The Chosen

Chapter 2

We rode to the Brooklyn Memorial Hospital, which was a few blocks away, and Mr Galanter paid the cab fare. He helped me out, put his arm around my shoulders, and walked me into the emergency ward.

'Keep that handkerchief over the eye,' he said. 'And try not to blink.' He was very nervous, and his face was covered with sweat. He had taken off his skullcap, and I could see him sweating beneath the hairs on his balding head.

'Yes, sir,' I said. I was frightened and was beginning to feel dizzy and nauseated. The pain in my left eye was fierce. I could feel it all along the left side of my body and in my groin.

The nurse at the desk wanted to know what was wrong. 'He was hit in the eye by a baseball,' Mr Galanter said.

She asked us to sit down and pressed a button on her desk. We sat down next to a middle-aged man with a blood-soaked bandage around a finger on his right hand. He sat there in obvious pain, resting his finger on his lap and nervously smoking a cigarette despite the sign on the wall that said NO SMOKING.

He looked at us. 'Ball game?' he asked.

Mr Galanter nodded. I kept my head straight, because it didn't hurt so much when I didn't move it.

The man held up his finger. 'Car door,' he said. 'My kid slammed it on me: He grimaced and put his hand back on his lap.

A nurse carne out of a door at the far end of the room and nodded to the man. He stood up. 'Take care,' he said, and went out.

'How're you doing?' Mr Galanter asked me.

'My eye hurts,' I told him.

'How's the head?'

'I feel dizzy: 'Are you nauseous?'

'A little: 'You'll be okay,' Mr Galanter said, trying to sound encouraging. 'You get a Purple Heart for today's work, trooper: But his voice was tense, and he looked frightened.

'I'm sorry about all this, Mr Galanter,' I said.

'What are you sorry about, boy?' he said. 'You played a great game: 'I'm sorry to be putting you to so much trouble: 'What trouble? Don't be silly. I'm glad to help one of my troopers: 'I'm also sorry we lost: 'So we lost. So what? There's next year, isn't there?'

'Yes, sir: 'Don't talk so much. Just take it easy: 'They're a tough team,' I said.

'That Saunders boy,' Mr Galanter said, 'the one who hit you. You know anything about him?'

'No, sir: 'I never saw a boy hit a ball like that.'

'Mr Galanter?'

'Yes?'

'My eye really hurts: 'We'll be going in in a minute, boy. Hold on. Would your father be home now?'

'Yes, sir: 'What's your phone number?'

I gave it to him.

A nurse came out the door and nodded to us. Mr Galanter helped me get to my feet. We walked through a corridor and followed the nurse into an examination room. It had white walls, a white chair, a white, glass-enclosed cabinet, and a tall metal table with a white sheet over the mattress. Mr Galanter helped me onto the table, and I lay there and stared up at the white ceiling out of my right eye.

'The doctor will be here in a moment,' the nurse said, and went out.

'Feel any better?' Mr Galanter asked me.

'No,' I said.

A young doctor came in. He had on a white gown and was wearing a stethoscope around his neck. He looked at us and smiled pleasantly.

'Stopped a ball with your eye, I hear,' he said, smiling at me. 'Let's have a look at it.'

I took off the wet handkerchief, opened my left eye, and gasped with the paint He looked down at the eye, went to the cabinet, came back, and looked at the eye again through an instrument with a light attached to it. He straightened up and looked at Mr Galanter.

'Was he wearing glasses?' he asked.

'Yes.'.

The doctor put the instrument over the eye again. 'Can you see the light?' he asked me.

'It's a little blurred,' I told him.

'I think I'll go call your father,' Mr Galanter said.

The doctor looked at him. 'You're not the boy's father?'

'I'm his gym teacher.'

'You had better call his father, then. We'll probably be moving him upstairs.'

'You're going to keep him here?'

'For a little while,' the doctor said pleasantly. 'Just as a precaution.'

'Oh,' Mr Galanter said.

'Could you ask my father to bring my other pair of glasses?' I said.

'You won't be able to wear glasses for a while, son,' the doctor told me. 'We'll have to put a bandage over that eye.'

'I'll be right back,' Mr Galanter said, and went out.

'How does your head feel?' the doctor asked me.

'It hurts.'

'Does that hurt?' he asked, moving my head from side to side. I felt myself break out into a cold sweat.

'Yes, sir,' I said.

'Do you feel nauseous at all?'

'A little,' I said. 'My left wrist hurts, too.'

'Let's take a look at it. Does that hurt?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Well, you really put in a full day. Who won?'

'They did.'

'Too bad. Now look, you lie as quiet as you can and try not to blink your eyes. I'll be right back.'

He went out quickly.

I lay very still on the table. Except for the time I had had my tonsils out I had never been overnight in a hospital. I was frightened, and I wondered what was causing the pain in my eye. Some of the glass from the lens must have scratched it, I thought. I wondered why I hadn't anticipated Danny Saunders' going for the curve, and, thinking of Danny Saunders, I found myself bating him again and all the other side-curled fringe wearers on his yeshiva team. I thought of my father receiving the phone call from Mr Galanter and rushing over to the hospital, and I had to hold myself back from crying. He was probably sitting at· his desk, writing. The call would frighten him terribly. I found I could not keep back my tears, and I blinked a few times and winced with the pain.

The young doctor returned, and this time he had another doctor with him. The second doctor looked a little older: and had blond hair. He came over to me without a word and looked at my eye with the instrument.

I thought I saw him go tense. 'Is Snydman around?' he salid, looking through the instrument.'

'I passed him a few minutes ago,' the first doctor said.

'He had better have a look at it,' the second doctor said. He straightened slowly. 'You lie still now, son,' the first doctor said. 'A nurse will be in in a minute.'

They went out. A nurse came in and smiled at me. 'This won't hurt a bit,' she said, and put some drops into my left eye. 'Now keep it closed and put this bit of cotton over it. That's a good boy.' She went out.

Mr Galanter came back. 'He's on his way over,' he said.

'How did he sound?'

'I don't know. He said he'd be right over.'

'It's not good for him to be worried. He's not too well.'

'You'll be okay, boy. This is a fine hospital. How's the eye?'

'It feels better. They put some drops in it.'

'Good. Good. I told you this is a fine hospital. Had my appendix out here.'

Three men came into the room, the two doctors and a short, middle-aged man with a round face and a graying mustache. He had dark hair and was not wearing a gown.

'This is Dr Snydman, son,' the first doctor said to me. 'He wants to have a look at your eye.'

Dr Snydman came over to me and smiled. 'I hear you had quite a ball game there, young man. Let's have a look.' He had a warm smile, and I liked him immediately. He took the cotton off the eye and looked through the instrument. He looked at the eye a long time. Then he straightened slowly and turned to Mr Galanter.

'Are you the boy's father?'

'I called his father,' Mr Galanter said. 'He's coming over right away.'

'We'll need his signature,' Dr Snydman said. He turned to the other two doctors. 'I don't think so,' he said. 'I think it's right on the edge. I'll have to have a better look at it upstairs.' He turned to me and smiled warmly.

'An eye is not a thing to stop a ball with, young man.'

'He hit it real fast,' I said.

'I'm sure he did. We're going to have you brought upstairs so we can have a better look at it.' The three doctors went out.

'What's upstairs?' I asked Mr Galanter.

'The eye ward, 1 guess. They have all the big instruments up there: 'What do they want to look at it up there for?'

'I don't know, boy. They didn't tell me anything.'

Two hospital orderlies came into the room, wheeling a stretcher table. When they lifted me off the examination table, the pain rammed through my head and sent flashes of black, red and white colors into my eyes. I cried out.

'Sorry, kid, ' one of, the orderlies said sympathetically. They put me down carefully on the stretcher table and wheeled me out of the room and along the corridor. Mr Galanter followed.

'Here's the elevator,' the other orderly said. They were both young and looked almost alike in their white jackets, white trousers, and white shoes.

The elevator took a long time going up. I lay on the stretcher table, staring up out of my right eye at the fluorescent light on the ceiling. It looked blurred, and I saw it change color, going from white to red to black, then back to white.

'I never saw a light like that,' I said.

'Which light is that?' one of the orderlies asked.

'The fluorescent. How do they get it to change colours like that?'

The orderlies looked at each other.

'Just take it easy, kid,' one of them said. 'Just relax.'

'I never saw a light change colors like that,' I said.

'Jesus,' Mr Galanter said under his breath.

He was standing alongside the stretcher table with his back·to the rear of the elevator. I tried turning my head to look at him, but the pain was too much and I lay still. I had never heard him use that word before, and I wondered what had made him use it now. I lay there, staring up at the light and wondering why Mr Galanter had used that word, when I saw one of the orderlies glance down at me with a reassuring grin. I remembered Danny Saunders, standing in front of the plate and staring at me with that idiotic grin on his lips. I closed my right eye and lay still, listening to the noise of the elevator. This is a slow elevator, I thought. But how do they get the light to change colors like that? Then the light was bad all over and everyone crowded around me. Someone was wiping my forehead, and the light was suddenly gone.

I opened my right eye. A nurse in a white uniform said, 'Well, now, how are we doing, young man?' and for a long moment I stared up at her and didn't know what was happening. Then I remembered everything – and I couldn't say a word.

I saw the nurse standing over my bed and smiling down at me. She was heavily built and had a round, fleshy face and short, dark hair.

'Well, now, let's see,' she said. 'Move your head a little, just a little, and tell me how it feels.'

I moved my head from side to side on the pillow. 'It feels fine,' I said.

'That's good. Are you at all hungry?'

'Yes, ma'am.'

'That's very good.' She smiled. 'You won't need this now.'

She pushed aside the curtain that enclosed the bed. I blinked in the sudden sunlight. 'Isn't that better?'

'Yes ma'am. Thank you. Is my father here?'

'He'll be in shortly. You lie still now and rest. They'll be bringing supper in soon. You're going to be just fine.'

She went away.

I lay still for a moment, looking at the sunlight. It was coming in through tall windows in the wall opposite my bed. I could see the windows only through my right eye, and they looked blurred. I moved my head slowly to the left, not taking it off the pillow and moving it carefully so as not to disturb the thick bandage that covered my left eye. There was no pain at all in my head, and I wondered how they had got the pain to leave so quickly. That's pretty good, I thought, remembering what Mr Galanter had said about this hospital. For a moment I wondered where he was and where my father was; then I forgot them both as I watched the man who was in the bed to my left.

He looked to be in his middle thirties, and he had broad shoulders and a lean face with a square jaw and a dark stubble. His hair was black, combed flat on top of his head and parted in the middle. There were dark curls of hair on the backs of his long hands, and he wore a black patch over his right eye. His nose was flat, and a half-inch scar beneath his lower lip stood out white beneath the dark stubble. He was sitting up in the bed, playing a game of cards with himself and smiling broadly. Some cards were arranged in rows on the blanket, and he was drawing other cards from the deck he held in his hands and adding them to the rows.

He saw me looking at him.;'

'Hello, there,' he said, smiling. 'How's the old punching bag?'

I didn't understand what he meant.

'The old noggin. The head: 'Oh. It feels good: 'Lucky boy. A clop in the head is a rough business. I went four once and got clopped in the head, and it took me a month to get off my back. Lucky boy: He held a card in his hands and looked down at the rows of cards on the blanket. 'Ah, so I cheat a little. So what?' He tucked the card into a row. 'I hit the canvas so hard I rattled my toenails. That was some clop,' He drew another card and inspected it. 'Caught me with that right and clopped me real good, A whole month on my back.' He was looking at the rows of cards on the blanket. 'Here we go,'he smiled broadly, and added the card to one of the rows.

I couldn't understand most of what he was talking about, but I didn't want to be disrespectful and turn away, so I kept my head turned toward him. I looked at the black patch on his right eye. It covered the eye as well as the upper part of his cheekbone, and it was held in place by a black band that went diagonally under his right ear, around his head and across his forehead. After a few minutes of looking at him, I realized he had completely forgotten about me, and I turned my head slowly away from him and to the right.

I saw a boy of about ten or eleven. He was lying in the bed with his head on the pillow, his palms flat under his head and his elbows jutting upward. He had light blond hair and a fine face, a beautiful face, He lay there with his eyes open, staring up at the ceiling and not noticing me looking at him. Once or twice I saw his eyes blink. I turned my head away.

The people beyond the beds immediately to my right and left were blurs, and I could not make them out. Nor could I make out much of the rest of the room, except to see that, it had two long rows of beds and a wide middle aisle, and that it was clearly a hospital ward. I touched the bump on my forehead. It had receded considerably but was still very sore. I looked at the sun coming up the windows. All up and down the ward people were talking to each other, but I was not interested in what they were saying. I was looking at the sun. It seemed strange to me now that it should be so bright. The ball game had ended shortly before six o'clock. Then there had been the ride in the cab, the time in the waiting and examination rooms, and the ride up in the elevator. I couldn't remember what had happened afterwards, but it couldn't all have happened so fast that it was now still Sunday afternoon. I thought of asking the man to my left what day it was, but he seemed absorbed in his card game. The boy to my right hadn't moved at all. He lay quietly staring up at the ceiling, and I didn't want to disturb him.

I moved my wrist slowly. It still hurt. That Danny Saunders was a smart one, and I hated him. I wondered what he was thinking now. Probably gloating and bragging about the ball game to his friends. That miserable Hasid!

An orderly came slowly up the aisle, pushing a metal table piled high with food trays. There was a stir in the ward as people sat up in their beds. I watched him hand out the trays and heard the clinking of silverware. The man on my left scooped up the cards and put them on the table between our beds.

'Chop-chop,' he said, smiling at me. 'Time for the old feed bag. They don't make it like in training camp, though. Nothing like eating in training camp. Work up a sweat, eat real careful on account of watching the weight, but eat real good. What's the menu, Doc?'

The orderly grinned at him. 'Be right with you, Killer.' He was still three beds away.

The boy in the bed to my right moved his head slightly and put his hands down on top of his blanket. He blinked his eyes and lay still, staring up at the ceiling.

The orderly stopped at the foot of his bed and took a tray from the table.

'How you doing, Billy?'

The boy's eyes sought out the direction from which the orderly's voice had come.

'Fine,' he said softly, very softly, and began to sit up.

The orderly came around to the side of the bed with a tray of food, but the boy kept staring in the direction from which the orderly's voice had come I looked at the boy and saw that he was blind.

'It's chicken, Billy,' the orderly said. 'Peas and carrots, potatoes, real hot vegetable soup. and applesauce.'.

'Chicken!' the man to my left said. 'Who can do a ten-rounder on chicken?'

'You doing a ten-rounder tonight, Killer?' the orderly asked pleasantly.

'Chicken!' the man to my left said again, but he was smiling broadly.

'You all set, Billy?' the orderly asked.

'I'm fine,' the boy said. He fumbled about for the silverware, found the knife and fork, and commenced eating.

I saw the nurse come up the aisle and stop at my bed, 'Hello, young man. Are we still hungry?'

'Yes, ma'am.'

'That's good. Your father said to tell you this is a kosher hospital, and you are to eat everything.'

'Yes. ma'am. Thank you.'

'How does your head feel?'

'It feals fine, ma'am.'

'No pain?'

'No.'

'That's very good. We won't ask you to sit up, though. Not just yet. We'll raise the bed up a bit and you can lean back against the pillow.'

I saw her bend down. From the motions of her shoulders, I could see she was turning something set into the foot of the bed. I felt the bed begin to rise.

'Is that comfortable?' she asked me.

'Yes, ma'am. Thank you very much.'.

She went to the night table between my bed and the bed to my right and opened a drawer. 'Your father asked that we give you this: She was holding a small, black skullcap in her hand.

'Thank you, ma'am.'

I took the skullcap and put it on. 'Enjoy your meal,' she said, smiling.

'Thank you very much,' I said. I had been concerned about eating. I wondered when my father had been to the hospital and why he wasn't here now.

'Mrs Carpenter,' the man to my left said, 'how come chicken again?'

The nurse looked at him sternly. 'Mr Savo, please behave yourself.'

'Yes, ma'am,' the man said, feigning fright.

'Mr Savo, you are a poor example to your young neighbours.' She turned quickly and went away.

'Tough as a ring post,' Mr Savo said, grinning at me. 'But a great heart.'

The orderly put the food tray on his bed, and he began eating ravenously. While chewing on a bone, he looked at me and winked his good eye. 'Good food. Not enough zip, but that's the kosher bit for you. Love to kid them along. Keeps them on their toes like a good fighter.'

'Mr Savo, sir?'

'Yeah, kid?'

'What day is today?'

He took the chicken bone out of his mouth. 'It's Monday.'

'Monday, June fifth?'

'That's right, kid.'

'I slept a long time,' I said quietly.

'You were out like a light, boy. Had us all in a sweat.' He put the chicken bone back in his mouth. 'Some clop that must've been,' he said, chewing on the bone.

I decided it would be polite to introduce myself. 'My name is Reuven Malter.'

His lips smiled at me from around the chicken bone in his mouth. 'Good to meet you, Reu-Reu-how's that again?'

'Reuven – Robert Malter.'

'Good to meet you, Bobby boy.' He took the chicken bone from his mouth, inspected it, then dropped it onto the tray. 'You always eat with a hat on?'

'Yes, sir.'

'What's that,'

'Always like kids that hold to their religion. Important thing, religion. Wouldn't mind some of it in the ring. Tough place, the ring. Tony Savo's my name.'

'Are you a professional prizefighter?'

'That's right, Bobby boy. I'm a prelim man. Could've been on top if that guy hadn't clopped me with that right the way he did. Flattened me for a month. Manager lost faith. Lousy manager. Tough racket, the ring. Good food, eh?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Not like in training camp, though. Nothing like eating in training camp.'

'Are you feeling better now?' I heard the blind boy ask me, and I turned to look at him. He had finished eating and was sitting looking in my direction. His eyes were wide open and a pale blue.

'I'm a lot better,' I told him. 'My head doesn't hurt.'

'We were all very worried about you.'

I didn't know what to say to that. I thought I would just nod and smile, but I knew he wouldn't see it. I didn't know what to say or do; so I kept silent.

'My name's Billy,' the blind boy said.

'How are you, Billy? I'm Robert Malter.'

'Hello, Robert: Did you hurt your eye very badly?'

'Pretty badly.'

'You want to be careful about your eyes, Robert.' I didn't know what to say to that, either.

'Robert's a grown-up name, isn't it? How old are you?'

'Fifteen.'

'That's grown up.'

'Call me Bobby,' I said to him. 'I'm not really that grown up.'

'Bobby is a nice name. All right. I'll call you Bobby.'

I kept looking at him. He had such a beautiful face, a gentle face. His hands lay limply on the blanket, and his eyes stared at me vacantly.

'What kind of hair do you have, Bobby? Can you tell me what you look like?'.

'Sure. I have black hair and brown eyes, and a face like a million others you've seen – you've heard about. I'm about five foot six, and I've got a bump on my head and a bandaged left eye.'

He laughed with sudden delight. 'You're a nice person,' he said warmly. 'You're nice like Mr Savo.'

Mr Savo looked over at us. He had finished eating and was holding the deck of cards in his hands. 'That's what I kept telling my manager. I'm a nice guy, I kept telling him. Is it my fault I got clopped? But he lost faith. Lousy manager.'

Billy stared in the direction of his voice. 'You'll he all right again, Mr Savo,' he said earnestly. 'You'll be right back up there on top again.'

'Sure, Billy,' Tony Savo said, looking at him. 'Old Tony'll make it up there again,'

'Then I'll come to your training camp and watch you practice and we'll have that three-rounder you promised me.'

'Sure, Billy: 'Mr Savo promised me a three-rounder after my operation,' Billy explained to me eagerly, still staring in the direction of Tony Savo's voice.

'That's great,' I said.

'It's a new kind of operation,' Billy said, turning his face in my direction. 'My father explained it to me. They found out how to do it in the war. It'll he wonderful doing a three-rounder with you, Mr Savo.'- 'Sure, Billy. Sure.' He was sitting up in his bed, looking at the boy and ignoring the deck of cards he held in his hands.

'It'll he wonderful to be able to see again,' Billy said to me. 'I had an accident in the car once. My father was driving. It was a long time ago. It wasn't my father's fault, though.'

Mr Savo looked down at the deck of cards, then put it back on top of the night table.

I saw the orderly coming hack up the aisle to collect the food trays. 'Did you enjoy the meal?' he asked Billy.

Billy turned his head in the direction of his voice. 'It was a fine meal.'

'How about you, Killer?'

'Chicken!' Tony Savo said. 'What can be good about chicken?' His voice was flat though now, and all the excitement was out of it.

'How come you left the bones· this time?' the orderly asked, grinning.

'Who can do a ten-rounder on chicken?' Tony Savo said. But he didn't seem to have his heart anymore in what he was saying. I saw him lie back on his pillow and stare up at the ceiling out of his left eye. Then he closed the eye and put his long hairy hands across his chest.

'We'll lower this for you,' the orderly said to me after he took my tray. He bent down at the foot of the bed, and I felt the head of the bed go flat.

Billy lay back on his pillow. I turned my head and saw him lying there, his eyes open and staring up, his palms under his head, his elbows jutting outward. Then I looked beyond his bed and saw a man hurrying up the aisle, and when 'he came into focus I saw it was my father.

I almost cried out, but I held back and waited for him to come up to my bed. I saw he was carrying a package wrapped in newspapers. He had on his dark gray, striped, double-breasted suit and his gray hat. He looked thin and worn, and his face was pale. His eyes seemed red behind his steel-rimmed spectacles, as though he hadn't slept in a long time. He came quickly around to the left side of the bed and looked down at me and tried to smile. But the smile didn't come through at all.

'The hospital telephoned me a little while ago,' he said, sounding a little out of breath. 'They told me you were awake.'

I started to sit up in the bed.

'No,' he said. 'lie still. They told me you were not to sit up yet'

I lay back and looked up at him. He sat down on the edge of the bed and put the package down next to him. He took off his hat and put it on top of the package. His sparse gray hair lay uncombed on his head. That was unusual for my father. I never remembered him leaving the house without first carefully combing his hair.

'You slept almost a full day,' he said, trying another smile. He had a soft voice, but it was a little husky now. 'How are you feeling, Reuven?'

'I feel fine now,' I said.

'They told me you had a slight concussion. Your head does not hurt?'

'No.'

'Mr Galanter called a few times today. He wanted to know how you were. I told him you were sleeping.'

'He's a wonderful man, Mr Galanter.'

'They told me you might sleep for a few days. They were surprised you woke so soon.'

'The ball hit me very hard.'

'Yes,' he said. 'I heard all about the ball game.'

He seemed very tense, and I wondered why he was still worried. 'The nurse didn't say anything to me about my eye.' I said. 'Is it all right?'

He looked at me queerly.

'Of course it is all right. Why should it not be all right? Dr Snydman operated on it, and he is a very big man.'

'He operated on my eye?' It had never occured to me that I had been through an operation. 'What was wrong? Why did he have to operate?'

My father caught the fear in my voice.

'You will be all right now,' he calmed me. 'There was a piece of glass in your eye and he had to get it out. Now you will be all right.'

'There was glass in my eye?'

My father nodded slowly. 'It was on the edge of the pupil.'

'And they took it out?'

'Dr Snydman took it out. They said he performed a miracle.' But somehow my father did not look as though a miracle had been performed. He sat there, tense and upset.

'Is the eye all right now?' I asked him.

'Of course it is all right. Why should it not be all right?'

'It's not all right,' I said. 'I want you to tell me.'

'There is nothing to tell you. They told me it was all right.'

'Abba, please tell me what's the matter.'

He looked at me, and I heard him sigh. Then he began to cough, a deep, rasping cough that shook his frail body terribly. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his lips and coughed a long time. I lay tense in the bed, watching him. The coughing stopped. I heard him sigh again, and then he smiled at me. It was his old smile, the warm smile that turned up the corners of his thin lips and lighted his face…

'Reuven, Reuven,' he said, smiling and shaking his head, 'I have never been good at hiding things from you, have I?'

I was quiet.

'I always wanted a bright boy for a son. And you are bright.

I will tell you what they told me about the eye. The eye is all right. It is fine. In a few days they will remove the bandages and you will come home.'

'In only a few days?'

'Yes.'

'So why are you so worried? That's wonderful I'

'Reuven, the eye has to heal.'

I saw a man walk up the aisle and come alongside Billy's bed.

He looked to be in his middle thirties. He had light blond hair, and from his face I could tell immediately that he was Billy's father. I saw him sit down on the edge of the bed, and I saw Billy turn his face toward him and sit up. The father kissed the boy gently on the forehead. They talked quietly.

I looked at my father. 'Of course the eye has to heal" I said.

'It has a tiny cut on the edge of the pupil, and the cut has to heal.'

I stared at him. 'The scar tissue,' I said slowly. 'The scar tissue can grow over the pupil.' And I felt myself go sick with fear.

My father blinked, and his eyes were moist behind the steel rimmed spectacles.

'Dr Snydman informed me he had a case like yours last year, and the eye healed. He is optimistic everything will be all right.'

'But he's not sure.'

'No,' my father said. 'He is not sure.'

I looked at Billy and saw him and his father talking together quietly and seriously. The father was caressing the boy's cheek. I looked away and turned my head to the left. Mr Savo seemed to be asleep.

'Reb Saunders called me twice today and once last night,' I heard my father say softly.

'Reb Saunders?'

'Yes. He wanted to know how you were. He told me his son is very sorry over what happened.'

'I'll bet.' I said bitterly.

My father stared at me for a moment, then leaned forward a little on the bed. He began to say something, but his words broke into a rasping cough. He put the handkerchief in front of his mouth and coughed into it. He coughed a long time, and I lay still and watched him. When he stopped, he took off his spectacles and wiped his eyes. He put the spectacles back on and took a deep breath.

'I caught a cold,' he apologized. 'There was a draft in the classroom yesterday. I told the janitor, but he told me he could not find anything wrong. So I caught a cold. In June yet. Only your father catches colds in June.'

'You're not taking care of yourself, abba.'

'I am worried about my baseball player: He smiled at me. 'I worry all the time you will get hit by a taxi or a trolley car, and you go and get hit by a baseball: 'I hate that Danny Saunders for this. He's making you sick.'

'Danny Saunders is making me sick? How is he making me sick?'

'He deliberately aimed at me, abba. He hit me deliberately. Now you're getting sick worrying about me.'

My father looked at me in amazement. 'He hit you deliberately?'

'You should see how he hits. He almost killed Schwartzie. He said his team would kill us apikorsim.'

'Apikorsim?'

'They turned the game into a war.'

'I do not understand. On the telephone Reb Saunders said' his son was sorry.'

'Sorry! I'll bet he's sorry I He's sorry he didn't kill me altogether!'

My father gazed at me intently, his eyes narrowing. I saw the look of amazement slowly leave his face.

'I do not like you to talk that way,' he said sternly.

'It's true, abba.' \ 'Did you ask him if it was deliberate?'

'No.'

'How can you say something like that if you are not sure? That is a terrible thing to say.' He was controlling his anger with difficulty.

'It seemed to be deliberate.'

'Things are always what they seem to be, Reuven? Since when?'

I was silent.

'I do not want to hear you say, that again about Reb Saunders' son.'

'Yes, abba.'

'Now, I brought you this.' He undid the newspapers around the package, and I saw it was our portable radio. 'Just because you are in the hospital does not mean you should shut yourself off from the world. It is expected Rome will fall any day now. And there are rumors the invasion of Europe will be very soon: You should not forget there is a world outside.'

'I'll have to do my schoolwork, abba. I'll have to keep up with my classes.'

'No schoolwork, no books, and no newspapers. They told me you are not allowed to read.'

'I can't read at all?'

'No reading. So I brought you the radio. Very 'important things are happening, Reuven, and a radio is a blessing.' '

He'put the radio on the night table. A radio brought the world together, he said very often. Anything that brought the world together he called a blessing.

'Now, your schoolwork,' he said. 'I talked with your teachers. If you cannot prepare in time for your examinations, they will give them to you privately at the end of June or in September. So you do not have to worry.'

'If I'm' out of the hospital in a few days, I'll be able to read soon.'

'We will see. We have to find out first about the scar tissue;' I felt myself frightened again. 'Will it take long to find out?'

'A week or two.'

'I can't read for two weeks?'

'We will ask Doctor Snydman when you leave the hospital. But no reading now.'

'Yes, abba.'

'Now I have to go,' my father said. "He put his hat on, folded the newspaper and put it under his arm. He coughed again, briefly this time, and stood up. 'I have to prepare examinations, and I must finish an article. The journal gave me a deadline.' He looked down at me and smiled, a little nervously, I thought. He seemed so pale and thin.

'Please take care of yourself, abba. Don't get sick.'

'I will take care of myself. You will rest. And listen to the radio.'

'Yes, abba.'

He looked at me, and I saw him blink his eyes behind his steelrimmed spectacles. 'You are not a baby anymore. I hope -' He broke off. I thought I saw his eyes begin to mist and his lips tremble for a moment.

Billy's father said something to the boy, and the boy laughed loudly. I saw my father glance at them briefly, then look back at me. Then I saw him turn his head and look at them again. He looked at them a long time. Then he turned back to me. I saw from his face that he knew Billy was blind.

'I brought you your tefillin and prayer book,' he said very quietly. His voice was husky, and it trembled. 'If they tell you it is all right, you should pray with your tefillin. But only if they tell you it is all right and will not be harmful to your head or your eye.' He stopped for a moment to clear his throat. 'It is a bad cold, but I will be all right. If you cannot pray with your tefillin, pray anyway. Now I have to go.' He bent and kissed me on the forehead. As he came close to me, I saw his eyes were red and misty. 'My baseball player.' he said, trying to smile. 'Take care of yourself and rest. I will be back to see you tomorrow.' He turned and walked quickly away up the aisle, small and thin, but walking with a straight, strong step the way he always walked no matter how he felt. Then he was out of focus and· I could no longer see him.

I lay on the pillow and closed my right eye. I found myself crying after a while, and I thought that might be bad for my eye, and I forced myself to stop. I 1ay still and thought about my eyes. I had always taken them for granted, the way I took for granted all the rest of my body and also my mind. My father had told me many times that health was a gift, but I never really paid much attention to the fact that I was rarely sick or almost never had to go to a doctor. I thought of Billy and Tony Savo. I tried to imagine what my life might be like if I had only one good eye, but I couldn't. I had just never thought of my eyes before. I had never thought what it might be like to be blind. I felt the wild terror again, and I tried to control it. I lay there a long time, thinking about my eyes.

I heard a stir in the ward, opened my right eye, and saw that Billy's father had gone. Billy was lying on his pillow with his palms under his head and his elbows jutting outward. His eyes were open and staring at the ceiling. I saw nurses alongside some of the beds, and I realized that everyone was preparing for sleep. I turned my head to look at Mr Savo. He seemed to be asleep. My head was beginning to hurt a little, and my left wrist still felt sore. I lay very still. I saw the nurse come up to my bed and look down at me with a bright smile.

'Well, now,' she said. 'How are we feeling, young man?'

'My head hurts a little,' I told her.

'That's to be expected.' She smiled at me. 'We'll give you this pill now so you'll have a fine night's sleep.'

She went to the night table and filled a glass with water from a pitcher that stood on a little tray. She helped me raise my head, and I put the pill in my mouth and swallowed it down with some of the water.

'Thank you,' I said, lying back on the pillow.

'You're very welcome, young man. It's nice to meet polite young people. Good night, now.'

'Good night, ma'am. Thank you.' She went away up the aisle.

I turned my head and looked at Billy. He lay very still with his eyes open. I watched him for a moment, then closed my eye. I wondered what it was like to be blind, completely blind. I couldn't imagine it, but I thought it must be something like the way I was feeling now with my eyes closed. But it's not the same, I told myself. I know if I open my right eye I'll see. When you're blind it makes no difference whether you open your eyes or not. I couldn't imagine what it was like to know that no matter whether my eyes were opened or closed it made no difference, everything was still dark.