“And a good thing you let her be stubborn. What do you do, sir? Are you a teacher?”
“I was a teacher in the old days, but now I am a film director. An artist.”
“An artist… how unusual. Here she is.”
The red light has gone out, and his daughter, in a white coat, a sheaf of papers in hand, rushes to hug and kiss her father. “You dropped in on a crazy day,” she says apologetically, “they keep sending me emergency cases. But you’re here, so let’s go inside and chat a bit.”
She takes him into a room where the new machine, a great white cylinder attached by cables to wall sockets, is installed alongside a bed, on top of which electrodes and wires are bunched. Beyond a glass wall is a console of computer screens that monitor the mapping.
Galit introduces her father to the other technicians, who greet him cordially. Then she sits him down in a little room and says, “Before you start complaining, tell me about Spain. Was the retrospective in your honor alone, or were there actors and cinematographers along with you? In the newspaper it said that only you got a prize.”
“Galiti, my dearest, forget the prize, it’s not important, and it’s small besides. If you want, I’ll tell you all about this strange retrospective when I come for dinner. Now is not the time, you’re in a rush, and I made a special trip to convince you to go to Europe, not Africa.”
“Why is this so important to you?”
“It’s a matter of principle. And I’m not talking about your decision not to have a party.”
“Really, Abba, you shouldn’t get involved in any of this. A party is a pain in the neck that makes nobody happy. Think about it — who gets invited anyway? You and Mother have no mutual friends anymore. So who do we invite? The medical staff here, people we see all the time at the hospital? There’ll always be someone insulted because he wasn’t invited. And believe me, it’s a pain for those invited. Once upon a time, a guest brought a book to a bar mitzvah and it was considered a respectable gift; now everyone has to bring a check that covers the cost of the meal. Isn’t it enough for you that he should say the Torah blessings in the synagogue, followed by a lunch for the close family? Then we’ll go to Africa to forget about the world.”
“That’s exactly the point. What I came to discuss. Why forget the world and not remember it? You asked me about Spain, and we were in a truly spectacular place, Santiago de Compostela.”
“Where is that?”
“In the northwest corner, within earshot of the ocean.”
“So?”
“There’s a magnificent cathedral.”
“So you want us to go there for the cathedral?”
“I didn’t say there in particular. Anywhere. Europe is full of cathedrals, filled with culture. Great museums, historical sites; this is a chance to give Itay something rich, and you too, you too…”
“He can see all these things on television or the Internet, why travel all that way?”
“Animals, darling, also roam all the time on TV and the Internet, and if he wants to see them in real life, he can go to the safari park in Ramat Gan, or the biblical zoo in Jerusalem.”
“We’re not going for the animals, Abba, but for the quiet and the scenery. It’s being out in the wild that we want, the opposite of the civilization that suffocates us here.”
Moses notices how much his daughter has come to resemble his mother. The sharp gaze, the rapid, self-confident manner of speech that’s warm at the same time.
“You and Zvi think”—Moses tenses—“that you are profoundly civilized because you can operate all sorts of medical machinery. I’m talking about art, about music, pictures, myths that will enrich you and offer my grandson another aspect of the world as he begins the transition to adulthood.”
“No rush, Abba, he’s not entering any adulthood. Today the kids stay kids until the age of thirty.”
“Your mother asked me to increase my gift, and I gladly agreed, but I’m asking what for? Why spend money on lions and elephants?”
“Also on breathtaking scenery.”
“Yes, but after his army service he will no doubt travel to India or South America to see the scenery and primitive people. But right now there’s an opportunity for a shared cultural experience with his parents. Something of value that will stay in the family’s memory. By the way, there’s also breathtaking scenery in Europe.”
“But it’s hard to get to it. In Africa, you get off the plane straight into nature and you don’t have to go looking for it. No, Abba, I understand what you mean but it won’t work. The two of us are tired and run down and we simply want to relax in the heart of nature. Besides, all of his classmates have traveled or will travel to Africa, and he can’t be the one who only went to Europe. What will he talk to them about? And believe me, an African trip is also expensive, and if you increase your gift, it’ll help. By the way, when did you eat breakfast?”
“This morning. Early.”
“And since then?”
“Nothing. I was waiting for you.”
“Very good. If you ate more than three hours ago, I have an idea. I can put you through the scanner and do a virtual mapping of the heart.”
“The heart?”
“Yes, why not? When did you last have your heart checked?”
“I don’t remember… I didn’t…”
“I’m sure your heart is fine even though you’re far from young, but in any case, so you won’t be able to say you took the trouble to come here for nothing, we’ll do a complete mapping of your heart, and you’ll leave here reassured. And we too, of course.”
“How long does this kind of mapping take?”
“No time at all, twenty minutes. And it doesn’t hurt. We’ll inject some contrast dye and see what’s happening in your heart. Come, Father, come, give me your hand… a little sting, that’s all…”
Galit talks to the technicians, and they happily agree to scan her father. But first they have to get his signature, because the test is considered experimental. After Moses gives his consent, they lay him down on a gurney, attach four electrodes to his upper back, and connect his ankle to a blood pressure machine. Then the daughter maneuvers the father twice through the scanner, each time giving him different breathing instructions, once to hold his breath, then to pant like a dog after a long run, and between the scans, and between the breaths, she circles back to the retrospective in Spain and asks if he was alone or if someone was with him, and he mentions Ruth, and Galit knows about the woman who caused her parents’ divorce. “Are you still with her?” she inquires matter-of-factly, without bitterness. “Not really,” he answers quickly. And when the scanning is completed and he is freed of the electrodes, he says, “You can’t imagine how much you’ve come to resemble my mother.” “Is that good or bad?” she asks apprehensively. “It’s good,” he assures her, “all good.”
He is sent out to the hall, and the elderly patient, still waiting, with her medical history on her stomach, looks at him malevolently. “So, they did end up checking you,” she says. “Not really,” he tells her, “I came to see my daughter and she insisted on scanning my heart.” “But why not wait your turn?” complains the old woman. “You’re right,” he admits, “I didn’t wait my turn, but what can you do, she’s the director.” He moves away to a bench at the end of the hall, and as he waits for the results, anxiety grips him, draining his energy, and he closes his eyes, and his head drops back. But a hand touches him gently, and there stands his son-in-law, father of his grandchildren, in a white coat, a stethoscope around his neck. He leans over Moses with a warm smile and hands him the results of the virtual mapping of his heart, with his signature as the cardiologist.