The Book of Stone by Jonathan Papernick

Author:Jonathan Papernick
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Fig Tree Books
Published: 2015-05-12T04:00:00+00:00

THE HOSPITAL ELEVATOR opened at a crossroads of identical gleaming hallways, near a swarming nurses’ station. Dasi received directions to Dov’s room from a nurse. They found Dasi’s cousin Yossi and a friend arguing outside of Dov’s room. They both wore baseball caps and had tzitzes hanging from their shirts. The friend had a soft doughy paunch and wore a thin beard that barely covered his cheeks.

“This is fucked-up shit,” the friend said.

“Be cool,” Yossi said. “We’ll take care of it.”

“Who’s going to call his mother?” the friend said.

“Aren’t you?”

“I thought you were!”

Dasi called out to her cousin and the two stopped arguing.

“Hey Das. So glad you’re here,” Yossi said. “Better say a mishebe’rach.”

“What happened?” she said, eyes glassy. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Some black guy sprayed him with lighter fluid and set him on fire,” the doughy friend said, stepping close to Dasi.

“What?” Dasi said. “Why would someone do that?”

“It’s pretty ugly,” he said. “You don’t want to go in there.”

She ignored him and turned to Yossi. “What happened? Why did this happen? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Stone had disappeared. All of her energy was directed outward, away from him, and he felt foolishly bereft.

“We’ll find who did this,” Yossi said.

“And we’ll deal with him,” the doughy friend said. “In the meantime, all you can do is pray for a refuah shlema.”

“Why don’t you call his mother in Israel?” Dasi said. “And tell her what happened.”

Dasi went into the room and Stone followed, leaving Yossi and his friend arguing in the hall. It was a semi-private room, and the curtains on the far side, where a muted television played, were drawn. Five yeshiva boys stood in silence around Dov’s bed. Two wore Yankees caps; the others wore knitted kippas. They were all dressed in slacks and nondescript button-up shirts with fringed tzitzes hanging out. It wasn’t until Dasi and Stone approached the bed that the group realized they were behind them.

“He’s out,” one of them said in a half whisper.

“How long?” Dasi asked.

“Since we got here.”

“How bad is it?”

“Doctors don’t think the burns are that serious, but he got knocked on the head pretty good.”

Dov lay still on his back, tubes strung between his supine body and the humming machines. His face and neck and hands were loosely bandaged. Dasi leaned forward over the bed and Stone sensed the warmth of her presence dissipate; she had been standing that close.

She whispered, “Dov. Dov, it’s me, Dasi.”

“He can’t hear you,” one of the yeshiva boys said. “They’ve drugged him up.”

“It’s me, Dasi. Dov?”

She leaned close and whispered something Stone could not hear. The gesture was so intimate that Stone wanted to tear the tubes from Dov’s body and pull the plug on the humming machines. This was his night with Dasi, and Dov had spoiled it. Nobody told Dov to go and get himself hurt. That was his own doing. Dasi sang something quietly in his ear, a soft, lilting Hebrew tune Stone did not recognize. It dawned on Stone that it was Dov she had been talking about at dinner—they were the ones with a history.

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