Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 63 of a new online serial novel, Outside the Bubble, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week. Click here for previous chapters.
Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications.
Not a single day of Chol Hamoed went by without Yosef mentioning Michoel and the passport that he needed to renew in order to travel to him and bring him home. On the morning of Isru Chag, he tackled the issue with uncharacteristic vigor.
“What do we need to do to renew my passport, Ima? Where is my old one? We can’t leave Uncle Michoel like this! Oh, and we need to speak to a travel agent.”
“You’re going to travel alone, Yosef?” She was sitting on the old armchair, and she looked into his eyes.
“Yes,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Sure, what’s the problem?”
“I’m happy to accompany him,” Martin said, from the side of the room. “I want to get to America anyway.”
Yosef looked at him, his forehead creased. “But you’re from Canada, right?”
“Right.”
“So why aren’t you going there?”
“I have nothing to do in Canada. My grandmother died, and no one is waiting for me there. And if there are people waiting for me”—his upper lip curled into a mirthless smile—“it’s not for good things.”
“What do you mean?”
Since Yosef had returned home, things seemed more interesting for Martin, and that was good for Yosef as well. He hadn’t returned to his job at Rambam, and had gone only once to meet with the doctors at the Tirat Carmel hospital. He spent the rest of the time walking together with Martin in Haifa, going to shul to daven, and showing Martin around his favorite places. Hinda was pleased.
“I hardly have any family. When my parents died, I moved in with my grandmother, and she struggled to raise me. And in her later years, she was old and moved to a government nursing home, so I didn’t really have a home at all.” Martin looked at Yosef.
“Were you poor?”
“No. My grandmother had savings, but she didn’t use them, and we lived very simply. And the older she got, the more complicated things became. With no one really looking after me, I spent a lot of time on the streets. I got involved with some unsavory people, who also liked the streets and night, and…that’s it.”
“Thieves and people like that?”
“Yes, thieves. For example.”
Yosef’s eyes were wide. “They wanted to steal things from you?”
“There was nothing to steal from me.” Martin chuckled. “They wanted to be my friends.”
“Wow, to be a friend with thieves! And you agreed?”
“I didn’t really want to be their friend, but…” He hesitated. “But at one point, I had nothing to eat and no one to talk to, so I did become friendly with them. Kind of.”
“But you didn’t become a thief!”
Martin fell silent. “No,” he said heavily, after a pause. “I didn’t become a thief. But I did help them be thieves.”
“That’s terrible.” Yosef looked at him piercingly. “If you did that, how were you able to say ‘al oshek yadeinu’ in the Yom Kippur davening?!”
“That’s exactly why I said those words with more kavanah this Yom Kippur, after Dov explained the tefillah to me.” Martin smiled that crooked grin again. “I wanted to do teshuvah.”
“Oh, and you’re afraid that if you go back to Canada, those guys will be there waiting for you to be their friend again?”
“Some of them. And some will want to take revenge on me.”
“Revenge!” Yosef’s eyes grew even rounder. “That’s so scary! Why?”
“Because they thought that I gave over information…forget it, it doesn’t matter. And then I moved to a different city, and from there my rabbi sent me to here, although he was barely able to get me into the program. Thankfully, once I took the entrance exam, they agreed that I might be a good fit for it.”
“And when did you learn computers?”
“I started that in Canada, when I was studying a bit. And then I continued here.”
“You’re a real genius, you know that?”
“I like computers.”
“Then that’s an even bigger sign that you’re a genius. To me, computers are so complicated. The program with the sefarim is interesting, but all the other stuff… Anyway, you’ll fly with me to my uncle?”
“Why not?”
“Maybe you’ll also go in there with me, to help me get him out.”
“They haven’t yet given permission for you to come, Yosef,” Hinda pointed out quietly.
“Why do they have to approve?” Yosef asked, surprised.
“This place specializes in treating all kinds of things, including schizophrenia, so Michoel suggested that you should come as if to get treated, and when you will be there…” She didn’t know why she was telling him all this. He was so enthused about the idea of the trip, but he really wasn’t up to it.
“I’ll get him out,” he completed her sentence. “And maybe, while I’m at it, they’ll also be able to treat me?”
“Yosef, if this clinic really is such a good place, we wouldn’t be thinking of how to get Michoel out of there,” she said sadly, and then regretted her words right away.
“Ah, they’re just a bunch of swindlers!” Yosef said heatedly. “You hear, Martin? My uncle is being held there, literally! If that’s the case, I must go. Ima, when can I deal with my passport?”
“I have to check what the procedure is,” she answered cautiously. “Maybe first go take some passport pictures, so you should have them ready. I don’t know if they take pictures at the embassy or not.”
“You have to go to the embassy to renew a passport? An American citizen?”
“I have to check. But first, it’s a good idea for Yosef to have a recent picture ready, because to the best of my recollection, there are no photo kiosks at the embassy itself.” Hinda got up from the chair. Maybe the thought of the photographer standing in front of him with a camera would make the idea less palatable to Yosef. For some reason, Yosef hated being photographed. He ran away from every family photo, but didn’t explain why. She had a feeling it had something to do with the schizophrenia, but she could never be sure.
“Fine,” he replied.
“Do you want us to go together to Photo Boaz?” Martin asked Yosef. “I went there for my passport pictures. They’re nice people.”
Hinda didn’t say a word. Let him go and take the pictures, but at this point, she had no intention of finding out about passport renewals. She did not like this high that Yosef was experiencing right now.
***
Yosef shifted uncomfortably on the backless stool. “And you erase it from the computer afterward?” he asked for the fourth time.
The photographer – there was no way to know if it was Boaz himself or another worker – looked at him directly. “Buddy, I told you: I keep the photos only if people ask me to, and even that is only for a limited time.”
“Which people?” Yosef asked.
“The police.” The tall worker laughed. “What’s with you? People who have their pictures taken!”
“So you’ll erase my picture, right? I don’t want you to keep it.”
“Sounds like you’re an escaped criminal.” The man laughed as he looked at the little screen. “Why are you so afraid someone will see it? No, move your hand from your forehead. We don’t see you that way. Look at me…very good…”
“I’m not a criminal, but I don’t want my picture to stay in your computer. Today it’s very easy to hack computers, and I don’t want anyone in the world to be able to get my picture. It makes me nervous.”
“I’ll erase it as soon as I finish developing it, okay?” The worker wasn’t smiling anymore.
Yosef stood up resolutely. “I want to see how you erase a picture of someone, so that you can’t find it again later.”
“Do you understand computers well enough?” the man asked. His tone was even, but his eyes flashed impatiently. “How can you check if it’s really erased completely or not?”
“He’ll check.” Yosef pointed to Martin. “He knows these things.”
The man scowled. “But I have no picture that I can erase now. Our whole database is of pictures that we committed to saving.”
“So take a picture of him, erase it, and that’s it.” Yosef had a solution for everything. “Come, Martin, sit here instead of me!” He looked relieved to get off the stool, as if it was an electric chair.
“I’ll pay for it,” Martin said to the photographer as he went to replace Yosef in front of the backdrop on the wall. With a quick flick of his finger, he brushed aside his long hair at the front, and smiled at the camera. It flashed in response, and the man showed him the small screen with a questioning look.
“Fine, fine.” Martin barely glanced at it. “Now put it in the computer, and show him that you’re deleting it. I’ll show him that no picture remains.”
“I don’t intend to let you play around too much with my computer,” the photographer said as he walked to the corner of the shop.
“Of course not. I’ll just show him on a search that there’s no such picture.”
“What’s your name?”
“Martin Posner.”
“And develop his picture!” Yosef interjected. “I want him to check if, even after the picture is developed, nothing stays in the printer.”
Martin took the developed picture, the photographer erased it all, and Yosef studied every move very carefully.
“Now check it!” he instructed Martin. “Is there really nothing left?”
“Nothing,” Martin said, after bending down to the computer for two minutes. The tall worker stood behind him, clearly uncomfortable. “You see, Yosef, what the computer is telling me? ‘Sorry, no results were found for your search.’”
“I don’t understand anything about this. Are you sure there is no other place in the computer where it could be saved?”
“There isn’t,” Martin replied. “I did a very thorough search, Yosef. It’s fine.”
“You know, you don’t have to take a picture here if you don’t trust us.” By this point, the photographer had shifted from being impatient to insulted, whether it was real or affected.
“I do have to. I need to travel to my uncle urgently.” Yosef bit his lips and settled back on the stool. He didn’t smile. His face was pale and rigid as he glared at the camera.
“Great,” the photographer said after the click. “Let’s try one more time, and don’t look so tense, you – what’s your name? Yosef. You saw that the camera doesn’t bite…”
“Don’t try anything!” Yosef got up from the chair. “One picture is enough. Now develop it, give me the copies, and erase it all from the computer. Nu, I want to see you doing it!”
The little ceremony repeated itself from beginning to end. When they left the store, the pictures of both young men were tucked away in Yosef’s paper bag, and he glanced left and right. “I might not be able to travel like this, you know?” he murmured to Martin. “But don’t tell my mother anything. First I’ll go home, and I’ll go back to Tirat Carmel or Maayanei Hayeshuah for a few days, to rest from this whole photography thing. Oy, it drained me. That photographer didn’t seem suspicious to you, did he? You know, I’m afraid that if I go to Michoel, I’ll feel really awful, and it will take me half a year to recover from it…”
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