And the Rat Laughed - By Nava Semel Page 0,17

remove the top layer of Tel Aviv, and then she’d organize guided tours, because there’s a Tel Aviv under the ground too. Every city has an under-the-ground city too, every place has an under-the-ground, because wherever there are people there’s an under-the-ground, and even if the under-the-ground wasn’t there before, it begins to form because of them, even without their noticing it, behind their backs, and that’s the real zoo.

The salesman told her: If you’ve got nothing to do when you retire, why don’t you come work for me, or for the SPCA, because they’re always looking for volunteers, and she said: Thanks, I’ve got lots to do, especially now, while I’m taking a special computer course for mature adults, and learning about the internet too.

But when all was said and done, she didn’t buy me anything.

When we got home she said: Your pet will find you. And I said: Come on, Grandma, what animals ever choose their pet-human? But she didn’t answer, and I thought, there goes another lousy birthday.

Believe me, it wasn’t easy to pin her down to arrange for us to meet for this school project. Every time I tried to set a time with her she avoided me. She had plenty of excuses. She had to wait for the computer guy to hook her up to the net. It was only when I told her that I was going to flunk on her account that she gave in. In the end, we made a date for the afternoon, and I even skipped drama class for this interview. I sat there across from her, all ready to go, if you get my drift, with my pen and notebook, just waiting to hear her out. Just like you said. And I had my outline ready and the list of questions I’d typed out at home, and I thought about what you’d said in class, that this is the eleventh hour because these are the last witnesses who can still tell us firsthand about what they went through in those terrible, horrible years, and pretty soon they won’t be around any more. I remembered that you said we should try to bring along a camcorder or a tape recorder to tape the story, but my grandmother just wouldn’t have it. She barely agreed to the notebook.

The first thing I noticed was that she’d made room for a computer in the living room near the window. She said they’d promised to hook her up within a day or two, and she was still waiting. I thought it was kind of funny to see people her age surfing the net.

I waited patiently for her. First she drew the curtains, even though the light never disturbs me. Then she straightened up the sofa and the propped-up cushions she’d made out of silk and lace, with embroidery in lots of colors that she collects from all over the world or buys at the flea market on Sundays. Finally she chose the armchair directly across from me and sat down, even though it was my grandfather’s chair, where he’d sit with the remote control and wind up watching just the sports channel. It was the armchair he died in, in fact. He got a heart attack all of a sudden, and took us all by surprise.

There was a bit of a distance between us, so I had to bend down to see her face. She sat there in a strange position, like a school-girl, or as if she was facing someone who has made her bow to him and even though she had to obey, there was something inside her that succeeded in resisting. I didn’t feel comfortable in that position. I kept thinking that I don’t want to upset her, and that if I just do what you told me, the story will come out clear and smooth, with a beginning, a middle and an end – and a sense of progression to boot. That’s what you explained in class. You really explained it well, Miri, and you know I’m not one to butter up my teachers. I thought a lot about the way you put it, and about how one thing leads to another. Otherwise things don’t make sense, because the biggest danger is when everything gets confused and chaotic. And I did whatever I could. I thought your instructions were really super, and that if I followed them, I wouldn’t cause her any unnecessary pain, because I certainly don’t want to