Sadness was evident in the air, as half-awake Emily had climbed through the emergency stairs, in 96th Street. She turned on the radio, just in time for the 7 O'clock news edition.
"Former Vice-President Richard Nixon says that unless there is a substantial increase in the present war effort in Vietnam, the U.S. should look forward to five more years of war. In a speech before the Convention of the Veterans of Foreign Wars in New York, Nixon also said opposition to the war in this country is the greatest single weapon working against the U.S."
She got quite angered and turned it off. Life wasn't easy for Emily in the summer of 1966, but at least the University was close enough.
"A girl like you should never lead such a lonely life", everyone said, but it seems their only goal was to chastise her. She opened the refrigerator, but after thinking for a short minute, closed it again. She was in no mood for eating. Organizing the clean laundry in the cold living room, she could not stop tearing, just waiting for the clock to tick and for the sun to rise again. She chose a record and played the vinyl in her newly-acquired record player.
All rights reserved to Simon & Garfunkel, Columbia Records
Morning at the Metropolitan Museum. The enormous great hall was filled with people, as it has always been during the last 94 years. "Come on, the tour is almost over. We'll get lost here!", Emma told her friend Emily, but she didn't listen. As it had never happened before, Emily started daydreaming in front of three peculiar drawings that were next to each other. These drawings depicted a husky, a maple leaf, and a cherry blossom. "Why are you standing next to these drawings for so long?", Emma asked, but Emily didn't listen.
"Do you need some guidance?", asked a peculiar middle-aged man. Emma was instantly drawn back, but Emily had suddenly come to her senses. "Can you explain why these drawings are next to each other? is there any connection between them?", she asked. "Only time will tell, my dear", he uttered, and strangely disappeared, returning to live within a room, within himself.
All rights reserved to Simon & Garfunkel, Columbia Records
Time will tell, thought Emily. What could it even mean? She was watching Shakespeare in the Park with her best friend Emma, but her thoughts were drawn to these three drawings, and the words of this peculiar man. Living a life that always consisted of a dull, lonely, and mundane routine, Emily had grown weary and sad, and it seemed there was no way out. Sometimes, all she wished for was a handshake of carbon monoxide.
The campaign of November 1966 was a bitter one, as the opposition to the Vietnam war had grown, attracting a strong backlash from the establishment. Emily was looking for something that will make her feel more meaningful, and joining the campaign was a way to do that.
10,000 people marched to the Washington Monument in D.C., and Emily was one of them. Looking for some cultural experience during her trip to D.C., Emily had proceeded to the National Gallery of Art. All of a sudden, while standing at the gallery's west building, she noticed three familiar drawings. She could not escape.
All rights reserved to Keren Ann, EMI
It was winter, and though the sky grew darker, the universal came into effect. This strange and unique phenomenon made Emily happier at last, and she had even agreed to be filmed for a short student project.
The 35mm movie film was considered old-fashioned, even by 1966 standards, but the young director had insisted on it, wanting to create a melancholic image that will reflect on Emily's life. He had known her for quite some time and was sure that she would be the perfect candidate, writing the script with her in mind.
December 31st, 1966. It was -2C outside on that cold evening in the city of New York. The director had come to visit Emily at her home in 96th Street, to show her the final product of his film. He brought with him an overhead projector, which was the technological highlight of that time.
Towards the end of the film, Emily had appeared on the screen, doing the laundry, looking weary and sad as always. The universal had lost its magic touch. As the clock ticked and 11:59 PM turned to midnight, January 1st, 1967, three drawings had suddenly appeared in the movie, on the wall behind her. Looking at the husky, the maple leaf, and the cherry blossom, she finally understood the words of that peculiar man.
It was cold, there was no music, and Emily was too weary to even hope. But though her old hometown was so far away, inside her head there was a record playing a song, called "Hold On".
All rights reserved to Madison Cunningham, Tom Waits, Verve Forecast
"Boom"! Was the sound she heard when he smashed the
table to the floor. She couldn't breathe. She let out a shout, crying for help.
"Is everything OK?", he asked, waking her up from a daydream, or
should I say, a nightmare.
She lifted
her head from the office desk. "Everything is great", she said
untruthfully. her whole body was shivering, even though it was the hottest day
anyone could remember.
"I don't think you're OK", he said, and sat next to her. She was
stunned by the fact that someone cared for her.
It was just another September morning in room 049; it was cold,
lonely and empty, uniquely unsuited for petrified Emily. On her face
was a scar, which she never talked about or mentioned. The professor, who
came to visit, said that she had the most beautiful room in the entire faculty,
and she did her best to put on a smile, hiding the pain of loneliness and
longing beneath a box of chocolates in a drawer. A hand-drawn calendar was
hiding there, counting the days to something, though there was no point in
that; and she put a sticker with her name on the drawer, as if anyone would
have even entered this lonely cube, and be interested in her foolish feelings.
She headed to the pool, doing her best not to plunge. Sitting by the side of
it, he sat next to her again, though it was probably all just a dream.
"I'm worried", he said. She breathed heavily, just asking for a hug,
without saying a word.
Some twenty years had passed since that day, that instantly floated in Emily's
mind. It was when she held her little sister Jenny by her hand, sitting on the
elementary school stairs, and, strangely for a girl her age, with a book by the
psychologist Arthur Janov peaking from her bag. Instead of mom, it was their
grandmother who came to pick them up. They went to the hospital, and sat there,
without saying a word. Emily just cried. By the pool, later this evening, Jenny
and Emily could not have missed the sight of their grandmother crying. Emily
held Jenny by her hand, without saying a word.
"Attention, please. This is the last call for passengers on flight 399 to
Montreal", said the announcer. She tried to escape the farthest she could,
just to not to be drawn into deep depression.
It was another flashback that came up in her mind, thinking about the time she
tried to climb the Mont Royal mountain, just to prove to herself that she will
not succumb to the terror and fear she had suffered; but then, she just could
not have finished, and was flooded with the feeling of failure.
It will be different this time, she promised to herself, and she was right.
Completing the trip to mountain's peak, she pulled the Ventolin from her bag;
she was not sure why she was trembling. This trembling made her miss the hole
that was right behind there. She fell down, and just a hand of an angel saved
her. Sitting on a bench, crying, she remembered the words by Janov: Some of us
are free, and some are bound. Some will swim, and some will drown.
Heading downwards from the mountain to the Musée des beaux-arts, Emily had noticed neon signs pointing to a new exhibition, which had just arrived from England. Looking at the portrait of an aging and gloomy Churchill, painting while a black eyed dog standing behind him, she couldn't help but think about the resemblance reflected in their moods.
She went outside, trying to breathe some fresh air. She felt the memories of broken glass and broken heart were blending inside her mind. A dog ran in her direction, and she quickly succumbed to her phobia. When he came up to her, though, she just hugged him. The colour of his eyes turned from brown to black. She breathed heavily again. The black eyed dog knew her name, and she felt, that she's growing old and that she wants to go home; she just doesn't know how.
Back in the office again, the sun poured down like honey on our lady of the harbor. A happier song made its way to her playlist, but deep inside, she had the feeling that it did not belong there, and everyone knew that as well.
Knowing that a heartbreak would be sure to follow suit, and having to face the reality, she wrote on a note some words from an old song by The Pretenders, never wanting to forget, that she was once happy, even for a short time.
Only the sunglasses could have hidden the tears; but her entire body was shaking, and she was so guilt-ridden, filled with feelings of sadness and shame.
After talking with Jenny, she called her other sister, which was actually not her sister at all; but for Emily, it didn't really matter. Through her tears of sadness, one tear of joy entered, happy that there was at least someone that cared.
Life went on as normal, and it was just a typical morning. Knowing that she could not say anything, Emily knocked on the door of room 029.
"Can I have a hug, please?", she asked, shaking and trembling, and the rain outside could never had matched her tears.
It was a gloomy English Monday morning, and I gazed at the trickle of sunshine from my window sil. The skyline of Tanworth-in-Arden was as sad as ever seen.
"New pandemic restrictions take effect in England today", said the BBC morning news host, rather calmingly, as the country plunged into a new period of chaos and uncertainty.
As if the national hysteria was not enough, a threatening text message that I received sent shivers through my spine. I was instantly reminded of my childhood pains.
The road to the University went through a string of brown-coloured council homes, stretching from the city centre to its outskirts. On my way back home from my office, an aging bus stall owner stopped me. "Can you please help me, sir?", he said in his thick northern accent and his teary eyes. His stall sold fries to the town's residents and to tourists, which were once a common sight here. "Will you please buy one dish?", he kindly asked. The new restrictions meant that today was the last day he could have opened his stall, and judging by his sad look, he was already in deep economic trouble. "I'll buy all of your stock", I said. I felt so sad for him. "You're a good man, sir", he said, and looked straight into my teary eyes. What difference does it make, I thought.
A local Virgin store played some Smiths music; how fitting. I couldn't help but crying all the way back.
All rights reserved to The Smiths
Later that evening, a knock on the door interrupted my depressing evening routine. "Hello sir", said a young woman standing by the door. "I'm Jasmine, and I'm working with the NHS on a new program". "I'm working with the NHS as well", I said. "Would you like to participate in our new program? we are looking for volunteers who will cook for seniors during the pandemic. Your neighbor Raoul could use some help, and a little bird has told me that you'll love doing this!", Jasmine said. Since the Labour party returned to power, new programs aimed at aiding senior citizens were introduced, and this was only one of them. "I'd gladly do it! sign me up", I said, with atypical enthusiasm.
Cooking was always some sort of a therapy for me. In the Israeli heat and in the English darkness, I always had to deal with the pain of being too sensitive, and life hadn't been easy on me. This hobby became something comforting, helping me feel I'm worth something; in that sense, what could be better than this new program?
Entering the local Tesco supermarket, l was welcomed by corridors of naked lights, with no visitor in sight. "Do you have a permission to get off the house, sir?", asked one of the workers, and I showed him my NHS card. "You're a good man, sir", he said, and went on. Robots moved from corridor to corridor and sorted the products. The highly modernized, yet empty, supermarket, looked like a scene from a science fiction. The cashier, which was only one of two human beings on the store, turned to me, and asked: "Do you like it around here?". "Well, I'm very fond of England, but this place is rather gloomy". "Isn't life rather gloomy?", she said, while sorting my stuff in the recyclable bug.
Cooking for Raoul was not an easy task, since I've never met him. He was mostly away, and I didn't get a chance to speak to him. I decided to go for it, and used some Tesco groceries, and some of the fries I bought from the stall, to prepare a dinner with baked salmon. The morning after, Raoul left a note outside my door: "That was such a lovely dinner. P.S.: You're a good man". "I get that a lot", I wrote on a note I left outside his door.
And so, cooking for Raoul became a daily routine, during a time of lockdown and sadness. Each day, after I returned from the University, I went through the local Tesco, bought some groceries, and then prepared a meal for Raoul, which I left outside his door at 19:30 exactly.
One day, I heard a knock on the door; for a second, I thought I might get to see Raoul, but it was Jasmine. "Would you like to come in for tea?", I said, completely disregarding the strict lockdown rules. "Isn't it forbidden?", she asked. "No one will ever know", I said, and so, a talk that had started with her request that I would assist additional seniors, went on. I never refuse when someone wants to speak with me; and this time, I went on and talked about pain, anger and abuse, and the scars that remain. She was understanding and compassionate, and my heart melted. I just wanted that someone would listen. But then, I was reminded that she was a Muslim, and any hope I had, disappeared within a heartbeat.
Cooking for other senior citizens added to my daily routine, and my rollercoaster of emotions stopped on the more positive side. The local BBC channel had decided to do an item about me in their morning show, and I felt that I had some meaning. Scarred by years of someone close telling me that I was just an idiotic no-one, I couldn't help but thinking it was true. Finally, I felt a bit different.
But this idyll did not last long. No one remembered what happened on January 9th, but I did. On this dreary Sunday morning, I lied on my bed and thought of things that might have been. Rain poured outside, and my heart and soul were flooded with memories of feeling terrorized. Suddenly, a noise of cracking glass was heard, and I felt terrified, as if I was a child, a teenager, a young man all over again. The pouring rain couldn't match my tears, and a puddle appeared in the middle of the living room.
All rights reserved to The Dream Academy
"Were you crying earlier? I accidently dropped a set of soup bowls", said a note from Raoul later that day. I was too ashamed to admit that, and so I did not comment.
At 19:25, on Tuesday evening, a knock was heard on the door, and a familiar face stood behind it. It was Raoul. "I brought you a gift", he said. It was a record player, and a vinyl record by the British band "Tears for Fears", named "Raoul and the Kings of Spain", a record I was looking for for years.
I looked at Raoul again, mesmerized. "Wait.. you're not just 'Raoul'.. you're Roland ..". "From where do you think I got that vinyl?", he laughed. "Wow, it is really amazing! I'm one of your biggest fans.. but you're not old at all!". "Well, who wouldn't want to have daily dinners, cooked by a celebrity chef? I didn't miss the item they did about you on the local news".
"This is not what I came here for", he said with a serious voice. "I understand your pain. I'm sure you're familiar with my story and with the lyrics of the songs in this album". "Does it ever get better?", I asked. "I think it depends on you. But I can give you some tips". My favorite BBC news anchor was on TV again, reporting that restrictions will be eased, starting tomorrow. "So", Raoul said, "Tomorrow at 19:30?". "That would be lovely", I smiled. I played my newly acquired vinyl.
And in this gloomy life and gloomy town, and even though it was a winter evening, a ray of sunshine appeared beyond my window sil.
"אתה חוסם את התור!", צעק אדם
בכניסה לבית הקפה, בזמן ששקעתי בחולמנות אופיינית.
"כמובן",
השבתי במבוכה. "אתה לא ... ? קראתי עליך כתבה, אתה ממש מוצלח!", הוא
שינה מיד את הטון. "תלוי איך תגדיר הצלחה", אמרתי, "אבל כן, אני
כן, אם זה שווה משהו". הפריחה האביבית שבחוץ עוד השרתה בי קצת אופטימיות, אך
זו מיד התחלפה בתחושת חרדה לאבד אותה.
בתוכנית חדשות
החוץ השבועית, סיפר המגיש על חשיכה ארוכה ומפחידה, שהתרחשה בצידו השני של העולם,
והובילה לגל קור קשה במיוחד. האסטרונום המומחה הסביר, שזוהי תוצאה של התפרצות הר
געש באינדונזיה. "זה כבר קרה בשנת 1815", הוסיף. החדשות המטרידות עוררו
אצל היושבים בחדר בעיקר סקרנות, ולא פחד. "זה כל כך רחוק מכאן", אמרו.
בחלוף כמה
שבועות, זה כבר כמעט היה כאן. הפחד ואי-הוודאות מהחשיכה שרר בכל פינה. הלילה היה
ארוך ומכאיב. כמעט ושהצלחתי להתגבר על הסערה, חשבתי לעצמי. כעת, אאלץ להתמודד עם
סערה חדשה.
כל החפצים על
הרצפה היו שבורים וגופי רעד. התעוררתי מצרחה, בעיניים דומעות. זה היה רק חלום,
סיוט שהיה בעבר, ונגמר. אלא שבראשי, הוא עוד היה נוכח.
ביום האחרון
שלפני החושך, אי הוודאות ניכרה ברחוב. עשיתי את דרכי לעבודה; מי יודע מתי אוכל
לשוב לכאן.
הספקתי להקדים
את ההיסטריה ברשתות המזון, והדירה הקטנה נראתה לפתע דומה למחסן של "המתכוננים
ליום הדין" מתוכנית הטלוויזיה. וכך, בשעות הדמדומים, הגעתי לאגם הגדול שבמרכז
הפארק. השקט והרוגע כאן היו כל מה שהייתי צריך; אלא שהיה זה מעט מדי ומאוחר מדי.
עוד רגע, והשמש תיכבה.
לצד האגם, אחרי
שורה של פרחים צבעוניים, ראיתי פרח בודד, שהיה נראה לי כה מרהיב. כה יפה הייתה
בדידותו המזהירה. חרגתי ממנהגי וקטפתי אותו. בבוקר החשוך שלמחרת, שלא נראה כלל כמו
בוקר, פתאום ראיתי אור מבצבץ מהמרפסת. הפרח היפה שקטפתי זהר והאיר את החשיכה,
כאילו נשלח אליי כדי להאיר את ביתי החשוך והבודד.
"לא ראיתי
בחיים דבר כזה", אמר בתדהמה עומר. הוא היה המומחה הגדול ביותר שהכרתי בתחום
הצמחים, שבו לא התיימרתי להבין דבר. "איפה מצאת את הפרח?", שאל.
"ליד האגם", עניתי. "כל כך מוזר", הוא אמר, ואז הוסיף,
"לא כל הנוצץ זהב". "למה אתה מתכוון?", שאלתי, ואז הוא מיד
השיב, "לא חשוב. אני ממילא כבר צריך ללכת".
"זה סתם
שטויות", חשבתי לעצמי. זה לא שיש לי משהו אחר להיאחז בו, חשבתי. הוצאתי את
הקנבס ואת צבעי השמן, והתחלתי לצייר את הפרח. את הפרח הזוהר היה אפשר לצייר רק
לאורו שלו.
לילות חלפו, וגם
ימים. קשה להבדיל בין היום לבין הלילה, כשהחשיכה לא נפסקת.
ביום אחד, כשכבר
האור היה קרוב, לפתע עומר דפק על הדלת. "מה קרה?", הוא אמר בעיניים
מפוחדות. "קרה משהו?", שאלתי. "חשוך כאן, לא? מה עם הפרח?".
"מוזר, רק הבוקר השקיתי אותו", השבתי. "תסתכל על היד שלך",
הוא אמר, והאיר עליה עם פנס. היד הייתה מלאה בחתכים עמוקים, בצורת עליו של הפרח.
"איך יכולתי לא לראות את זה?", אמרתי כשהפנס חשף פצע נוסף, באזור החזה.
"אתה זוכר
את מה שאמרתי לך?", שאל עומר. "כן", אמרתי בקול חרישי. "איך
ידעת?". "כמה ניסיונות כואבים". "רציתי רק סיבה להאמין, שהעצב
יש לו סוף..", אמרתי בבכי. "הכל יהיה בסדר", הוא אמר, וטפח על השכם
שלי. "בוא ניקח אותך לבית החולים".
ביקור הרופאים
במחלקה הפנימית כמעט והסתיים, ונשאר רק חדר 940 בקצה המסדרון.
החשיכה כבר כמעט
נעלמה, ואני הייתי בבית החולים, מחובר לחמצן. המוניטור צפצף ללא הרף. יש פצעים
שאפשר לרפא, ויש כאלו שלא, אמרתי לרופאה, והיא הנהנה בהבנה.
כשחזרתי הביתה, כל
מה שרציתי זה לישון, אבל הרעש המחריד חדר לי לחלום. אי אפשר לברוח מהעבר, לא משנה
כמה אנסה. קמתי לתלות את הציור, למרות הכל, וחשבתי כמה אני מתגעגע. נפצעתי, אבל לא
רציתי להשאיר את הפרח שוב לבד. אם לצטט את אבידן, אם כך ואם כך, הכתם נשאר על הקיר.
בשעת בוקר שמשית
באוניברסיטה, חדר הישיבות התמלא באנשים. השתדלתי להתחבר לאווירה החגיגית, ככל
שיכולתי.
היא הסתכלה עליי
בעיניים דומעות, חיבקה אותי, ואמרה שהכול יהיה בסדר. נותר לי רק לקוות.
בינתיים, לקחתי
עוד פרוסה מהעוגה. זה בוודאי לא יזיק. אולי עד הבוקר, הכאב הזה יחלוף.
