Oscar
Published in Issue #14 Translated from Hebrew by Anati Bloch subscribe to unlock the full storyOn the third day into the war, the first rocket landed in Beersheva. People equipped themselves with bomb shelters, news flashes, and a fresh alertness. Only I felt alienated from all this activity. I knew there was no chance a rocket would drop on me—that the chances were akin to winning the lottery—but like all addicts, I didn’t stop hoping.
Noga and I live in a nice but cluttered ground floor apartment on Olei Hagardom Street, at the corner of Yad Vashem. We have a little garden in which we grow sage, mint, basil, rosemary, lemon beebrush and which is visited by at least ten alley cats who hop on the pavement between us and the neighbors, as if dancing at two weddings.
Now that the lectures at the university have been cancelled, there really is nothing to drag me out of bed. My nights of drinking stretch into the wee hours of the morning, long after the last student has left the bar. People in Israel don’t know how to drink. In Finland drinking is a national sport, a social gathering lasting many hours. Here, I am shocked to discover every time that only the bartender and I are left standing to bring the night to a close. When he tries to pick me up, I give him a gentle hint that I am here only in order to drink, and we toast one final beer to those who appreciate good alcohol before we gulp it down thirstily. I plod along...
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