The Hottest Dishes of the Tartar Cuisine

My farewell

The Rosenbaums threw a big goodbye party on their last day. They wanted to party until their departure flight. The suitcases and boxes were packed, some sent ahead. The apartment was nearly empty. There was just a large table in the middle, and on it all the salads and cakes the guests had brought. Afterward, one of Rosenbaum’s co-workers who owned a car was supposed to take the family to the airport. Their luggage would be transported in a separate car. No one said it outright, but the duty to clean up after the party fell to me. I didn’t say anything — cleaning up wasn’t going be a problem for me.

Aminat sang and danced and threw around strange words she’d picked up in her ulpan books. I sat silently on a chair and watched how Sulfia was hugged by countless people I’d never before seen in my life, how old Rosenbaum spent half the night drying his tears with Sulfia’s handkerchief, how promises were exchanged never to forget one another. I was probably the only one who knew at that moment that such promises are never kept.

Shortly after midnight I stood up. Tired Aminat had curled up on a mattress in the room she had shared with her sister. She held little sleeping Lena in her arms. I leaned down and kissed Aminat on her sweaty forehead.

Nobody noticed as I slipped out of the apartment. I hailed a taxi on the street and rode home. I gave the driver a big banknote and he obviously thought I was drunk. I told him always to be nice to other people. Now he thought I was insane.

At home I grabbed the sleeping pill packets, a glass, and a bottle of milk and went to my room. I undressed, threw on my bathrobe, and went to the bathroom. I washed myself thoroughly and then made myself up. I couldn’t have done it any more meticulously if it had been for my own wedding. Of course, marriage could be tried more than once, death usually not.

I liked what I saw in the mirror. My cheeks were pale with powder, and together with my black eyes and red lipstick, I looked beautiful and eternally young. Just a shame no one would think to take a picture of me in the coffin.

I sat down on the bed and began to open the packets and squeeze the pills from the blister packs. They fell onto the bedcovers and I shoveled them into a pile with my hands. I threw them in my mouth ten at a time, chewed them up, and washed them down with half a glass of milk. I hadn’t noticed any effects beyond an unusually strong heartbeat.

I realized I hadn’t left a farewell note. But it wasn’t necessary. I wouldn’t be found until after Aminat and Sulfia had already arrived in Tel Aviv. Sulfia would probably have to fly back to take care of the funeral. Oh well, she’d just have to get through it.

Now I felt strange. I couldn’t tell whether I had a stomachache or I was dizzy. I heard my pulse racing in my temples and pressed my head in my hands. At the same time I could tell I was about to throw up. That couldn’t happen. I shoveled some of the remaining tablets into the empty glass, poured in a little milk, and mixed it up with a spoon. The tablets didn’t dissolve, so I tried to break them up and realized my fingers were no longer responding. I was probably half dead. I poured the pill porridge into my mouth, filled the glass with milk, drank it down, and lay down quickly under the blankets. I folded my hands and closed my eyes. My second to last thought was of Aminat and my last of God.