Umbrella
Published in Issue #26 Translated from Hebrew by Yaron Regev subscribe to unlock the full storyI admit it – I’m a junkie! If I don’t get my fix in the morning, I feel sick all day, and tormented by bitter feelings. The drug I’ve been addicted to for many years is not morphine, nor is it heroin. It’s books. And I shoot them straight into my brain. There, the drug is absorbed by my intellect and penetrates my heart and my soul. In the next stage, my drugged consciousness, ready for the metaphysical journey, holds its breath. It takes me far-far over the Earth, way up high above the clouds – assuming, of course that there are actually clouds at that particular moment in the utterly faded Tel Aviv summer sky.
Well, it is eight times now that I’ve read all the books in my little library, the ones I brought with me from the diaspora to the Land of Israel. As for new books, I cannot afford to buy them as they are very expensive and I am a poor man. No, my poverty isn’t absolute, of the kind when you have nothing to eat, your clothes are tattered and torn, and you sit in the old central bus station begging for alms. I am relatively poor, because as a guard I earn a minimum wage and can barely make ends meet. After paying all the bills — mortgage, property taxes, electricity, water, telephone and gas — there’s still a little left for some food and inexpensive clothes I buy from a clearance boutique. Forget about classical music concerts which purify the soul,...
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