The Literature Teacher
Published in Issue #29 Translated from Hebrew by Yaron Regev subscribe to unlock the full storyThe day after Mom came back from her second stay in the mental hospital, a new literature teacher took charge of our class.
Nili Yaffe, our regular teacher, had gone on maternity leave, and after two weeks of temporary substitute teachers, Hayuta walked into the classroom. She was a tall woman, bent and slender, her skin pale, almost milky. Her short hair frizzled around her face. She was wearing blue baggy pants and a beige buttoned shirt. The way she trudged into the classroom, her body language made positively clear, this teacher was going to have a hard time getting and holding the attention of thirty-five teenagers. And there was a problem with her voice. We all heard it the instant she first spoke: the soft but crisp voice that came from her throat, like a feeble bleating, the vocal version of a vanishing cloud. How could she possibly shout at us with that voice?
At home, Mom slept for long periods. During the few hours she was awake, she simply stared at us through empty eyes. “It’s the pills they’ve given her,” Dad said. “She needs time to get used to them.” When she wasn’t sleeping, Mom sat on the faded brown sofa and smoked in exemplary silence.
Two months in the restricted ward, plus three weeks and a day in the open ward. Then the committee of senior doctors convened and made their decision: “Discharged.”
Dad, who tried to resist them, vehemently protested, argued, and reminded them of...
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