THE OUTSIDE BUBBLE

Recap of Chapter 56

Hinda is a worried wreck about Yosef. Martin comes to eat lunch with Dov, as usual these days. They are interrupted by a knock at the door; an official has arrived with a deportation notice for Martin. The court has ruled that he must leave the country in three weeks' time.

Chapter Fifty Seven

Dr. Jerry Skulholt decided to have their semiweekly conversation on the open balcony this time. It was the first time Michoel had been out on the rooftop space. Gazing all around, he followed the doctor, who used his key to open the door. He gasped at the breathtaking mountain scenery that surrounded them. They weren’t really mountains—more like hilltops— but the horizon was mountainous, against a cerulean background, with a few clouds at the peaks.

“Amazing scenery,” he said. He didn’t ask which mountains they were, because he knew he wouldn’t get an answer.

“It is,” Skulholt said with satisfaction, and led him to a wide sunshade umbrella that stood over a plastic table and two chairs. The table was surrounded by plants, and in general, green was the dominant color on the balcony.

“We’ve been making some progress recently, huh?” Dr.

Jerry said as he took his seat. “Progress with me?”

“Yes. Don’t you also feel it?”

“Sure I do.”

“How are the memories? Inundating you?”

“Not particularly. Every so often, I remember voices, or faces, but I can’t really connect between them all…”

“But there are figures that you do remember. Your relative, for example.”

Michoel nodded heavily. The question was if Hinda’s son Yosef could even help him. He had been a clever child, despite the struggles that always seemed to envelop him. But who knew how much of his cleverness he still retained today.

“Any other people?”

“Her son. He has schizophrenia, actually. I wish I could bring him here to you.” His tone was admiring. “I see the young people here, and it seems to me that you’re doing wonderful things for them, Doctor.”

Dr. Jerry smiled with pleasure. “I’m happy that you see it. And if we’re on the subject, I’d be interested in hearing what you, as our oldest adult patient, have to say about this place. What do you think of the people here? The caregivers? The overall atmosphere?”

“I’m enjoying it all very much,” Michoel said, and suddenly felt an itching all over his body. “The conversations with you have improved my condition considerably, and I believe all the patients feel the same way.”

“The pills that we give you are all natural, you know.” “I know. That's great.” Michoel leaned forward. “I wish I could bring my nephew here. The one I spoke to you about. Can you treat him?”

Dr. Jerry, in contrast, leaned back. His face grew serious. “You know, Michoel, that the cost of care here is very expensive.”

“Obviously.”

“I still don’t know how we will cover the costs of your care, and you’re talking to me about other family members?”

So it had come. Fine. It was to be expected, and it was good to hear that this was their only goal, more or less.

“I believe that his mother would be very happy to pay for anything that could heal her son.”

“And what about you?”

“I’d also be happy to remunerate you, after I know what exactly my bank account number is…” He chuckled.

“I don’t need to tell you how I came here, Doctor, because I don’t know. You do.”

But suddenly, as he said the words, the memory struck him with intensity. Not in full details—he had no idea where it had happened—but he'd been sitting in some type of moving vehicle, and next to him was a young man, tall and light-haired. He had never seen this person here, but he remembered right away who he was. The face of the blond man had not been particularly friendly, and he'd been sitting there silently. Something about his silence had been ominous.

Michoel stared at the tall stone wall ringing the perimeter of the roof. He could not see what was going on down below, but he did feel Skulholt’s gaze boring into him.

He'd had a large check on him, a very large one. He had just visited Reb Aharon Kluft, the philanthropist from…where? Somewhere in Texas. Or maybe another state nearby? Reb Aharon had once lived in Texas, but a year or two ago he’d moved his factories elsewhere. He'd also been talking on the phone, though he didn’t remember to whom, and he'd told the person about his organization…

“I think I was robbed,” he said suddenly, turning his head back to the doctor.

“There was an accident,” the doctor said, creases lining his forehead. “A bad accident, between a bus and a truck. You were on the bus—at least that's what I understood from the police. You had a serious head injury. You were taken to the hospital, and after your physical wounds healed, they transferred you to us.”

“Which hospital was it?” Michoel asked, but didn’t get an answer. “I think the accident was staged, or maybe it was real, but someone took advantage of it and robbed me. I had a large check on me at the time.”

“We gave you all the personal belongings that we received when you came to us,” the doctor said, almost defensively. “The suitcase with your clothes, and those things that you put on your arm and head each morning. True, your identifying documents all disappeared, so I can’t rule out what you are saying. It was clear to us also that someone had made sure to get rid of them, but until now I didn’t know that you had a sum of money on you.”

“Yes…” Michoel was quiet, looking at the wall. It wasn’t only the check. He’d had cash, too.

And a credit card? He didn’t think that he had taken it with him when he'd gone out. He used it only for regular payments or phone payments.

“I’ll report this to the police. It’s good that you remembered this part.” Dr. Jerry smiled. “I’m just pleased at the actual memories. But I’m afraid there isn’t much hope for the money. Are you a businessman?”

“No,” Michoel said slowly. “But I have a charity organization that is funded by donations.”

“What is your profession?”

He frowned. “I don’t know.”

In the past, he’d worked in electronics, but he’d long ago retired. Now he learned half a day, and was busy with Ohr Naftali V’Leah the other half. And for some reason, he did not feel like sharing this information with Dr. Jerry.

“Maybe we should contact my family,” he said. “I’m missing too many details. Maybe it’s even worth it to… consider with them if it’s wise for me to return home. There are some that say that a person’s memory recovers faster in his natural setting, no?”

“Well, for now you’re staying here,” the other man said pleasantly, without arguing. “In any case, regarding your nephew, we’ll need to hear more details to know if he’s really a good candidate for our place, and to be convinced that his family is ready to pay for his stay here, before we decide whether to accept him or not.”

“Of course,” Michoel said.

“And you will also surely want to pay us for what we’ve done for you all this time. I mean, before that, you won’t be leaving.”

“Of course, of course.”

Michoel remained on the rooftop porch long after Dr. Jerry concluded the conversation and left him alone. He tried to fight the brain cells that were not cooperating, and to extract from them more details about that trip. Had the accident been staged? Intentional? Related to the blond man seated at his side? Michoel stood up and began to pace. Above the stone wall was a gate of metal bars, and despite the elegant design, Michoel felt like he was in a prison of sorts. The last remark made by the doctor did not ring well in his ears.

He wondered what would happen if he declared that he had no intention of paying a penny—say, because they had brought him here without asking him. Would their friendly and pleasant treatment change? At this point, he didn’t think it was worth trying to find out. Someone came out onto the porch. Two someones. Actually, three young men. They watered the plants and chatted quietly among themselves. Two of them glanced in his direction, and barely nodded their heads at him. The third one gave him a small smile. It was Mike, the anorexic young man.

Michoel returned to his seat at the table, leaning back and closing his eyes, his legs out in front of him. He was really tired—the mental strain had exhausted him—but he didn’t fall sleep. Out of the corner of his eye, he peeked at Mike, who came close and watered the big plant to his left. Mike had a sister whom he wanted to bring here, but Dr. Jerry wasn’t allowing it. It didn’t look like the doctor was too excited about taking Yosef either.

Was it only about the payment?

“Mike?” he murmured, with his eyes closed. The boy didn’t turn around. “Yes?”

“How is your sister?”

“Don’t know. I don’t want to call home.”

“And if you wanted to, you could?”

“I have a calling device,” Mike mumbled in response. “Your own private one?”

“Uh-huh.”

The other two left. Michoel stood up, his eyes gleaming. “Could I make a call with it?” he asked. “Not for long, but it’s something that I can’t talk about when the doctor or other staff members are around.”

Mike didn’t say a word. He moved on to the next plant, and then put the watering can on the table and turned around to the exit. “I didn’t give it to you,” he muttered. “If they see you, tell them you found it. But it would be better if they don’t see you with it altogether, because if they do, they won’t let me have it anymore, okay?”

Huh? Michoel lowered his gaze. On the floor, near the plant, was a small cell phone.

Oh.

So Mike was also afraid. He also knew that things here were not as smooth as they tried to pretend they were. Michoel stood up and picked up the phone. The door closed behind Mike’s back, as he hurried to leave. Michoel stuck the phone into his pocket and turned to find a quiet corner in this large space. It was safe to assume that there were video cameras here, and perhaps also a listening device. He’d be better off on the lawns, where, among the bushes, it would be easier to find a few moments of privacy.

Just then, Dr. Jerry walked back onto the porch with a man of about thirty years old, who was wearing a downcast expression. The doctor smiled at Michoel and asked him politely to leave the porch.

Michoel was only too happy to comply.