Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 76 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.
The bed was wide and had a thick, comfortable mattress, but the linens were rough, and the smell of the floor cleaner that they used here was heavy and cloying. Everything was so fuzzy and confusing, complicated and unclear in this place, even the physical conditions in his private room.
It seemed as if this was all intentional.
How much could he trust Mike? “It was a process,” the American boy had said. Processes were an interesting thing; the question was where you would land up at the end.
Martin sat up in bed. It was obvious that this entire place was under surveillance camera at all times, and it was possible that everything was also always recorded. He sat leaning forward, scratching his forehead obsessively. The motion—surprisingly enough—really helped him concentrate. He needed to speak to Michoel Perl to ask him more about this place.
Now he stood up, looking to all sides. He walked to the door, opened it, peeked outside, closed it. Went back into the room, sat on the bed, stood up. Sat again and then stood again. The next stage was to bang on the wall noiselessly with his fists, and then to bang himself on the forehead and then again on the wall. He drummed to the rhythm of a melody that Dov had sung on Shabbos; he didn’t remember the words, but he definitely liked the tune.
He continued banging very quietly, waiting to see how much time it would take them to come and offer him a sleeping pill or something. That could give him an idea of the real time in which they viewed the footage—or the amount of time they gave the patients to calm down on their own.
No one came.
That didn’t mean that it was safe enough to go over to his suitcase and take out the phone that Shimon had given him. He’d have to adapt some strange behavior that would involve his suitcase and the objects inside.
But in the meantime, it didn’t seem like strange behavior of any kind moved anyone around here. His palms were already hurting, but he didn’t stop. Ten minutes passed with him doing this rhythmic banging, alternating between the wall and his head, until Martin decided to take it a step further. He stopped abruptly, took a deep breath, walked to the window. “Enough!” he said, and opened the window. It was raining outside, and tiny droplets of rain splattered into the room.
Okay, so there were bars on the window; no one would think his life was in danger, but didn’t they think that by this point, it was time to intervene? This was getting interesting.
Someone knocked at the door and entered. Not just “someone”; it was Michoel Perl, looking rather sleepy. “What happened, Yosef?”
“Nothing!” Martin snapped, and grabbed the window bars.
“Is everything alright with you?” Michoel came over and put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you missing Ima?”
“No!” Martin realized that acting skills were the key here, and at the same time, he was learning a thing or two about the level of their surveillance. “Actually, yes. I don’t like this place. I want to go home!”
“But you were so looking forward to coming here,” Michoel said softly. He rummaged in his pocket. “I think you’re too tired to think straight, my dear. Go to sleep and we’ll talk tomorrow. If you want to go home, you know you always can.” He took a small white pill out of his pocket. “Take this, Yosef,” he said, pressing the pill into Martin’s hands, his eyes fixed on Martin’s. “It’s just a sleeping pill. Take it, really. A good night’s sleep won’t hurt you.”
A schizophrenic episode could not end with a few rational words of explanation, but he hadn’t really played out a real episode here. Martin blinked and squinted a bit, then turned his back to the window. His fists continued drumming the wall behind him; he didn’t look at Michoel. “Why did you come here now?” he asked angrily.
“Because I was worried about you.”
“How did you know to come?”
“Don’t forget that I’m in the room next door.”
“I didn’t make any noise!”
“I guess you did make some noise…” Michoel said calmly. He pointed to Martin’s fingers, closed on the little white pill. “Take it, Yosef, don’t worry. You’ll get up in the morning feeling refreshed, with more positive thoughts.”
The clear words, and the small gesture, made Martin decide to obey, even though he wasn’t really one hundred percent sure about Michoel’s own mental state. The elderly uncle left the room, and Martin swallowed the pill without a drop of water, before going back to bed. The sheet was still irritating and unpleasant, and the smell hadn’t become amazing, but the comfort of the bed and the fresh air blowing into the room overtook him—and he fell asleep.
***
“They sent me.” The two of them were supposedly davening together in Michoel’s room, but their Hebrew conversation was actually with each other; they would get to the words of the siddur itself soon. If Mike would have understood Hebrew well, and if Martin would have been convinced that he could fully trust him, he would have suggested that he return to the traditions of his ancestors and join them for prayers, too; then he too could take part in this conversation.
“They came and woke you up?” Martin asked as he touched his tefillin shel rosh, making sure they were centered properly.
“It’s in the right place,” Michoel said, studying him for a brief moment. “And yes. They woke me up. They didn’t want you to sense so distinctly how little privacy you actually have here.”
“Uh huh.”
“What did you want?”
“To check how much surveillance there is here. If I want to secretly take something out of my suitcase, how should I do it?”
“Get them used to the idea that you regularly hide under your blanket,” Michoel suggested.
“That’s a good idea! And what will be if the first time, they come to check what I’m doing and they see my phone?”
“Your phone? You didn’t say you had one!”
“I do. Shimon Weisskopf has lots of great ideas; there’s a good reason you took him to engineer the automatic systems in your house…”
“My systems?” Michoel turned a page in his siddur, but the slow motion with which he did it made it obvious that he was stunned. “What do you know about my house?”
“Umm…quite a lot, honestly. I was your guest there without you knowing…I’m sorry. But maybe we can talk about that at Minchah? We need to start davening for real soon, and be finished, or they’ll start wondering what’s taking us so long…”
Perl, in response, looked at him suspiciously for a long moment before nodding imperceptibly and beginning to daven. Only afterward, when their tefillin were back in the bags, did he say, “I want us to daven Minchah early, because we’re going to Charleston and I’m not sure we’ll be back before shkiyah. Be here at 12:45, okay?” And without another word, he put the velvet bag on the high shelf in his closet and left the room.
But at 12:40, they heard an announcement on the building’s PA system that anyone who was going to Charleston should hurry and be ready within twenty minutes, so they had no time to talk about anything before or after davening. Martin was relieved at the reprieve. He was afraid of the moment he’d have to tell Michoel about the time he’d spent squatting in his house. It looked like it would not be as simple as he’d thought.
The bus pulled away from the facility, and Martin found himself in an almost deserted building. He hadn’t seen Mike today at all, which was fine with him. He had to think about how trustworthy the kid was. The story about his sister was cute, for sure. Even moving. But how could he know if he should believe him or not?
He wandered aimlessly around the big building. Was there a way for them to get out of here themselves, besides for calling the authorities?
In fact, calling the authorities sounded like a very complex endeavor indeed.
Perhaps he could ask Shimon Weisskopf to get help, but then he and Michoel would have to hide very well so that they wouldn’t be forced into hiding, away from the eyes of any agents. And then, let’s say the FBI would come, and he and Michoel would hurry over to them… Would the staff sit by silently and let them out easily, or would they try to argue with the agents that these people were not mentally stable and whatever they said should not be believed?
That’s why he was considering asking Shimon to mediate between them and the authorities. Shimon would have to be the one to persuade the agents to believe them, and not any of the staff members.
There was no doubt that the road ahead was much more complex than it had seemed at first.
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