Orly Castel-Bloom: Textile

The driver, who Gruber immediately recognized as the famous ex-football player, opened the trunk, and only when he, the fare, came right up to him, deigned to relieve him of his suitcase and heavy briefcase.

Khhhh . . Irad Gruber snorted in contempt, for in the many countries he had visited porters and drivers came running to take his luggage, including those who did not know who he was.

If Irad Gruber had been in a mood suited to his character, there is no doubt that he would have given the insolent driver a piece of his mind. However in recent times, as a result of other troubles, the gifted scientist had been suffering from dejection and gloom, and he therefore let the matter of the driver’s insolence drop and resumed his contemplation of the world with the glum expression, full of sorrow and anguish, of someone who had recently suffered a shock.

He sat down on the backseat, his long woolen coat folded on his knees, and set out on his ten-day trip to the most powerful country in the world. He cast a glance, empty of content, in the direction of Mikado, the commercial center of the neighborhood, and quickly averted his eyes from the white florescent light that jarred his pupils.

All that remained for him was to hope that the decision makers in the Defense Ministry and the Weapons and Infrastructure Development Administration (WIDA) had not decided to save money at the expense of his comfort, but had taken the trouble to buy him a business-class ticket, as a person of his stature deserved.

In less than a minute the ex-football star and the gifted inventor and recipient of the Israel Prize were on the Ayalon Highway, and the car that did not pollute the planet joined the traffic on the road leading to Ben-Gurion Airport.

A FEW HOURS AFTER his departure, Amanda Gruber, the wife of Irad Gruber, left the triplex on the corner of Yocheved Bat-Miriam and Alexander Penn Street, Tel Baruch North, and drove in her maroon Buick to the Medical Frontline offices in the new branch of Sea and Sun, in order to undergo a far-from-simple surgical procedure at the hands of the number two surgeon in the world in the field of intrusive cosmetic corrections, an ex-Israeli by the name of Carmi Yagoda.

From Dresden, Germany, Dr. Yagoda had been urgently summoned to perform shoulder blade implants, an operation which had become very popular with women of means in whom the years had eroded the projection of the shoulder blades, making their backs flat and boring, both in motion and at rest.

Carmi Yagoda was famous worldwide due to his success in operating on the faces of children in the third world who had been born deformed, and his home in Dresden displayed impressive before-and-after photographs. In recent years he had tired of improving deformed faces, which could never be brought to perfection, and he had gone in for major plastic surgeries such as the present case. He had been particularly successful in liposuction of the waist, and in shoulder blade implants.

Yagoda was known for his precise and rapid attachment of prosthetic shoulder blades to the collarbone and the tendons and muscles that moved the shoulder blades (scapula), such as the trapezius muscle, and the muscles straightening the back and bringing the shoulder blades closer.

The ex-Israeli doctor’s fine-motor skills also saved his patients from postoperative limitations on their movement. He promised Mandy that she would be able to resume swimming within a month.

MANDY’S HUSBAND knew nothing about his wife’s planned hospitalization in Medical Frontline, and she saw no point in telling him, since he was absorbed in himself and his own affairs, and recently, because of problems and hitches in his present project, he couldn’t see an inch in front of himself. In fact, his wife had counted on her husband’s problems at work to get him out of the way. With tense apprehension she followed the news about the threatened general strike, hoping that it would break out after he left the country, and spread to El Al and the airport workers, so that he would be stuck in America for at least two or three weeks, and by the time he returned she would be completely recovered and perhaps she wouldn’t even have to tell him about the operation.

A YEAR HAD PASSED since the Grubers’ son Dael had joined the army and become a sniper in the Givati Brigade. It was Aya Ben-Yaish, Dael’s girlfriend, who had informed Mandy where her son was serving. Ever since then Mandy had preferred to be unconscious, or semiconscious, in order not to know what was happening and not to worry uselessly about her combat soldier son.

Since she was a healthy woman, she went in and out of cosmetic surgeries. She had already undergone seven such operations, most of them on her face. Excluding the nose job she had had as a girl. To her satisfaction, her face grew to resemble that of a horse less and less from operation to operation.

The operation for which Dr. Yagoda had been flown to Israel was her eighth.

OF ALL THE WORKERS at the family pajama factory Nighty-Night, which sold most of its stock to the ultra-Orthodox population and was situated in the industrial zone in East Netanya, only Carmela Levy, Mandy’s secretary and the forewoman of the sewing shop, knew the other, deeper reason for the wave of operations undergone by the boss. Only poor Carmela, whose son Yehuda Levy had been killed in Lebanon, knew that it was all for the sake of the general anesthetic during the surgery and the distracting recovery in its wake.

During the last inventory two months earlier, Mandy had told her explicitly, “If they put my son on the front lines as a sniper without asking my opinion, then I can’t take the suspense. I want to sleep and sleep and wake up younger and younger the day after he gets out of the army. At his welcome home party I’ll look like a woman of thirty-five,” joked Amanda, who was already breast lifted, stomach flattened, cellulite emptied in the thighs, eyebrow raised, cheekbone implanted, and raised to half-mast in the face and neck. Only her long hair remained white. Beautiful, abundant, wavy, and white, since she was allergic to every kind of hair dye. The combination of her made-over face, with the cute little nose that dated from the Passover vacation when she was seventeen, and her wavy white hair turned the woman into a walking work of art. All the more so since she took care to dress in ensembles, which Carmela considered the height of good taste, consisting of the colors white, cream, black, and greenish gray.

Carmela loved Mandy with all her heart and soul, and Mandy too did not keep her at a distance but made her into her confidante in everything concerning the pajama factory. Carmela would never forget Mandy’s solicitude during the mourning period for her late Yehuda, coming every day for the shivah, crying with her, and making several large purchases at the supermarket for the many condolence callers, at her own expense. Carmela would always remember how she rose to the occasion during those terrible days.

Dael was only a child then, but Mandy had already begun to plan how she herself would endure the difficult days ahead.

Because of Carmela’s loyalty, and also because of her profound knowledge of the mysteries of textiles, so necessary for a pajama factory, Mandy had said to her on a number of occasions, “You’re the flower of Nighty-Night. You’re my only worker with a twinkle in her eye.”

Carmela’s association with Nighty-Night dated from the days when Amanda’s mother, Audrey Greenholtz, managed the factory. At first she would come to the plant once every few weeks, on behalf of Singer sewing machines, to oil the machines and clean them with special cloths.

After Audrey’s death, Mandy promoted her. She sent her to a Labor Ministry sewing course, went on paying her salary for all three months of the course, and gave her a profession. Carmela was sure that but for Mandy, she would have come to a very bad end, as a body cast up by the sea onto the Netanya beach.