Inverted Scream
Published in Issue #27 Translated from Hebrew by Yaron Regev subscribe to unlock the full storyMy mother invited me to her funeral long before she died. I asked, “Why me?”
She replied, “Because I said so.”
I told her it wasn’t fair, that she had never even wanted me, that she had taken that shot that kills babies.
She said, “All right, because you were stubborn and wouldn’t let go, then.”
She asked me to bring refreshments for the guests. I told her, no way. Not to the cemetery. She said that was how she wanted it.
I asked, “For how many people?”
She said, “Ten.”
“That’s it?” I asked.
She didn’t answer, just, “I’ll see you there,” and hung up.
Somehow, we managed to squeeze the guest list down to ten people. She was late, of course. When she did come, she just looked on from a distance in a car. Our eyes met, but instead of stopping, I saw her tell the driver to keep going. No one else saw her, just me. I wanted to tell everyone she had just passed by in a taxi, but I couldn’t. What would they think of me? The condition, the hospitals, the doctors, identifying the body. I kept quiet. We went to my parents’ house to sit shiva. That night she called and asked for me. I told her she was insane, that everyone was sure she was dead. And where was she? She said she had gone up north and would come back when everyone had gone. I asked her for a phone...
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