Open Heart

Contents

Title Page

Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Falling in Love

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Marriage

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Death

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Love

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

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Copyright © 1996 by A. B. Yehoshua

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to [email protected] or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.

www.hmhco.com

All of the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

Yehoshua, Abraham B.

(Shivah me-Hodu. English)

Open heart/A. B. Yehoshua; translated by Dalya Bilu.

p. cm.—(A Harvest book)

Previously published: 1st ed. New York: Doubleday, 1996.

ISBN 0-15-600484-4

1. Bilu, Dalya. II. Title.

PJ5034.Y42S5513 1997

892.4'36—dc21 97-2507

eISBN 978-0-544-17666-9

v3.0117

To Gideon, who returned from India

Set thy heart upon thy work

But never on its reward.

Work not for a reward;

But never cease to do thy work.

—The Bhagavadgita, Chapter 2, verse 47

(Translated by Juan Mascaro, Penguin Classics, 1962)

PART ONE

Falling in Love

One

The incision was ready for stitching now. The anesthetist slipped the mask impatiently from his face, and as if the big respirator with its changing, flickering numbers were no longer enough for him, he stood up, gently took the still hand to feel the living pulse, smiled affectionately at the naked sleeping woman, and winked at me. But I ignored his wink, because my eyes were fixed on Professor Hishin, to see if he would finish the suturing himself or ask one of us to take over. I felt a tremor in my heart. I knew I was going to be passed over again, and my rival, the second resident, was going to be given the job. With a pang I watched the movements of the scrub nurse as she wiped away the last drops of blood from the long straight cut gaping in the woman’s stomach. I could have scored an easy success, I thought bitterly, by completing the operation with a really elegant suture. But it didn’t look as if Hishin was about to hand over the job to anyone. Even though he had been at work for three straight hours, he now rummaged, with the same supreme concentration with which he had begun the operation, through the pile of needles to find what he wanted. Finally he found the right needle and returned it angrily to the nurse to be sterilized again. Did he really owe it to this woman to sew her up with his own hands? Or perhaps there had been some under-the-table payment? I withdrew a little from the operating table, consoling myself with the thought that this time I had been spared humiliation at least, even though the other resident, who had also apparently grasped the surgeon’s intention to perform the suturing himself, maintained his alert stance beside the open abdomen.

At this point there was a stir next to the big door, and a curly mane of gray hair together with an excitedly waving hand appeared at one of the portholes. The anesthetist recognized the man and hurried to open the door. But now, having invaded the wing without a doctor’s gown or mask, the man seemed at least to hesitate before entering the operating room itself and called out from the doorway in a lively, confident voice, Haven’t you finished yet? The surgeon glanced over his shoulder, gave him a friendly wave, and said, I’ll be with you in a minute. He bent over the operating table again, but after a few minutes stopped and started looking around. His eyes met mine, and he seemed about to say something to me, but then the scrub nurse, who always knew how to read her master’s mind, sensed his hesitation and said softly but firmly, There’s no problem, Professor Hishin, Dr. Vardi can finish up. The surgeon immediately nodded in agreement, handed the needle to the resident standing next to him, and issued final instructions to the nurses. He pulled off his mask with a vigorous movement, held out his hands to the young nurse, who removed his gloves, and before disappearing from the room repeated, If there are any problems, I’ll be with Lazar in administration.

I turned to the operating table, choking back my anger and envy so that they wouldn’t burst our in a look or gesture. That’s it then, I thought in despair. If the women are on his side too, there’s no doubt which of us will be chosen to stay on in the department and which will have to begin wandering from hospital to hospital looking for a job at the end of the month. This is clearly the end of my career in the surgical department. But I took up my position calmly next to my colleague, who had already exchanged the needle Hishin handed him for another one; I was ready to share in the responsibility for the last stage of the operation, watching the incision close rapidly under his strong, dexterous fingers. If the incision had been in my hands, I would have tried to suture it more neatly, not to mar by so much as a millimeter the original contours of the pale female stomach, which suddenly aroused a profound compassion in me. And already the anesthestist Dr. Nakash, was getting ready for the landing, as he called it, preparing to take out the tubes, removing the infusion needle from the vein, humming merrily and keeping a constant watch on the surgeon’s hands, waiting for permission to return the patient to normal breathing. Still absorbed in the insult to me, I felt the touch of a light hand. A young nurse who had quietly entered the room told me in a whisper that the head of the department was waiting for me in Lazar’s office. Now? I hesitated. And the other resident, who had overheard the whisper, urged me, Go, go, don’t worry. I’ll finish up here myself.

Without removing my mask, I hurried out of the shining darkness of the operating room and past the laughter of the doctors and nurses in the tearoom, released the press-button of the big door sealing off the wing, and emerged into the waiting room, which was bathed in afternoon sunlight. When I stopped to take off my mask, a young man and an elderly woman immediately recognized and approached me. How is she? How is she?

She’s fine. I smiled. The operation’s over, they’ll bring her out soon.

But how is she? How is she? they persisted. She’s fine, I said. Don’t worry, she’s been born again. I myself was surprised by the phrase—the operation hadn’t been at all dangerous—and I turned away from them and continued on my way, still in my pale green bloodstained surgical gown, the mask hanging around my neck, the cap on my head, rustling the sterile plastic shoe covers. Catching the stares following me here and there, I went up in the elevator to the big lobby and turned into the administrative wing, where I had never been invited before, and finally gave my name to one of the secretaries. She inquired in a friendly way as to my preferences in coffee and led me through an imposing empty conference lounge into a large, curtained, and very uninstitutionally furnished room—a sofa and armchairs, well-tended plants in big pots. The head of the department, Professor Hishin, was lounging in one of the armchairs, going through some papers. He gave me a quick, friendly smile and said to the hospital director, who was standing next to him, Here he is, the ideal man for you.

Mr. Lazar shook my hand firmly and very warmly and introduced himself, while Hishin gave me encouraging looks, ignoring the wounding way he had slighted me previously and hinting to me discreetly to take off my cap and remove the plastic covers from my shoes. The operation’s over, he said in his faint Hungarian accent, his eyes twinkling with that tireless irony of his, and even you can rest now. As I removed the plastic covers and crammed the cap into my pocket, Hishin began telling Lazar the story of my life, with which he was quire familiar, to my surprise. Mr. Lazar continued examining me with burning eyes, as if his fate depended on me. Finally, Hishin finished by saying, Even though he’s dressed as a surgeon, don’t make any mistake, he’s first and foremost an excellent internist. That’s his real strength, and the only reason he insists on remaining in our department is because he believes, completely wrongly, that what lies at the pinnacle of medicine is a butcher’s knife. As he spoke he waved an imaginary knife in his hand and cut off his head. Then he gave a friendly laugh—as if to soften the final blow he had just delivered to my future in the surgical department—reached out his hand, placed it on my knee, and asked gently, in a tone of unprecedented intimacy, Have you ever been to India?

India? I asked in astonishment. India? Why India, of all places? But Hishin laughed, enjoying his little surprise. Yes, India. Lazar’s looking for a doctor to accompany him on a little trip to India.

To India? I exclaimed again, still unable to take it in. Yes, yes, to India. There’s a certain sick young woman who needs a doctor to accompany her home to Israel, and she happens to be in India.

Sick with what? I asked immediately. Nothing terrible, said Hishin reassuringly, but a little tricky nevertheless. Acute hepatitis, apparently B, which got a little out of hand and led to deterioration. And even though her condition seems to have stabilized, we all decided that it would be best to bring the young lady home as soon as possible. With all due respect to Indian medicine, we can still give her the best care here.

But who is she? Who is this woman? I asked with rising petulance. She’s my daughter. The administrative director finally broke his silence. She left on a tour of the Far East six months ago, and last month she caught this jaundice, and she had to be hospitalized in a town called Gaya, in East India, somewhere between Calcutta and New Delhi. At first she apparently didn’t want to worry us and she tried to keep it a secret, but a friend who was with her there came home two days ago and brought us a letter with a few details about her illness. Even though everyone’s assured us that there’s no danger, I want her home before any complications set in. We thought it would be a good idea to take a doctor along. It shouldn’t take more than twelve days, maximum two weeks, and that’s only because she’s stuck out there in Gaya, which is a little off the beaten track as far as trains and flights are concerned. To tell you the truth, I tried at first to entice your professor, who’s never been to India and could have done with a rest, but you know him as well as I do, he’s always too busy—and if he has got any time to spare, he prefers to go to Europe, not to Asia. But he promised to provide us with an ideal substitute.

Ideal for what, I asked myself gloomily, to drag a girl with hepatitis around India on dilapidated old trains? But I held my tongue and turned to look at the secretary, who came into the room with a story about someone who had been waiting a long time to see the director. Just don’t move, commanded Lazar, I’ll get rid of him in a minute, and he disappeared, leaving the Hishin and me facing each other. I knew that Hishin had already sensed my disappointment and resentment of this strange proposal, because he suddenly rose to his feet and stood towering over me and started talking to me gently. Look, I can see that you’re not enthusiastic about the idea of suddenly dashing off to India like this, but in your place I’d accept the offer. Not only for the sake of an interesting free trip to a place you might never have the chance to go to again, but for the opportunity to get to know the man himself. Lazar is someone who can help you if you want to go on working at this hospital, in internal medicine or any other department. The hospital is run from this room, and Lazar holds the reins. Apart from which, he also happens to be a nice, decent man. So listen to me and don’t turn him down. You should go. What have you got to lose? Even if all you get out of it is a pleasant adventure. And besides, there’s not much to do for hepatitis. I don’t believe the young lady has managed to do any real harm to her liver or kidneys, but even if she has, it’s not the end of the world—the body will heal itself in the end. All you have to do is watch out for sudden hemorrhages, prevent the glucose level from falling, and of course keep her from becoming febrile. I’ll collect a few good articles on the subject for you, and tomorrow we’ll consult Professor Levine from internal medicine. Hepatitis is his baby—he knows everything there is to know about it, including things nobody needs to know. And we’ll put together a nice little kit for you as well, so you’ll be ready for anything that might crop up. And another thing, you can say good-bye to them in Europe if you like and take a vacation. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw your file—in the whole year you’ve been with us you’ve only taken one day’s leave.

So he can’t wait to get rid of me, I thought miserably. He can’t even wait one more month till the end of my trial year. It was unbelievable. And then Lazar came back. Well? he asked with a broad executive smile. It’s agreed? But Hishin immediately and sensibly slowed him down. Just a minute, Lazar, what is this? A man has the right to think things over.

Of course, of course, replied Lazar, and glanced at his watch. But till when? There are so many technical arrangements to make, and I planned on leaving the day after tomorrow, to catch the Tuesday flight from Rome. But he must have sensed the threat of refusal in my continuing silence, since he stopped pressuring me and invited me to his home that evening to talk over the details and to give me time to make up my mind. It would have been churlish to refuse the invitation, and besides, I felt that these two assertive men wouldn’t allow me to start resisting them now. As I was making my way out of the room, address and directions in hand, Lazar called after me, Wait a minute. I forgot to ask, are you married? When I shook my head, his spirits immediately soared; he turned to Hishin with raised eyebrows and asked, In that case, what has he got to think about? and the two of them laughed good-humoredly.

The afternoon turned very rainy, and as I hurried from bed to bed in the intensive care unit, battling to stop a sudden hemorrhage in the young woman who had been operated on that morning, I made up my mind to refuse. If it was only for the sake of some weird trip to India that I had suddenly become ideal in the eyes of the head of the department, why should I give up the last month of rounds to which I was entitled? Every day I was learning new and fascinating things, every minute in the operating room thrilled me, even if I was only watching. What could I possibly gain from a sudden trip to India in the middle of winter? But as dusk descended and I arrived at my apartment wet and tired, prepared to call Lazar and give my decision, I had second thoughts. Why insult a man who might be useful to me one day? The least I could do was listen politely to the details before finally turning him down. I hurried to take a shower and change my clothes. At eight o’clock I rode north to an apartment block standing in a broad avenue of oak trees rustling in the wind and the rain. I covered my motorcycle with its tarpaulin, but when I saw that the rain was coming down harder I changed my mind and dragged it under the foundation pillars of the building. On the top floor, in a large, elegant apartment, I was impatiently greeted by Lazar, dressed in a loose red flannel shirt which made him look bulkier and older. But how could I have forgotten to tell you to bring your passport? he greeted me plaintively. Is it valid? When was the last time you went abroad? The last time I had been abroad had been two years earlier, on a short trip to Europe after graduating from medical school. I didn’t have the faintest idea whether my passport was still valid, and I tried with an embarrassed smile to fend off his enthusiasm and to indicate that although I had kept the appointment, I was still very undecided and had come only to hear him out again and think it over. What’s there to think about? cried Lazar in astonishment and a kind of childish anger. "But if you insist, come and see where I want to take you, and don’t panic; even if it looks like the end of the world on the map, we can make it there and back in two weeks, and even take in a few sights on the way, because I don’t want to turn the trip into one long via dolorosa either." And he pulled me into a large, attractive living room. A boy of about seventeen in a pale blue school uniform shirt, very like his father except that his hair was long and soft, immediately stood up and left the room.

On a low glass table lay a large open atlas, with photo albums and travel guides scattered around it. You’re not the only one who was taken by surprise, Lazar apologized. It fell on us like a bolt out of the blue when that girl knocked on the door yesterday with the letter. But first come and see where we’re going. Here’s New Delhi, here’s Bombay, here’s Calcutta, a kind of triangle, and here’s Gaya, a remote but holy town surrounded by temples. Tomorrow I’m going to Jerusalem to meet someone who spent several months there a few years ago, and after that I’ll have a clearer picture of what to expect. But just a minute, before we go any further let me introduce you to my wife.

A woman walked into the room, a plump brunette of about forty-five, of medium height, her hair gathered into a rather untidy knot on top of her head, her eyes flashing me a frank, vivid smile behind her glasses. I stood up and her husband introduced me to her. She nodded affably and immediately sat down opposite me with a regal movement, crossing long legs that didn’t match the heaviness of her arms and shoulders, and began watching her husband, who went on drawing lines on the map of India and calculating times. As I tried to follow the route he was mapping out I sensed her appraising me, and when I looked up at her, her eyes suddenly lit up again in the same warm, lively, generous smile, and she nodded her head slightly in a gesture of approval. Then, as if she sensed my gnawing doubts, she suddenly interrupted her husband and addressed me directly. Do you really think you’ll be able to leave your work at the hospital and go abroad for more than two weeks? Her husband, who was very put out by this question, answered crossly in my place. First of all, why do you already say more than two weeks? Where do you get that from? It’ll be less. I have to be back on the Sunday after next, don’t forget. And second, why shouldn’t he be able to leave the hospital? He can leave it for as long as he likes. Hishin gave him carte blanche—he can take it as leave due to him, if he likes, or as ordinary working days and we’ll find a way to make them up. But his wife immediately protested. Why at the expense of his leave? Why should he sacrifice his vacation for us? And again she looked directly at me, and said in a clear, firm voice, which did not suit her plump, soft looks, Please find out what payment you’re entitled to for your services on a trip like this. We will gladly compensate you for your efforts.

Suddenly I felt stifled in the elegant, spacious apartment. The two middle-aged people sitting opposite me looked powerful and influential. It’s not a question of money—I began to blush—and it really is true that I’ve got a lot of leave coming, but if I go away now, even for two weeks, it’s as if I’ve already finished my trial year in surgery, and I don’t want to miss a single day there.

In the surgical department? asked the woman.

Yes, I replied, I started in surgery, and that’s where I want to continue.

In surgery? said the woman, looking at her husband in surprise. We thought you were transferring to internal medicine or some other department, because Hishin told us that you weren’t going to continue in surgery. A tremor of real pain passed through me on hearing the final verdict on my future spoken so casually by this strange woman. It wasn’t even a question of a position being available, I now realized, but a clear professional judgment against me. And Hishin’s tall figure seemed to loom up behind the woman, who never stopped examining me with her smiling eyes. ‘‘Who said I wanted to be an internist? I burst into a bitter snort of laughter. Even if Hishin has reservations, I’m still not giving up surgery. There are other hospitals, if not in Israel then abroad—England, for instance—and you can get excellent experience there too."

England? repeated Mrs. Lazar, and her friendly smile disappeared. Yes. My parents came here from England, I’m a British citizen, and I won’t have any problems doing my residency there. Lazar, who was uninterested in the argument between me and his wife, suddenly beamed. So I was right. I saw in your file that your parents were born in England, and I wondered if you were a British citizen too. That will help you on the trip to India. I suppose your English is perfect.

Perfect? I wouldn’t say so, I said coldly, again trying to rebuff the single-minded enthusiasm of the man. I was born and educated here, and my English is the same as everybody else’s—in other words, far from perfect. I usually speak Hebrew to my parents too, but of course, since I often hear them speaking English to each other, I’m fluent—not perfect, but fluent. Lazar appeared more than satisfied with fluency and gave me a smile of undisguised gratification; it seemed that nothing could now detract from my virtues as a candidate for the trip to India, and he turned to his wife and raised his eyebrows. What’s this? You haven’t offered our guest anything to drink! We’ve been talking so much we’ve forgotten our duties as hosts. But the woman made no move to rise from the sofa. Instead she smiled at her husband and said, Why don’t you make us some strong Turkish coffee? We’re all exhausted.

Lazar jumped to his feet. You don’t object to Turkish coffee? His wife turned to me, as if to dare me to object; then she took out a slender cigarette and lit it. When her husband disappeared into the kitchen, her eyes flashed again with the same bright smile, and she leaned toward me and began talking intimately in her soft but very clear voice. I feel that you’re still having doubts. That’s natural. Because really, why should anybody be ready to drop everything from one day to the next and go to India? And if you feel that we’re trying to put pressure on you and it offends you, you’re absolutely right. But try to understand that we’re upset too. We have to bring our daughter home quickly; the disease—as you know better than I do—is exhausting and debilitating. According to the girl who brought the letter, her condition has already deteriorated, and everyone who’s been consulted strongly recommends taking a qualified doctor with us. Before you arrived, Hishin phoned and warned us not to let you wriggle out of it, because in his opinion you’re the ideal candidate.

Ideal again. I interrupted her with an angry laugh that welled up inside me. Hishin’s exaggerating. In what sense ideal? Ideal for what? Maybe, as your husband said, because of my British passport. The woman laughed in surprise. Of course not! Naturally, it won’t hurt to have a British passport in India, but that’s not what Hishin meant, he’s really very fond of you. He spoke of your quiet manner, your friendliness, your excellent clinical perception, and especially of your deep concern for your patients. She spoke warmly, passionately, her words clear and eloquent, but I was aware of a certain hypocrisy and exaggeration too. It was impossible to tell if Hishin had actually heaped all that praise on my head or if she was inventing compliments to seduce me. I lowered my eyes, but I didn’t know how to stop her. In the end I let my hands fall wearily to my sides and asked, How old is she, this girl of yours?

Girl? The mother laughed. She’s not a girl. She’s twenty-five years old. She has spent two years studying at the university. Here, this is a picture she sent two months ago, before she got sick. She picked up an envelope of coarse green paper, from which she extracted two snapshots of a young woman with a pretty, delicate face. In one of them the woman was standing alone against the background of a vast river in which naked figures were crouching, and in the second she was near the entrance of a building which looked like an Indian temple, a boy and a girl on either side of her, their arms wrapped around her.

When I got home I decided, in spite of the late hour, to phone my parents in Jerusalem and ask their opinion. To my surprise, both my mother, who was still awake, and my father, who was awakened by the ringing phone, thought that I should on no account turn down such a proposal from the head of the hospital. He’s only the administrative director, I kept explaining, but my father was adamant. All the more so, he insisted, beginning to speak English in his sleepiness. Those are the people with the real power, because they’re permanent fixtures, and the others come and go around them. Even your Professor Hishin might disappear one fine day for one reason or another, and it won’t do you any harm to have the support of the administrative head of the hospital in the future.

That’s not the way things work, Dad, I complained wearily. It’s not so simple. But my parents were resolute in their enthusiasm. Just don’t be in such a hurry to refuse—the hospital’s not running away, and you’ve worked so hard this year that you deserve a vacation.

In India? I said sarcastically. What kind of a vacation can I have there? But now my mother bewail praising the country. She had an uncle who had served there between the two world wars, and she remembered that he was in love with India and never stopped describing its charms. That was a completely different India, I said, trying to cool her ardor, but she persevered: Nothing in the world ever becomes completely different, and it was once full of magic and beauty—something must have remained, and for such a short trip it will be quite enough. I was surprised by my parents’ reaction. I had assumed that their constant anxiety would make them try to talk me out of the idea, and instead they were joining in the pressure to make me go. I can’t see what kind of vacation I’ll have on a trip like this, I grumbled into the phone, and I don’t need a vacation now, either. My work at the hospital’s so fascinating I don’t want to miss a single day. In any case, I’ll think it over tonight. I promised to give them a final answer tomorrow morning. I tried to put an end to the conversation. But my parents wouldn’t let me go. Even if the idea of the trip doesn’t attract you at the moment, argued my father, people here are asking for your help—it’s an opportunity to do a good deed.

A good deed? I laughed. There’s no question of a good deed here—they want to pay me a fee for the trip. It’s got nothing to do with good deeds, and anyway, why me? They’ve got the whole hospital at their disposal; they could easily find some other doctor to go with them and bring their daughter back for them.

But of this I was not certain. When I had promised the Lazars a final answer early in the morning, they had repeated that if I refused, they wouldn’t have time to find and persuade another suitable doctor from the hospital.

This is a chance for you to experience another world and refresh yourself, said my mother. Recently she and my father had been worried about how absorbed I was in my work, fearing that I was in danger of becoming a slave to it.

Another world? Perhaps, I replied heavily, pulling the telephone onto my lap and falling exhausted onto my bed, but will I be able to refresh myself there? My parents were silent, as if I had finally succeeded in conveying to them across the distance that separated us the full weight of my weariness. When would you have to leave? my mother asked gently. Right away. I closed my eyes and covered myself with the blanket. They want to fly to Rome the day after tomorrow.

The day after tomorrow? repeated my astonished mother, who had not realized the urgency of the trip. What did you think? It’s serious. There’s a very sick girl out there. Who knows what really happened to her? That’s what I’ve been trying to explain to you, it’s not exactly a pleasure trip. And suddenly I felt the pressure lifting on the other end of the line. In that case, we really should think twice. Perhaps you’re right. We’ll all sleep on it, and talk again in the morning. Now I was sorry that I had called them. I knew that their short night’s sleep would be even shorter tonight, because of their inexhaustible appetite for discussing me and my plans. In the first place I was their only child. Now, more than ever, I’d begun to worry them as an icicle of lonely bachelorhood had begun to grow inside me. I was only twenty-nine years old, but I noted with pity their attempts to steer me toward a life outside the hospital walls, prompted in part by their guilt for having put so much pressure on me to devote myself to my studies. And sure enough, early the next morning when I called, my father said, We stayed up all night thinking about the trip to India, and we’ve changed our minds. It will only exhaust you, and you don’t need to go. But to their astonishment I told them that only half an hour before I had agreed to go, and asked them to find my British passport and take down a good suitcase for me.

Instead of pleasure and satisfaction, I now heard only tension and anxiety in their voices, as if all that talk the night before had referred not to an actual journey but to a theoretical one. Was it because of them that I had changed my mind? my mother wanted to know. I reassured them that I had thought it over again myself and decided that I should go. Then I gave them the unpleasant news that Hishin preferred the other resident to me. Who knew, maybe his hands really were better than mine. There was silence on the other end of the line. Hishin prefers the other resident to you? my father said incredulously. How can that be possible, Benjy? And my heart contracted painfully at their certain disappointment. You’d be surprised at how possible it can be, I said with deliberate lightheartedness. Never mind, it’s not so terrible, and actually this might be a good time to go somewhere far away, where I can think about what to do next. The truth was that I actually felt relieved, as if something had been liberated inside me. From the minute I had agreed to join the Lazars, at six-thirty in the morning, it was as if the excitement of the journey had swept the anger and the envy out of my heart. Lazar’s wife had answered the phone, and for a moment I failed to recognize her voice, which was younger and fresher than she had seemed the night before, and although she did not seem surprised by my decision—as if she had known that I would come around—she thanked me repeatedly, and asked me if I was quite sure. But then her husband lost patience and snatched the phone from her and began shooting out instructions with terrific efficiency. He was going to Jerusalem to meet some India expert at the Foreign Office and to get letters of recommendation and introduction, leaving his wife and me to conclude the necessary arrangements. And what about the hospital? I asked. They’re still expecting me in the operating room this morning—there are operations scheduled. But Lazar was unequivocal. As far as the hospital was concerned, I could leave it to him; it was his turf, and Hishin had given his express consent. No, he rebuked me firmly, from this minute on, please stop thinking about the hospital and devote yourself exclusively to making arrangements for the trip. Time is short. This afternoon we’ll find time to sit down with the doctors and the head pharmacist and discuss the medical aspects. All that’s no problem. The main thing—I almost forgot to ask—is your Israeli passport valid?

No, my Israeli passport wasn’t valid. I had checked it the night before. Lazar gave me instructions on how to get to his wife’s office in the center of town. His wife, a lawyer by profession and a partner in a big law firm, would take care of it. I barely recognized her when she came out of her office to meet me, dressed in black, wearing high heels, her face made up. Again she thanked me for my decision, with a friendliness that struck me as artificial and exaggerated. I handed her my passport, and she immediately passed it to one of the girls sitting in the frenetic front office. Then, she took out her checkbook, signed a number of blank checks, which she gave me, and said, Here, this is Hannah, who’s going to devote herself to you this morning and get you ready for the trip. In the travel agency, surrounded by posters of glorious tourist sites, I sensed a sudden joyful wanderlust burgeoning inside me. Two of the travel agents put themselves at our service to speed things up. First of all, they informed Hannah and me that travelers to India had to present certificates of vaccination against cholera and malaria to obtain a visa, and told us not to forget to tell Lazar and his wife. His wife? I asked in surprise. Why his wife? But the travel agents’ records clearly showed that the previous afternoon Mrs. Lazar had asked them to book her on a flight too, with an open ticket. She probably wasn’t sure if I’d agree to go, I tried to explain, and so she asked you to get a ticket for her just to be on the safe side.

You may be right, they replied politely, but don’t forget to tell her about the vaccinations anyhow. It was then I sensed the first shadow falling on the happiness that had just begun to awaken in me. I had been imagining a vigorous, perhaps even rather adventurous expedition undertaken by two men, who in spite of an age difference of twenty years might still be able to enjoy the kind of fine friendship that grows up in a small army reserve unit. But if Lazar’s wife was going to tag along, I reflected in concern, mightn’t the whole thing turn into a tedious, leaden trip with a couple of middle-aged parents?

But could I still back out? I wondered, sitting late that morning opposite a bank clerk and waiting for the foreign currency, my now valid passport in the slim, strong hands of Hannah, who had spent the morning leading me efficiently from office to office and organizing everything for me as if I suffered from some kind of handicap. Why on earth was Lazar’s wife going? Was it really out of concern for her daughter’s health, or did the situation require the strengthening of a parental delegation for some reason? I still hoped that Mrs. Lazar would decide not to go at the last minute. I didn’t like her constant concern and warm smiles. She could only be a drag on the speed and ease of our travels, I thought as I parted with her office clerk, taking back my passport and rejecting, with some mortification, her offer to accompany me to the Health Service to receive the necessary vaccinations, and perhaps to pay for them too.

I mounted my Honda and rode to the place, where I found the door of the vaccination room sealed shut because of a nurses’ strike. As I wandered around the corridor looking for a solution, I was recognized by an old friend from medical school, who had dropped out in his fourth year because of an involvement with a girl he laten married and who was now working here as the medical secretary of the district physician. He Hounded gleefully toward me, and when he heard about the trip to India, he was very much in favor of it. I told him that I would be paid a fee on top of my travel expenses, and he became so excited that he slapped me on the back in congratulations and said with undisguised envy, You’re a clever bastard, a quiet, clever bastard. And you’re a lucky bastard too—you always have been. What wouldn’t I give to change places with you? Immediately, he rushed off to find the key, ushered me into the nurses’ room, opened a big glass cupboard, pointed at the rows of rainbow-colored vaccine bottles, and said jokingly, Our bar is at your service, sir. You can be vaccinated here against any disease you like, the weirdest and most wonderful diseases you ever heard of. And while I studied the exotic labels on the little bottles, he took a sterile syringe out of a drawer and offered to inject me himself; he was two-thirds a doctor, after all. You’re not afraid of me? he cried with incomprehensible hilarity, waving the syringe in his hand. But I suddenly drew back; the empty room filled me with an inexplicable anxiety, as if I missed the reassuring presence of reliable nurses, whose quiet and careful movements always calmed me. No, I said, you’ll only hurt me. Give me the syringes and I’ll find someone to do it for me at the hospital. Just stamp the certificate. And he gave in unwillingly. He found a yellow vaccination certificate, stamped it, and began dragging out a long, boring conversation, trying to recall the names of erstwhile fellow-students, wallowing in nostalgia for his wasted student days, inviting me to go and have a cup of coffee. When we got to the dreary little cafeteria and sat among the indolent government clerks, next to a big window which raindrops were beginning to streak, I thought about the exhausting day ahead of me and how I was going to find time to say good-bye to my parents. I listened absent-mindedly, with uncharacteristic passivity, to my companion justifying his academic failures with all kinds of tortuous arguments and complaining about the unfairness of his teachers. Finally I pulled myself together, cut the conversation short, and stood up, saying, Listen, I really have to run. Let’s go back to your ‘bar’ for a minute. We returned to the vaccination room, where I opened the cupboard myself and collected additional bottles of vaccine against cholera and malaria and also against hepatitis. I added a few syringes in sterile wrappings and asked my companions to stamp two more vaccination certificates without filling in the names. He agreed generously to all my requests, but in the end he couldn’t resist saying somewhat sourly, I see the travel bug has really bitten you hard.

Indeed, I was already burning with travel fever, a dull, somewhat sullen fever, and when I reached the hospital on my motorcycle, wet from the rain, I felt alienated from the place that I had served so lovingly and faithfully for the past year. In spite of the nurses’ strike, which had been declared that morning, everything seemed to be functioning normally, and I hurried to the ward only to find no doctors present—just the usual shift of nurses, who seemed surprised to see me. You? They giggled archly. Hishin’s been telling everybody that you’re already winging your way to India. I put on my white coat, with the name Benjamin Rubin embroidered in red on the pocket, and went to look for Hishin, but he, it appeared, had been urgently summoned to the operating room. The young woman he had operated on the day before had developed complications. My first impulse was to hurry there after him, but I knew that the other resident, my rival-friend, would be there too and I might have to face rejection or be painfully ignored again before saying goodbye. Accordingly, I decided to let it go and to pay a little private visit to the patients in the ward instead. However, the senior nurse, a noble-spirited woman of about sixty, who was sitting in her corner dressed in ordinary clothes in order to express her solidarity with the strike without actually striking herself, stood up and stopped me: What do you need to make rounds for, Dr. Rubin? You’ve got a long, difficult journey—you should go home and get ready. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of everything for you here. What she said made sense, and I was so touched by her sympathetic tone that I couldn’t resist putting my arm around her and giving her a little hug before I slipped off my coat. Without another word, I took two little bottles of vaccine out of my pocket and asked her to give me the shots, which she did with such a light touch that I didn’t even feel the prick. I threw my coat in the laundry bin and set off for administration to look for Lazar. In the office the girls recognized me immediately, even without my coat, and greeted me in a friendly, respectful manner, saying, Here’s Dr. Rubin, the volunteer doctor. They called the head secretary, Miss Kolby, who said that Lazar had phoned a number of times from Jerusalem to ask about me. He’s still in the Foreign Office, looking for India experts? I exclaimed in surprise. But it turned out that he was in the Treasury, not about the trip to India, but about the nurses’ strike. However, he had still found time to instruct the head pharmacist of the hospital to put together a kit with the appropriate medical equipment, and also to remind Hishin to prepare a medical brief for me. In the meantime his wife’s office had left the message that my ticket was ready. So there was nothing to worry about. Is his wife really coming with us? I asked the secretary in a tone of annoyance, and I saw her hesitate, as if taking refuge in uncertainty, perhaps for fear of antagonizing me and giving rise to some new resistance. For a moment it crossed my mind that because of the nurses’ strike Lazar might have to stay behind, and his wife was getting ready to go in his place, and instead of having a male traveling companion I would have to negotiate the complicated routes of India with two women, one of them middle-aged and the other very sick.

I ordered the secretary to get my mother on the phone, so that I could prepare her for the possibility that I might not be able to get there before evening. My mother, who thought that I was already on my way to Jerusalem, was not upset but instead tried to calm me down. Never mind, Benjy, don’t worry; you’ll sleep at home tonight, and we’ll drive you to the airport tomorrow. I’ve already told your father to take a day off.

Now I was impatient. I had already agreed to travel to a completely foreign and remote world the next day—so why was I still hanging around the hospital, which suddenly seemed gloomy and stifling? I hurried to the surgical ward to look for Hishin and get the article about hepatitis from him, but since I wasn’t wearing my coat the new guard outside the entrance failed to recognize me and refused to let me in. On a bench in the corridor I again saw the two relatives of the young woman who had been operated on the day before. They recognized me but for some reason ignored me, as if they too had already realized how weak my position was here and how false my promise about the patient’s rebirth had been. I wanted to go up to them and ask them how she was, but I stopped myself. In the space of one day I had become superfluous here. I decided not to wait and made my way to the office of the head pharmacist, Dr. Hessing, a bald old German Jew, who immediately dropped everything and led me into one of the cubicles in the depths of the storage area, where he showed me a large knapsack. He immediately opened it to display the wealth and variety of the medical equipment it contained and the snugness and efficiency with which it had all been packed—drugs, ampules and syringes, thermometer and sphygmomanometer, stethoscope and test tubes, scissors and little scalpels, and of course infusion sets; like an entire miniature hospital. Maybe the pharmacist had been so generous because his budget depended more than that of any other department of the hospital on the personal whims of the administrative director. But at the sight of the overflowing knapsack, my spirits fell. Why do I have to drag all this with me? I protested. I’m not going on a climbing expedition to the Himalayas. I demanded that he take out some of the equipment, but he stubbornly refused to remove a single item from the kit, which he had evidently prepared with loving care. Take it, he coaxed me. Don’t be foolish, who knows what you might need there. You’re going to one of the filthiest places in the world, and if you decide you don’t need something once you’re there, you can always give it away.

And so, carrying the knapsack, I returned to the surgical ward to look once more for Hishin. To my surprise, the operation was still going on. Something’s gone wrong there, I thought to myself, trying not to meet the eyes of the woman’s relatives, who were still sitting on their bench in the growing darkness, rigid with anxiety. Now nobody stopped me at the entrance to the ward, and with the knapsack on my back I stood outside the big door of the operating room, in exactly the same spot where Lazar had stood waving his hand, and through the same porthole I saw the same team as the day before; only I was missing. The other resident’s back was bent in a tense and supple arch next to Professor Hishin, who I guessed by his movements was struggling to solve a serious problem deep in the woman’s guts. All I could make out from the porthole was her delicate white feet, shining out from under the sheet at the end of the table. Nobody noticed me, apart from Dr. Nakash, who hurriedly whispered something to Hishin. Hishin immediately raised his eyes and waved, and a few minutes later he came out to me, the scalpel in his hand, his gown covered with bloodstains, looking tired and upset. Before I could open my mouth, he silenced me and said in his ironic Hungarian accent, Yes, yes, forgive me, I know I’m keeping you waiting, but you can see for yourself, I’m not taking part in an orgy here. And I knew immediately that for the past hour he had been battling against death itself, because whenever he felt death near he would refer in one way or another to sex. I felt a pang because I was not participating in the dramatic battle taking place on the operating table, not even as an onlooker. What’s going on in there? I asked accusingly. Why did you have to operate on her again? But Hishin waved his bloody hand in my face, refusing to talk about the operation, and with unaccountable emotion he put his arm around me and hugged me and said, Never mind, don’t worry about it. Just some stubborn woman who keeps on hemorrhaging from unexpected places. But you stop worrying, you have to keep your head clear for the journey. You have no idea how grateful Lazar is to me on your account. They’ve fallen in love with you already, him and his wife. So what do you need now? Ah, you want to know what to do about our hepatitis? As a matter of fact, nothing. Yes, yes, sorry, I forgot to bring the article. But it doesn’t matter. I see you’ve already been given equipment and drugs. And the truth is, there isn’t much to be done in these cases. Just reassure them all psychologically. Everything’s psychological nowadays, isn’t that what everyone says? Soon we’ll be able to do without surgery too. So don’t worry, you won’t have much to do. I told you, hepatitis is a self-limited disease.

When I left the hospital, I looked up at the sky to see what to expect on the way to Jerusalem and whether I should take my Honda. How had I got mixed up in this crazy journey? Suddenly I wanted to hurry home to my parents, so that they could cosset me with warmth and concern and help me to get ready for the trip, which I now felt approaching at a gallop. At my small apartment I quickly washed the dishes in the sink, made the bed, and packed clothes, underwear, socks, and toiletries in a sturdy old suitcase. I disconnected the electricity, shut the water, and phoned my landlady to tell her I was going abroad. Then I tied the suitcase and the knapsack onto the pillion of the Honda and drove to the Lazars’ apartment to arrange for our meeting at the airport and to get my ticket, as well as the dollars that had been withdrawn from the bank in my name but had been pocketed by Mrs. Lazar’s little clerk. In the spacious apartment, now glowing with the rosy light of sunset, the preparations for the journey were evident: a suitcase lay next to the door, and by its side was an open bag. Here you are at last, cried Lazar from the living room. We’ve been asking ourselves where you disappeared to!

I disappeared? I asked, insulted. In what sense did I disappear?

Never mind, never mind, said his wife, emerging immediately from the living room in a velvet jump suit. I could already see that she had an overpowering desire to be present everywhere, and she looked different to me, maybe younger but also uglier, short and thick, her hair a little rumpled, her face pale, and the radiant smile in her eyes faded behind the lenses of her glasses. Don’t pay any attention, she said. Lazar’s always worrying, he thrives on worry, you’ll have to get used to it, but come in Dr . . . She paused then, uncertain of how to address me. Call me Benjamin, or Benjy, if you like."

May we really call you that? Benjy? Good. Then come in and sit down. We’ve got Michaela here, Einat’s friend who brought us the letter. Come and hear what she has to say about Gaya and the hospital there. But I declined the invitation. Sorry, I said. It’s late and I’m in a hurry to get to Jerusalem to say good-bye to my parents and organize my packing.

And will you sleep there tonight? asked Lazar in a disappointed tone. What a pity. We thought of asking you to sleep here, so that we could all go straight to the airport early tomorrow morning.

Don’t worry, I said, my parents will get me there in time. But Lazar was evidently unable to stop worrying, and he immediately ran to fetch a pencil and paper to write down my address and phone number in Jerusalem, while his wife—I was still asking myself whether she was coming on the trip or not—urged me again to come into the living room. My mother’s here with us, and she’s eager to meet you.

Your mother? I said in confusion. All right, just for a minute, and I entered the living room, where I stood amazed at the view of the roofs of Tel Aviv spreading out in every direction before me. When I was here the night before, the curtains had been drawn and I hadn’t guessed what a commanding position the penthouse occupied. On the sofa sat a frail old woman in a dark wool suit, and next to her a boy dressed for some reason in a white cotton dress. But when I went closer I saw that it was a sunburned young woman whose shaven head threw her big light eyes powerfully into relief. Mother, said Lazar’s wife in a slightly raised voice, this is Dr. Rubin, the doctor who’s volunteered to accompany us to India. You wanted to meet him. The old lady immediately held out her hand to me and nodded, and a very faint echo of her daughter’s automatic radiant smile flickered for a moment in her eyes. Now I could no longer restrain myself. The possibility of Mrs. Lazar joining us began preying on my mind more disturbingly than ever, and while I inclined my head toward the young woman with the shaven head, who discreetly made room for me at her side, I turned to Lazar’s wife with uncontrollable annoyance and said, Excuse me, I don’t understand. Are you coming with us? But Lazar cut in before she could reply. It hasn’t been settled yet; we’ll decide tonight. But why do you ask?

I just wanted to know, I mumbled, looking at his wife, who was no longer smiling at all, although her head turned with an almost imperceptible, slightly threatening movement in her husband’s direction. And then, against my will, I sat down in the place vacated for me by the shaven-headed woman, who gazed at me curiously, as if to take my measure with one look. With the sofa cushions around me still fragrant with warmth, I reached out to take the cup of tea that the grandmother had poured, and through the big window I watched the great, silent fan of an approaching rainstorm spreading over the horizon of the sea. It was then I felt a certain annoyance and anger. I had to get going; my mother and father were waiting for me. What was I doing sitting there like a member of the family? As if I wouldn’t be seeing more than enough of them for the next couple of weeks, whether I liked it or not. I stood up quickly, without tasting the tea, without even saying a word to the slight young woman, whose ostentatious Indianness made me anxious, but also newly eager for the journey. Did you have a chance to get the two vaccinations for the visa? I remembered to ask my host on the way to the door. What vaccinations? asked the astonished Lazar, who was sure that he had everything connected with the journey under control. It turned out that his wife had forgotten to tell him. How could you have forgotten? he cried in despair. Where are we going to find someone to vaccinate us in Rome? But when he heard that I had brought the vaccines and sterile syringes with me, as well as two stamped vaccination certificates, and that I had them all in my pocket, he recovered immediately. You’re the best, he said, and gave me a hug. You’re the best; now I understand why Hishin was so determined to have you. He demanded to be vaccinated on the spot and led me to their bedroom, which was also elegant and spacious. There he removed his shirt, exposing his hairy arms and heavy back, closed his eyes, and made a face in anticipation of the prick of the needle. Outside the big window next to the double bed, on which lay a large suitcase surrounded by scattered items of clothing, the sheet of rain sailed slowly eastward in the glow of the setting sun. Don’t make such a face, laughed his wife, coming into the room with cotton wool and alcohol while I filled the syringes, it’s not an operation. And she stood next to me, watching carefully. When I finished vaccinating her husband, he put on his shirt and prepared to accompany me to the door. What about me? she said in offended surprise. Shouldn’t we wait and see what we decide tonight? said her husband tenderly. Why be in such a hurry to get shots you may not need? She flushed deeply, her face darkened, and she turned to me sharply and demanded to be vaccinated too. First she tried to roll up her sleeve, but her arm was too thick and she couldn’t get the sleeve past the elbow. She went up to the door and half closed it, as if to hide herself,