Orly Castel-Bloom - Textile

She said that she hadn’t taken it in yet. It all seemed like a dream. Everything was falling apart. And how was she going to take her mother’s place at the factory, because that was what Mandy wanted? And altogether, how was she going to go on living without her? And without Shlomi too, because they’d split up. And how were they going to get through this hell by themselves, with him far away?

In the face of so many questions, her father asked her first of all to calm down. After that he gathered his strength and told her that however hard it was — and he knew that it was terrible for her, really devastating, and he too felt very bad about it — she should please, please introduce a little logic into the situation.

“I’m trying, I’m trying,” said Lirit.

In fact, it was clear to her that this would be the first or second thing that he would say, that she should introduce logic into the situation. Anyone whose life went off the rails, and who saw it fit to confide in her father, was told to please introduce logic into the situation.

“Good,” said her father, and added, “Be strong, Liritush. Be strong.”

And then,

“Listen, Liritush, I’m a little stunned and confused, darling, I’ll call again later.”

ACROSS THE OCEAN Bahat looked at Irad with great compassion, but also with concern. She didn’t understand much from what she could gather from the telephone conversation. Only that someone, perhaps a close friend of his daughter’s, had died and had donated her body to science, and that his daughter was in a state of total collapse. Would he shorten his stay here in order to be with her? He refused to answer her repeated question, what happened, and returned immediately to the computer. But his silence was suspicious. Was she witnessing a new chaos breaking into her life? Were all her plans about to blow up in her face? It had taken her two days before she succeeded in tactfully getting rid of Propheta, that Jew who was sick with some mental disease that didn’t interest her. He had appointed himself her bodyguard and prevented them from getting on with their work. Only yesterday and today were they finally making progress.

She looked at Gruber, who went on browsing in the depths of the computer as if nothing had happened, but who looked as if he was going to faint.

“I’ve had a terrible shock,” he said suddenly. “I feel giddy. My pulse must be racing. Maybe I’m going to faint. Maybe I’m starting a heart attack.”

“Maybe you’ll tell me at last what exactly happened?” asked Bahat and came closer.

“My wife died from plastic surgery,” he said.

“So that’s it! How terrible! Would you like a glass of water?”

“Please,” mumbled Gruber and held his heart.

She went to fetch him a glass of water.

“There’s no need to sink into the deep mire,” she said from a distance, “It’s a terrible shock, but there’s no need to descend into a low dungeon. You’ll go home and attend to things. At times like this you should be strong and practical. Do you understand me? You need to introduce logic into the situation. You need to be strong in order to take care of your children, who must be in a bad way. You said that she donated her body to science? So there’s no reason to get pressured about the funeral. .”

Gruber had already fainted on the floor. Bahat was in a panic. Leah Shlezinger, the Reform rabbi from Albany, was supposed to come the next day to get Gruber’s signature on the secret document that would enable Bahat to obtain her title in exchange for transmitting information to Israel. The two of them were supposed to confirm to the rabbi that Bahat hadn’t received any kickbacks and that she had performed an act of pure charity for the sake of the State of Israel.

One sentence had stayed with her from the book which had helped her to prepare for her matriculation exam in Jewish history: “Ze’ev Tiomkin’s plans burst like a bubble of suds.” She refused to let her plans burst like a bubble of suds.

“You mustn’t break,” she murmured. “You have to go on. Wake up, Dr. Gruber, wake up.” She shook him, slapped him, poured water on him, and cried, “Please, Dr. Gruber, don’t despair. We can’t let them break us. Please.”

He opened his eyes.

“Did I faint?” he asked.

“Yes.” Bahat went on dripping water onto his face and spreading it over his forehead and cheeks.

“Breathe slowly, everything’s going to be all right.”

“Did you call an ambulance?” he asked.

“No, no, there’s no need to call an ambulance for everything. Look, you’re awake. You’re alive. Be grateful. Sometimes you can pull through on your own, without drama! This isn’t a play. We’re only human. .”

Gruber didn’t listen to her. He was in shock.

“I have to go back!” he said.

“Of course you do, there’s no question about it. But in the meantime, before you go back, I’ll bring you another glass of water.”

She hurried to bring him cold water. He drank.

“Look,” she said to him, “in any case she donated her body to science, so there’s no need for you to hurry back, you can complete your mission.”

“What an idiot. .” mumbled Gruber.

“Who?” asked Bahat apprehensively.

“My wife. An idiot plain and simple. All those plastic surgeries, it all came back to her like a boomerang. It’s hard to believe that I’m a widower . The title doesn’t suit me at all. I’m the most vital man in the world.”

LIRIT LIT A CIGARETTE. AT LAST SHE HAD HANDED OVER the management of the crisis to her father. She sat on the sofa and waited for a lightening of the load, but to her surprise she failed to feel it. She regretted not having taken that American woman’s phone number from her father. She reached out for the Haaretz newspaper and put it on her lap with the intention of leafing through it, but her eyes were full of tears. For the first time since her mother’s death, she wept. She put the paper down and shook her head from side to side as if to say she didn’t believe it, she refused to accept it.

The Grubers subscribed to Haaretz, L’Isha , French Vogue, Marie Claire in English, and the American Cosmopolitan . In addition their mailbox was always full of scientific journals in various fields for her father, and professional journals in the textile field for her mother.

Lirit saw that she was out of cigarettes, and she took Mandy’s handbag and set out for the shopping center to replenish her supply. As she crossed the road on her way to Mikado, she was assailed by the smell of sewage. She looked around her and she couldn’t understand where it was coming from. After all, the neighborhood was a new one and you weren’t supposed to smell the drains.

Now she noticed the foreign workers busy at the manholes, shouting instructions to each other in perfect Hebrew. She understood that they were foreign only when she heard the Israeli driver of the sewage truck talking to them.

Lirit spoke to the owner of the snack shop about the smell.

“It’s a horrible smell, I know,” he said. “It puts my customers off. Takes away their appetite for cracking sunflower seeds. But the ones who suffer most are the clothing stores. Nobody wants to choose clothes under the pressure of a stinky smell.”

“What happened?” asked Lirit as he counted her change.

“There’s some foul up in the main pipelines of the neighborhood. I don’t know if you’ve had a whiff of what’s going on in the underground parking garage.”

“No,” said Lirit. “I live opposite.”

The man from the snack shop said: “I’m telling you, I only park my car outside, because on minus two, and sometimes even on minus one, you can die from the smell. My boss told me to say that it’s temporary, so that’s what I’m telling you: it’s temporary. They’re taking care of it.”