De zoon van een gazzen

‘Get out of my way, you fooi!’ He said breathing heavily and at the same time jerking his shoulder and getting rid of my grip.

I stepped back, my hand in a tightening hold on my pistol in my pocket. ‘Ithamar, you are an officer. You have no right to do it without per-mission.’

‘Fooi! I am not supposed to teil you,’ he spoke under his breath. ‘The Old Man does know!’ He uttered with a hiss, turning his face away from me, his eyes towards the hospital gate.

I feit as if I had hit a stone wall. I had been fighting a lost battle. The real meaning of Ithamar’s words strained through my mind slowly, but with a crushing impact. I feit numb. I knew I wasn’t supposed to remain near Ithamar, but I couldn’t force myself to leave.

The minutes dragged as though time itself were holding itself back in anticipation of what was to come. Numb as I was, I found myself watching with actual interest the antics of a stout woman scolding her child as she dragged it along by one hand.

‘Naughty child, I’m angry at you!’

Soon, soon, I thought, my eyes following the woman as she herded the child down the Street.

Til give you almonds yet. Clouts on the head you’11 get! ’

‘You promised, you promised,’ the child wailed.

Til give you slaps, not almonds!’

I feit pity for the child, whose tiny face was smudged with tears. ‘Let him alone. What’s a fistful of almonds!’ I muttered to myself. We were con-spicuous, standing in the alleyway, but the passers-by barely glanced at us. Across the Street to our left was a small house. In front of it two Sephardic Jews sat crosslegged on small plush-covered stools, with a little table between them. They sipped Turkish coffee and played shesh besh with great animation. One of them was smoking a hookah, sucking the water pipe at close intervals. The twilight deepened until the stars began to ap-pear like lightning bugs in the low-hung sky. Suddenly the hospital gate swung open. A bearded figure appeared, carrying a brown briefcase and an active cane. Van Fried! The.heavy dignified figure walked slowly in our direction.

Ithamar tore himself from the wall and, walking diagonally across, began to cross the Street, his hand in his pocket and his eyes focussed on Van Fried. With his fixed look and his measured strides he made the impression of a somnanbulist walking in his sleep. In his detachment he was almost skinned by a car which cruised by, its rubber tires hissing on the tar surface.

33i