Mercy
Published in Issue #31 Translated from Hebrew by Yardenne Greenspan subscribe to unlock the full storyWhen it comes to Vincent I have trouble deciding what to look at, which part of his body would show me the real him. Some days he walks into my classroom carrying a book, notebook, and pen, and all I see are his white fingers with the pointy knuckles. Other days, as I stand by the blackboard, he fixes his iron-blue eyes on me, flanked with gray laugh wrinkles, and I can see nothing but his gaze. Occasionally, when the sun sets early, and the cold and darkness invade our classroom, he remains seated until the last student leaves, then stands up and walks slowly in his white robe toward the window on my right. In those moments, I can’t help but stare at the beaded belt tied carelessly around his waist, dangling down to his sandals. As he walks, the wooden beads chatter and clatter. One time, he placed his palm on the windowpane and said, “I swear, when God invented winter, he didn’t consider poor Dominican monks who have to wear sandals year round.”
Just like after every class, that winter’s day Vincent asked if I wanted to take a walk through town. And I, who only come to Jerusalem to teach my bizarre Hebrew class at the Catholic school, knew that only a man wearing a dress could, time after time, make me say “Yes.”
“Let’s walk along the Old City walls today, but only from the outside. That’s the beauty of Jerusalem—the asphalt and impatient Israeli drivers on...
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