window, with its dazzling optimism, left no room for discussion. Volvo complained that I was being manipulative; nevertheless, I often caught him staring at Matisse’s multiple rectangles of happy light. The room contained only a narrow bed and a chair: Volvo kept his clothes in a suitcase under the bed and his books stacked in tal , precarious piles against the wal . He didn’t want to feel set led, he said. “I’l end up in Siberia anyhow,” he added. I had no idea what he meant, and didn’t bother asking.
“Volvo, do you want to come with me to dinner tonight? Someone I met invited me. A guy, Rafi, and his wife.”
“Yeah, al right. Who’s favoring me with his or her presence today?” he asked, referring to the volunteers. He always pretended not to know the volunteer schedule, even though there were only four and they always came on the same days: Rosa on Sundays and Thursdays, Joshua on Mondays, Miss (or rather, Sister) Fitzpatrick on Wednesdays, and Daniel’s old friend Alex, the albino musician who had played in their band, on either Friday or Saturday, depending on his availability.
“Rosa’s coming today, as I’m sure you know.” Rosa was a very devoted volunteer, and though she had innumerable health problems of her own, she cleaned Volvo’s at, went shopping for him, and did most of his cooking. She was a widow and extremely talkative; she never noticed Volvo’s bad moods because she was too busy tel ing him about her own tragedy-fil ed life, past and present.
“God help me.”
“Do you need anything?”
“If Rosa lost forty pounds and had a brain transplant she would actual y be tolerable.”
“She’s fine as she is. You’re the one who’s always sulking.”
“If Rosa lost her legs at least she’d weigh less.” He began laughing hysterical y.
“Very wit y.”
“Where were you yesterday? That taxi driver waited for you for hours.”
“I was just out with friends,” I lied. I never had the courage to tel Volvo about my activities. I was afraid he would never speak to me again.
“And then as soon as you got home, you sent him away. So he waited for nothing, unless it was a real quickie.”
“Volvo, I’ve told you a mil ion times, there’s nothing sexual between me and Benny, not that it’s any of your business. I sent him away because I was tired.”
“Pass me my tray, Dana. And get the hel out. What time is this dinner?”
“Rafi’s going to pick us up at seven.”
“I hope there’s room for my chair in his trunk.”
“He has a van. We’l manage.”
“Who is this guy?”
“Just a friend.”
I went out to drop of my film for developing and on the way I picked up some groceries: potato salad, hummus, bread. Then I returned to my novel. I noticed that I’d made several mistakes the previous night. I’d forgot en that my character’s name was Angeline and at some point I started cal ing her Angela. Then I forgot that Pierre was a count and I made him a prince, and his wicked cousin Martha accidental y turned into his aunt. I wasted a lot of time fixing these mistakes.
I was stil writing when Ra knocked on the door. I didn’t hear him at rst, or rather, I didn’t think the sound I’d heard was a knock.
“Were you asleep?” he asked, when I opened the door.
“No, I was at the computer. I’m ready, we just have to get Volvo. He’s in the flat next door.” I was very nervous.
“Relax, Dana,” he said. “There isn’t even going to be tear gas.”
We knocked on Volvo’s door but he didn’t answer. “I know you’re in there, Volvo. We’re ready, Rafi’s here. I’m coming in.”
I opened the door. Volvo was sit ing in his chair reading the newspaper. I could tel he’d been waiting impatiently, but he tried to look bored.
“Volvo, this is Rafi.”
“Hi,” Rafi said.
“Do you know that when you lose your legs people assume you’re also retarded?” Volvo asked, embarking on one of his favorite subjects.
“Yes,” Ra said. “I’ve seen it many times. They speak to you as if you’re deaf, and they use simple words as if your brain’s been damaged as wel . People are idiots.”
Volvo was delighted. “Absolutely true,” he said. We wheeled Volvo to the van and Ra lifted him onto the front seat. I folded the wheelchair and climbed in back with it. “You can’t imagine what fun it is to be carried like a sack of potatoes,” Volvo said. He held on to the door for balance and buckled himself in.
“You can’t imagine what my back is going to feel like tomorrow morning,” Ra said. “Why don’t you get yourself some prosthetic legs, for goodness’ sake?”
“Ha! Ha ha ha. Very good, very good. A true understanding of anatomy. I see a Nobel Prize in your future, young man.”
Ra looked embarrassed. “You’re right, I hadn’t real y thought it out …I guess it wouldn’t work … Unless you combined legs with crutches maybe?”
