Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 73 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.
Michoel was sitting on the bench near the woods, breathing in the fresh air. He wondered if Yosef, or his impersonator, would be coming soon; he hadn’t been able to infer from anyone here when that was supposed to happen.
Perhaps Hinda had sent a private investigator who would be able to get him out of here easily, which was actually good, because he was doubtful Yosef would have been able to do it. For his part, he planned to give Skulholt two weeks to work with Yosef, and then to marvel at how Yosef’s condition had improved and to ask to go home together with him. If things went according to that plan, and they would tell him that he couldn’t leave because he hadn’t yet gotten back to himself, Yosef—or whoever was here playing him—would get involved and tell them gently that Michoel had always been this way, and that there was nothing more to improve.
Now he just had to hope that they would give him some private time with whichever young man showed up. The two of them had to be completely coordinated on all fronts.
Michoel leaned back and closed his eyes. In theory, they could not keep him imprisoned here; it wasn’t legal, even though in fact, this was what was happening. Even if he owed them payment for the treatment, they had no right to keep him here by force, especially as he hadn’t committed anything to them, and he still had no idea what they expected of him. The minute Yosef would show up here officially, they certainly would not be able to keep him hidden like they had been doing for months now.
Could he have gotten up and left without even getting their permission? Theoretically, perhaps. Practically, definitely not. The electric gate was always locked, the place was encircled by a high wall, and even if he would be able to get out, he was not physically up to walking to the nearest residential area.
Dr. Jerry approached from a distance, accompanied by two people. When they were about fifteen feet away, Michoel could discern that the one on the right was a fellow patient, and the one on the left was…someone unfamiliar to him. The young man wore a large velvet yarmulke, and his tzitzis hung down over his gray pants. Dr. Jerry didn’t even look at the bench; he spoke to the person on the right, explaining something with vigorous hand motions.
Just when someone was supposed to come here to help Michoel, a new frum person showed up? That was interesting. Interesting to the point of being strange, to be more precise.
Out of the corner of his eye, Michoel observed the trio approaching, and saw that the religious one was walking with lowered eyes, and scratching his forehead in an irritating way. His lips were soundlessly murmuring something repetitively. The psychiatrist didn’t pay any attention to this.
Wasn’t this young man a bit familiar-looking?
Michoel turned his face nearly imperceptibly toward the group, trying to concentrate on the lips of the new figure without the psychiatrist noticing.
Hey, he was whispering, “Yosef”!
Now Michoel allowed himself to fully turn toward them in an obvious manner, and stood up quickly. “Yosef!” he called out. “Yosef, how are you? It’s so good to see you!”
The young frum man stopped and looked at him. Michoel looked back. Perhaps he had been mistaken? Was it possible that Skulholt had brought this youth as bait, because they understood what Hinda had said in Hebrew?
He had nothing to lose now, certainly not after what he’d said. “Yosef!” he repeated, approaching the young man with an outstretched hand. “How are you? You look a bit dazed; are you not feeling well after the flight? I remember that you don’t like to travel… Was your trip alright?”
“Yes,” the young man murmured, still keeping his eyes lowered most of the time.
“I hope that someone was waiting for you in New York, either Shimon Weisskopf or another one of our New York relatives,” Michoel said pointedly. “It’s not like your mother to send you like this!”
“Yes.” The young man smiled crookedly for the first time, and raised his eyes. Michoel discerned a flash of irritation in his eyes. “Shimon was waiting for me, and he took me to his house.”
“Great! And how are you now?”
The other man was quiet and scratched his forehead. He was also afraid of being baited, Michoel suddenly realized. Apparently, hearing Shimon Weisskopf’s name had calmed him a bit, but not enough. He had to offer more details so that the young man would realize that he was the real Michoel and not an imposter.
“Come on, Josef, can’t you be a bit more friendly to the uncle who’s been waiting for you for so long?” the psychiatrist chided with a smile.
“It’s fine, Dr. Jerry,” Michoel said. “I know him. He gets a bit overcome when he meets people he hasn’t seen in a while.”
The young nodded vigorously. He was an excellent actor, Michoel decided. But he was so young… There was no way he was a professional detective. How had Hinda found him, and how had he managed to get in here under Yosef’s name?
“Come, Yosef, sit next to me so we can chat a bit,” he said in a fatherly manner. “How is your mother doing? And what about Dov, her new husband?”
“They’re fine,” the boy said. He sat down at the edge of the bench.
Dr. Jerry observed them for another long moment, and then said, “Enjoy yourselves together, and don’t forget to come back inside on time!”
“I’m happy to hear that.” Michoel waved at the psychiatrist as he continued to speak to ‘Yosef.’ “And Chani and Avigdor? I miss them all so much…”
“Everyone is fine,” the boy said slowly, following the psychiatrist and his other patient with his eyes as they moved off. He was quiet for a long while, as was Michoel, and when Skulholt was just about out of sight, he switched to Hebrew. “Az atah Michoel Perl. So you are Michoel Perl.”The change was not only in the language, but also in the boy’s gaze, which suddenly became much more alert. “I know you a bit from Yerushalayim, from the German Colony.”
“Oh, that’s where I recognized you from! Are we neighbors?”
“We were, sort of.”
“And you’re the boy my niece sent instead of her Yosef?”
“Right.”
“How is he?”
“Before I left Israel, he was hospitalized.”
“But not only because he didn’t come here.”
“That’s right.” Martin returned to English, in which he was apparently more comfortable. “There was a problem with his passport…and in any case, his mother was afraid that he really wasn’t up to traveling.”
“What was the problem?”
“They put his name on the passport—but with my picture.”
“Your picture?!” Michoel lifted his eyebrows.. “How did that happen?”
“It’s a long story, which began with Yosef’s paranoia that almost ended with a complete meltdown at the embassy… The bottom line is that they mistakenly issued a passport in his name, with my picture. And Hinda and her husband were happy that I was able to come and help you.”
“I see.” Michoel looked at the boy. He had clever eyes, even somewhat sly, but Michoel didn’t want the young fellow to think that he was dealing with someone naïve. “What are you getting out of this? Payment?”
“No.”
“So then what…?”
The boy curled his lower lip. “I had to leave Israel, and they agreed that I should use Yosef’s passport temporarily, on condition that I first come here, to you.”
“Why did you have to leave Israel?”
“Personal matters,” the youth replied, folding his arms.
“And why couldn’t you leave with your own passport?”
“I certainly was able to leave, but I couldn’t go into Canada, where I really wanted to go.”
“Why not?” Michoel asked, after a moment of quiet.
“You’ll forgive me if I prefer not to talk about it. My affairs shouldn’t concern you, so long as I’m able to get you out of here.”
“If you’re able to. The question is if I can trust you… How did you get to Hinda and her family?”
“I was their guest for a while,” the youth said. He stood up from the bench. “Can we please stop talking about me and talk about you instead, and about this place?”
“We’ll stop, for now,” Michoel agreed, not at all sure that he trusted this person. “Just tell me your name.”
“Yosef.” The youth smiled. “That’s all. It’s better not to confuse me with other names. I am Yosef Schorr, twenty-four years old, son of Shmuel alav hashalom and Hinda. I suffer from schizophrenia, and I came to get treatment in a place where my mother’s uncle is recovering remarkably from his own ailment.”
“Not so remarkable,” Michoel almost growled. “I agree that I’ve recovered, and that I’m much healthier and stronger than I was when I first found myself here. But I’m not at all sure that my recovery is connected to them. And whatever the case may be, this story has been going on for too long. I want to go back to Eretz Yisrael already. Did you and Hinda think of way to get me out of here?”
“Not exactly, because we didn’t know much about this place and how it works. Let me get the feel for this place for a few days, and then we’ll talk.” He suddenly noticed a figure approaching. Dr. Jerry was coming back, this time alone. “Yosef” began gnawing at his bottom lip, while nodding restlessly. “You understand, Uncle Michoel,” he said quietly, “I have to get well. I can’t see my mother so sad about me all day. Do you think if they heal me here, but really heal me, I might even be able to get married?”
“It’s very possible, if you don’t act foolishly,” Michoel replied, and finally, there was a note of admiration in his voice.
“What does not acting foolishly mean?”
“Don’t miss the train like I did.”
“You can also get married, if you want. You’re a very good man,” the boy complimented him. “You can always do it, I think.”
Michoel sighed. “I wish it would be so easy.”
“We’ll both get better, and then we’ll get out of here together to look for kallahs,” the boy promised. “I’m sure it will happen quickly.”
“Josef, are you persuading your uncle to get married?” The psychiatrist stood in front of them, looking highly amused.
“He said he wants to, and we decided that we could both do it. Maybe in another month, when we’ll both be well enough to leave here,” Yosef said. Then, hesitantly, he looked into the psychiatrist’s eyes. “Right? And then we’ll say thank you to you, and you’ll make us a goodbye party…”
“For sure.”
“Another month?” Michoel raised his eyes. “Do you think that is really possible, Dr. Skulholt?”
“It depends on a few things.”
“Like what, for example?”
“Like how lucid you are. And you’ll also have to promise to continue taking the natural herbs that we give you, for at least five years. You know they cannot be obtained anywhere else in the world.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Michoel whispered.
“Often, people feel like everything is fine with them, and they start slacking off about taking their medications. So in order to be sure that you’ll stick to it, you need to pay for all the medicines in advance.”
“Okay,” Michoel agreed, while pondering the huge sums that they would demand from him.
“And then he can get married?” the boy interjected. “And me?”
“Sure. Invite us to the weddings, will you?”
Michoel studied him for a long moment. “He has lots of hope and wishes,” he said with a sigh. “Just to remember all the dreams I once had makes it worth seeing him again. Do what you can for him, Dr. Jerry, because he’s a great boy.”
“It’s what we plan to do.” The man smiled, looking extremely satisfied. “You remember the schedule I told you, Josef, right? Tomorrow at ten in my office, and then we’ll move on to a group session.”
“What’s a group session?” Michoel asked. “I’ve never participated in one of those.” “You are a special case.” Dr. Skulholt smiled again. “We never had a group of people with exactly your condition. But we do have a group that is suited perfectly for your nephew.”
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