Chaim Potok - The Chosen

I looked at him and didn't say anything.

'I think I'll sleep a little now,' Billy said. 'Would you turn off the radio?'

'Sure, Billy.'

I saw him put his palms under his head on the pillow and lie there, staring vacantly up at the ceiling.

I lay back' and after a few minutes of thinking about Mr Galanter I fell asleep. I dreamed about my left eye and felt very frightened. I thought I could see sunlight through the closed lid of my right eye, and I dreamed about waking up in the hospital yesterday afternoon and the nurse moving the curtain away. Now something was blocking the sunlight. Then the sunlight was back again, and I could see it in my sleep through the lid of my right eye. Then it was gone again, and I felt myself getting a little angry at whoever was playing with the sunlight. I opened my eye and saw someone standing alongside my bed. Whoever it was stood silhouetted against the sunlight, and for a moment I couldn't make out the face. Then I sat up quickly.

'Hello,' Danny Saunders said softly. 'I'm sorry if I woke you. The nurse told me it was all right to wait here.'

I looked at him in amazement. He was the last person in the world I had expected to visit me in the hospital.

'Before you tell me how much you hate me,' he said quietly, 'let me tell you that I'm sorry about what happened.'

I stared at him and didn't know what to say. He was wearing a dark suit, a white shirt open at the collar, and a dark skullcap. I could see the earlocks hanging down alongside his sculptured face and the fringes outside the trousers below the jacket.

'I don't hate you,' I managed to say, because I thought it was time for me to say something even if what I said was a lie.

He smiled sadly. 'Can I sit down? I've been standing here about fifteen minutes waiting for you to wake up.'

I sort of nodded or did something with my head, and he took it as a sign of approval and sat down on the edge of the bed to my right. The sun streamed in from the windows behind him, and shadows layover his face and accentuated the lines of his cheeks and jaw. I thought he looked a little like the pictures I had seen of Abraham Lincoln before he grew the beard – except for the small tufts of sand-colored hair on his chin and cheeks, the close-cropped hair on his head, and the side curls. He seemed ill at ease, and his eyes blinked nervously.

'What do they say about the scar tissue?' he asked.

I was astonished all over again. 'How did you find out about that?'

'I called your father last night. He told me.'

'They don't know anything about it yet. I might be blind in that eye.'

He nodded slowly and was silent.

'How does it feel to know you've made someone blind in one eye?' I asked him. I had recovered from my surprise at his presence and was feeling the anger beginning to come back.

He looked at me, his sculptured face expressionless. 'What do you want me to say?' His voice wasn't angry, it was sad. 'You want me to say I'm miserable? Okay. I'm miserable.'

'That's all? Only miserable? How do you sleep nights?'

He looked down at his hands. 'I didn't come here to fight with you,' he said softly. 'If you want to do nothing but fight, I'm going to go home.'

'For my part,' I told him, 'you can go to hell, and take your whole snooty bunch of Hasidim along with you I'

He looked at me and sat still. He didn't seem angry, just sad.

His silence made me all the angrier, and finally I said, 'What the hell are you sitting there for? I thought you said you were going home!'

'I came to talk to you,' he said quietly.

'Well, I don't want to listen,' I told him. 'Why don't you go home? Go home and be sorry over my eye!'

He stood up slowly. I could barely see his face because of the sunlight behind him. His shoulders seemed bowed. 'I am sorry,' he said quietly.

'I'll just bet you are,' I told him.

He started to say something, stopped, then turned and walked slowly away up the aisle. I lay back on the pillow, trembling a little and frightened over my own anger and hate.

'He a friend of yours?' I heard Mr Savo ask me.

I turned to him. He was lying with his head on his pillow. 'No,' I said.

'He give you a rough time or something? You don't sound so good, Bobby boy.'

'He's the one who hit me in the eye with the ball.'

Mr Savo's face brightened. 'No kidding? The clopper himself. Well, well'

'I think I'll get some more sleep,' I said. I was feeling depressed.

'He one of these real religious Jews?' Mr Savo asked.

'Yes.'

'I've seen them around. My manager had an uncle like that.

Real religious guy. Fanatic. Never had anything to do with my manager, though. Small loss. Some lousy manager.'

I didn't feel like having a conversation just then, so I remained silent. I was feeling a little regretful that I had been so angry with Danny Saunders.

I saw Mr Savo sit up and take the deck of cards from his night table. He began to set up his rows on the blanket. I noticed Billy was asleep. I lay back in my bed and closed my eyes. But I couldn't sleep.

My father came in a few minutes after supper, looking pale and worn. When I told him about my conversation with Danny Saunders, his eyes became angry behind the glasses.

'You did a foolish thing, Reuven,' he told me sternly. 'You remember what the Talmud says. If a person comes to apologize for having hurt you, you must listen and forgive him.'

'I couldn't help it, abba.'

'You hate him so much you could say those things to him?'

'I'm sorry,' I said, feeling miserable.

He looked at me and I saw his eyes were suddenly sad. 'I did not intend to scold you,' he said.

'You weren't scolding,' I defended him.

'What I tried to tell you, Reuven, is that when a person comes to talk to you, you should be patient and listen. Especially if he has hurt you in any way. Now, we will not talk anymore tonight about Reb Saunders' son. This is an important day in the history of the world. It is the beginning of the end for Hitler and his madmen. Did you hear the announcer on the boat describing the invasion?'

We talked for a while about the invasion. Finally, my father left, and I lay back in my bed, feeling depressed and angry with myself over what I had said to Danny Saunders.

Billy's father had come to see him again, and they were talking quietly. He glanced at me and smiled warmly. He was a fine looking person, and I noticed he had a long white scar on his forehead running parallel to the line of his light blond hair.

'Billy tells me you've been very nice to him,' he said to me.

I sort of nodded my head on the pillow and tried to smile back.

'I appreciate that very much,' he said. 'Billy wonders if you would call us when he gets out of the hospital: 'Sure,' I said.

'We're in the phone book. Roger Merrit. Billy says that after his operation, when he can see again, he would like to see what you look like: 'Sure, I'll give you a call,' I said.

'Did you hear that, Billy?'

'Yes,' Billy said happily. 'Didn't I tell you he was nice, Daddy?' The man smiled at me, then turned back to Billy. They went on talking quietly.

I lay in the bed and thought about all the things that had happened during the day, and felt sad and depressed.

The next morning, Mrs Carpenter told me I could get out of bed and walk around a bit. After breakfast, I went out into the hall for a while. I looked out a window and saw people outside on the street. I stood there, staring out the window a long time. Then I went back to my bed and lay down.

I saw Mr Savo sitting up in his bed, playing cards and grinning.

'Hows it feel to be on your feet, Bobby boy?' he asked me.

'It feels wonderful. I'm a little tired, though.'

'Take it real slow, kid. Takes a while to get the old strength back.