social worker said that nobody needs to have a bad conscience if they take that step. It’s often better for the sick person, too. He’s under medical observation and he’s treated by a caring professional staff.”

  Absorbed in her thoughts, she was not paying much attention to her husband and daughter. With hardly a glance in Gilat’s direction, she continued, “A number of people in the support group tonight were very dissatisfied with the way the government is handling the facilities for Alzheimer’s patients. And it’s getting worse every year. There are no properly funded government institutions and the private ones don’t always come under the supervision of the Ministry of Health. “Anyway,” she said, sitting down next to Nahum and taking his hand, “that’s not our problem. We’ll never, never send Daddy away, no matter what!”

  She bent to kiss his cheek and only then noticed the bandage on his forehead. She was not particularly surprised or concerned; he often had little accidents. “What happened, Nahum, did you bump your head?” she asked sweetly. To Gilat she said, “Thanks for attending to it. After all, a daughter’s a daughter!”

  Gilat was on her way out already. From the door, she called, “Goodnight, Mother.”

  “Goodnight, darling,” said Edna.

  Gilat hesitated a moment before closing the door and said, “I’m afraid the time has come to find a place for Daddy.”

  However, Edna was helping Nahum to his feet and did not hear.

  51.

  Yochevet House was an isolated three-storey building from the days of the British Mandate, when it served as district police headquarters. It had not yet come into view as Gilat drove along the sand road that wound its way endlessly between rows of cypress trees on a spring evening filled with the scent of flowers.

  With her in the car were Edna, Michael, her daughter, Sharon, and Nahum. Michael was sitting next to her, half turned to keep an eye on Nahum in case he decided to jump out of the moving car. Nobody spoke. Edna wanted to open the window to enjoy the fragrant air, but decided against it. If Nahum saw the open window, he might try to get out. He was completely devoid of any sense of danger.

  Gilat had moved into her parents’ apartment with her children when it became obvious that Dov would not continue to harass her due to her complaints to the police. Edna had insisted on this arrangement for her own peace of mind as for their safety. In addition, the children were a source of comfort and distraction in her troubled life.

  As for Nahum, he no longer recognized anybody. He was incapable of verbal communication and his only vocal expression was incoherent shouting. His movements were laborious and haphazard. He would suddenly lash out at anyone near him, and when this happened his grandchildren would run and hide. His shouts frightened them more than anything else. However, Edna adamantly refused to consider Gilat’s suggestion that he be placed in an institution designed specially for the care of Alzheimer’s patients. As she put it, she would not banish her husband from his home.

  Michael continued to tend to Nahum during most of the day. He had become more silent and withdrawn than ever. One day, he surprised Gilat by addressing her directly.

  “Can I say something to you?” he said in an uncharacteristically firm voice.

  “You know we have no secrets, Michael. You can say anything you like, you don’t have to hide anything.”

  “Well, you know that Mr. Nahum is very important to me, don’t you?”

  “Of course. If he wasn’t important to you, you wouldn’t look after him the way you do.�
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  “Gilat, do you know that I’m a disabled person? A polio cripple?”

  “We’re all crippled in one way or another,” she said avoiding his eyes.

  “Listen,” Michael said, “I’m not telling you about my polio because I want your sympathy, or because I need to hear that I’m just like everybody else!” She had never heard him speak so bluntly.

  “What I want to say is I’ve got no more strength. I think I must stop looking after Mr. Nahum. I didn’t want to say it, but that’s what I’m telling you.”

  Gilat thought for some time before answering, “Michael, I’ll tell Mother. Don’t worry.”She sounded sad and a little disappointed, then she added, “You know, what you’ve done for Father, Mother and I could not have done at all without you. We’ll never forget it. We’ll always be grateful to you.”

  “Come here, Michael,” Edna said softly from the doorway. She had heard everything. Michael blushed and she hurried on to spare him further embarrassment. “Without you, we could not have kept Nahum at home with us. Even if I found a strong, kind man and paid him a lot of money to look after our Nahum, nobody but you could be so devoted, so loving. And for being who you are, I thank you with all my heart.”

  “Mrs. Edna, I hope I haven’t upset you. I’ll stay till you find somebody, but if you want to know what I think,” he said in his newly confident voice, “you should find the right kind of institution for Mr. Nahum. He’s a prisoner in the apartment and I think that even with his little bit of understanding, Mr. Nahum feels very unhappy.”

  Speaking slowly, Edna said, “I haven’t been a good wife, have I, Michael? Nahum would feel much better in another home, right?

  “Mrs. Edna! Why do you say that?” Michael was distraught. “I didn’t mean anything against you! It’s got nothing to do with you.” He sighed, lowered his head and continued, “Since you don’t allow me to take him out, he spends most of the time doing nothing in his room. He just sits and stares. He’s fading away.”

  She made no comment.