December 12, 2006
“Why didn’t he close his eyes?”
Dr. Weinberg removed fragments of glass from the eyeball of the attempted suicide victim using a pair of tweezers, placing each piece in a small aluminum basin. The blood that clung to the pieces of glass created circular patterns as it came in contact with the sterile substance in the metal bowl. This wasn’t the first time that Dr. Weinberg had encountered a road accident in which the victim’s glasses had shattered into his eyes, but usually the shards penetrated the eyelids first, which closed instinctively to protect the eyeball. This victim’s eyes had remained wide open.
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” The nurse standing beside him handed him an even smaller pair of tweezers. Several doctors were working simultaneously in the operating room on this nameless suicide attempt. He wasn’t carrying any documents, and his face had been smashed beyond recognition. The plastic surgeon next to them was busy trying to piece together bits of his shattered cheekbones.
“How did he manage to do this to himself again?”
“Jumped in front of a bus on Ibn Gvirol Street. Lucky for him an ambulance was in the area. Otherwise he’d be downstairs on the slab by now.”
“I’m not sure if you can call it luck. He may have been better off dead,” said the orthopedic surgeon on the other side of the table. He was cleaning denim thread from two open fractures in the victim’s thighs.
“We still have a good few more hours of work on him. We need to bring in a psychologist for when he wakes up. Make a note of that. I don’t want him jumping again the moment he wakes up.”
“The last thing he’s going to be able to do when he wakes up is jump.”
“If he wakes up.”
Dr. Weinberg made a note in the records and then went back to removing fragments of glass. “We’ll keep him under for at least two weeks; there’s no point in waking him yet.” He started humming the words to the song “Ten Little Fingers” from his young son’s favorite CD.
“Are you familiar with the definition of anxiety?” he asked the nurse beside him.
December 5, 2016
An incessant drizzle had been falling on London since early in the morning. The city’s residents went about their business. It was a Monday and Oxford Street was packed with umbrella-carrying pedestrians. One of them held a white plastic box with a black handle, crossed the busy road coming from the Marble Arch tube station and turned toward the entrance to Hyde Park. She wore a yellow hoodie and black sneakers, walked at a brisk pace, and glanced occasionally to the side. The park was quiet. Squirrels scampered among the trees, and a small group of giggling girls strolled leisurely along an adjacent walkway. She stopped beside one of the trees and placed the box on the ground and looked around. The park was quiet and peaceful. The weather had left most of the tourists on the streets of London to themselves, with the option of fleeing from one store to the next rather than getting soaked in the city’s parks. She lifted the lid off the box and tipped the container over. Dozens of white mice poured out onto the ground.
They froze momentarily in a white pile on the green grass, before scurrying off in all directions, some even hopping with delight. They were free.
Carmit closed the box and walked over to a green garbage can. She placed the box on the ground and left it there.
She then continued walking, breathing in the scent of freshly cut grass. Two people on horseback trotted past and she waved to them. If not for the dreams that plagued her nights, she was almost happy with her husband, Guy, and their children. She’d thought the dreams would disappear once she stopped doing transformations, but they hadn’t.
She’d even tried exhausting herself by going for a run every night before bed.
They continued.
Carmit made her way back to the Underground station. She decided to take the Central line to Notting Hill Gate and then switch to the Circle line to Gloucester Road. The Piccadilly line would take her from there to Hammersmith. She’d arranged to meet Elliot at the Starbucks there. Besides her clients, he’s the only other person who’s aware of her work outside the bookstore. Actually, the bookstore is her only job now. She’d thought that dismantling the laboratory in the back of her store and releasing the mice in Hyde Park, would make her free, just like the mice; but she only felt emptiness. She’d speak to Elliot about her recurring dream.
Maybe he could help.
A hawk hovered above the trees in the park, following the movement of the mice in the grass below.
Copyright © 2018 by Nir Hezroni
Translation copyright © 2018 by Steven Cohen
