“Good morning.”

“So, is everything all right? He seems to be sleeping nicely,” she said, yawning.

“Everything’s all right,” I heard myself say.

I took the undershirt, the T-shirt, and the pants I was supposed to wear that day and stashed them in the staff closet. I moved my toiletries kit there, too. “Have a good shift,” I told Osnat and hurried down the stairs. Why hadn’t I said anything? What am I going to do now? I thought. I was angry with myself and I felt my face flush.

Waiting at the bus stop on Herzl Boulevard, I imagined Wassim making coffee and hurrying Majdi out of bed. This was my first time leaving for work without them. Why the hell had I not said anything to Osnat? Maybe I’ll just disappear, I thought, without saying anything. What could possibly happen if I don’t show up tonight at seven? It would be a little awkward, and Osnat would definitely talk to Ayub, who would talk to Wassim, but all of that could easily be explained. I could also call her as soon as I got to the office and tell her that I would not be coming back. Some things have to be handled in that way. A clean cut. I decided that’s what I would do. So I’d lose a shirt and a pair of pants. It was a small price to pay.

The 23 bus was stuck at a red light before the stop. It didn’t run often but it was the best bus for me, as it went straight to the courthouse and from there it was just a two-minute walk to work. I counted the coins in my hand. I always tried to have exact change because I hated making the drivers do the extra work. A white car veered into the bus stop. I hated drivers who pulled in to bus stops.

“Excuse me,” I heard a voice call out. I swiveled my head. “I’m Ruchaleh, Yonatan’s mother. Where are you headed?”

I leaned forward and looked through the open window at the driver of the car.

“Wadi Joz.”

“Okay, get in, it’s on my way.”

I looked back one more time at the 23, which was pulling up to the stop, and then opened the car door and hurried in.

I made sure to look straight ahead and tried to breathe quietly.

“I’m headed to Mount Scopus. Wadi Joz is on my way,” she said in a tone that reminded me of her son’s expressionless stare.

“Thank you very much.”

“I saw you on the way down the stairs this morning. I was sitting in the kitchen.”

I nodded in silence and only then realized that there had been someone else in the house during that night of sleeplessness. At no point did I feel or hear her presence, there had been no shutting of doors and no footfalls. No sign of life at all.

“It was a rough night last night,” she said, and I wasn’t sure if she was asking or telling. “I came upstairs to say hi when I got home but I saw that you were busy with Yonatan in the shower and I didn’t want to bother you.”

I nodded bashfully. She had been there, and she knew what I had been through.

“I know this will sound strange to you,” she said, “but he was testing you last night. That’s why I didn’t get involved.”

I didn’t respond, and the two of us stayed silent. The roads were full of traffic and we moved along slowly from light to light. I looked over at the cars trapped beside us and tried to guess where they were all headed.

“Where do you need to go in Wadi Joz?” she asked when we reached Route 1.

“Right by the district court would be perfect,” I said, because I knew that it was on her way to the university and that most Jews didn’t like driving deep into Arab neighborhoods.

“That’s where you live?”

“No, that’s where I work, at the bureau of social services.”

“But that’s not near the courthouse,” she said.

“No, but it’s a two-minute walk from there.”

She drove past the courthouse, turned right, and then left into Wadi Joz, stopping right in front of the office.

“See you tonight,” she said, without a trace of a question mark.

MARLBORO LIGHT

Daud Abu-Ramila, my only active case, was waiting for me outside the office. He sat on the floor, hugging a big bag. “I’m clean today,” he said, adding with a laugh, “got the rehab started already.” This was the day I was to take him to the clinic in Lifta. He had already been through the committee, met all the requirements, and been told that the bed for the Arab residents was now available.

I punched in and made coffee for the two of us. He was excited, his movements sharp and quick. “I won’t let you down, you’ll see. I’m dying to get there already,” he said. “I’ll never forget what you did for me. Never. You saved me.” Once we’d finished our coffees, I called a cab and we prepared to head out to wait for the driver.

“Is this the outpatient center?” a woman’s voice breathed behind me as I was shutting the door.

“Yes.” I turned around and looked at the skinny, curly-haired girl before me. She was chewing gum and trying to catch her breath at the same time.

“Hi,” she said, extending a hand. “I’m Leila, the new intern. Sorry I’m late, I got a little lost. Walid told you I was coming, right?”

The cab driver announced himself with a honk. “Tell him to wait a second,” I told Daud, who pulled his eyes off Leila and set off at a run.

“Walid’s my supervisor for this internship and he asked that I accompany you to Lifta. He didn’t tell you?”

Walid hadn’t told me a thing about a new intern and certainly not about her accompanying me anywhere.

“All right, let’s go,” I said, shutting the door and leading her toward the taxi. Abu-Ramila had already taken the front seat. Leila and I sat in the back.

“Daud, meet. . Leila?” I said, making sure I had the name right. She nodded, “Leila.”

Without turning around Daud began to sing my praises. “He’s the best guy here, I’m telling you, this is the man that saved my life. I would do anything in the world for him.” His comments irritated me and drew the early signs of a smile on Leila’s face.

Why had Walid told her to join me on the trip to Lifta? What was I, her supervisor? Why didn’t he do it himself? I remembered that Walid had said he wasn’t going to mentor any student-interns this year. Of course he was going to dump her on me. I was the only one in the office with an active case.

“Did you hear what happened in the southern district office?” Leila asked.

“No.”

“You don’t know? The whole world’s talking about it.”

“Yeah, Allah istor,” Daud’s voice came from the front seat. “How many got killed there, three?”

“Two, and several injured,” Leila said.

Only then did I remember that I had heard something about the incident a few days earlier, either in the office or over the radio while on the bus, but I hadn’t really paid it any attention. In those days I didn’t follow the news, didn’t listen to the radio, and didn’t read the papers, aside from the old magazines that Majdi brought back from the hotel.

Leila said that one of the addicts came in one day and just started stabbing people. A secretary and a social worker were killed on the spot. One of the wounded was Leila’s previous supervisor. She couldn’t believe it when she heard the story. It was so awful, terrifying. Luckily it hadn’t happened on a day that she went into the office. After the incident, the social work department decided to repost her to a different bureau, to Walid, even though she didn’t want to work in the Arab sector — not because she had anything against her own kind, God forbid, but because of the budget constraints. “I wanted to do a real internship, not one of these half-baked ones,” she said. At any rate, she was happy they found her an alternative because there was no way she was going back to the southern district and she definitely didn’t want to waste a whole year.

At the clinic we pushed the intercom and waited for the director, who said he would be right down. “This place is nice,” Leila said. “What is it?” She looked over at the abandoned stone houses clustered at the foot of the hill.