All matters of healing

 

All medical institutions smell the same – of disinfectants and waiting. There’s also a whiff of human suffering clinging onto the walls. Grimy baby toys with cracked wooden rings, mounted on the wall by paediatrician’s offices should probably be warded off with red tape for all the germs they carry. Grim leaflets describing the terrible effects of smoking and obesity, and the benefits of extra vaccines call in vain to the visitors, who are too absorbed in their own worries. And only the pious men in black hats rock back and forth over heavy volumes printed in eye-twisting miniscule letters, while their toddlers in faded onesies and distended diapers explore the shiny bleach-flavoured floor and smile up at kindly old ladies.

Unlike those morose places, alternative medicine places smell of sweet almond oil, incense, and pampering. They are scattered all over the ancient city, spicing up the wild stew of Jerusalem with their tingling Chinese music. This particular college also smelled of burning sage, brand-new things packaging, and lavender oil. In the classrooms, students slouched over massage tables, taking notes and relaxing, as the wind chimes at the entrance rang in tune with the weather and the time of day.

When God made the Jerusalem of Old, He set the hills running, rising and receding like the waves of the sea, until He ordered them to be still, and they moved no more. Then, over the millennia, the city climbed up them, and spilled over into the adjacent valleys. Then, eighty years ago, when survivors made their way home to build their State, He felt so emotional and needed to wipe His eyes, and so it happened that He dropped his spice rack right in, and every flavour spilled out, filling the city with all kinds of faith, love and madness. Musing along those lines, Diana sat on the steps of the college, cradling her lucky teddy bear, wrapped in her lucky blanket, printed with the logo of Beitar football team. Today was the day that would decide her whole future. If she passes, she will be a fully qualified and certified “Touch Specialist”, as they liked to refer to it. Massage, reflexology and Su-Jok were her passions. Actually, she had no doubt that she would pass, but the teddy bear was still necessary. She was too nervous to think straight. Next to her, a tall Russian girl called Julia was trying her best not to smirk about the teddy bear, or comment on it. Her giant mug, decorated with the coat of arms of St Petersburg, had a branch of liquorice bush sticking out of it, and Julia was being careful not to take her eye out while drinking. Right above them, Dor the guitarist was quickly going over his notes for the exam. His hair, dyed fluorescent yellow and purple, was gathered in a neat pony tail, and even his torn jeans looked more neat than usual. He was chewing on an apple – again. As a vegan “raw foodist”, he was perpetually starving, and had to “feed”, as he called it, even in class. Bananas, apples, celery sticks and even raw beetroots disappeared one after another behind his ginger stubble, yet his cheeks remained sunken, and the dark circles around his eyes could hardly be blamed on “lack of sleep”.

Sarit the secretary same out to invite them in for the exam. Leah, a short lady with swollen feet and distended belly, which hasn’t had the time yet to shrink since her most recent birth, adjusted her multi-layered turban and settled in the front row. Outside, her husband was walking back and forth impatiently, with the baby in a sling on his front and an army rifle hitting his legs in the back, drinking coffee and waiting to whisk her back to Psagot, a tiny settlement hugged on all sides by the hostile city of Ramalla, where their other children waited. Dor settled next to her, still chewing. In front of him he put a soy pudding with a plastic spoon, and a waxed cloth bag decorated with red polka dots, full of sprouted beans and celery sticks. Diana, Julia and the others sat right behind, in the second and the third rows. Liat, the mysterious Tel Avivian who barely ever spoke, settled in the desk chair by the window. She kept on pushing her sunglasses up to hold her hair back, and twisting the ring on her left hand as she wrote the answers slowly and deliberately. Fatma and Amira sat together and on the edge of the classroom, as they always did, their black hijabs and long dresses in sharp contrast with the colours of the clothes everyone else wore.

Diana put her teddy bear as close as possible to her exam paper, and began filling the pages with her slanted handwriting, losing all sense of time. How do you treat a pulled gastrocnemius muscle? And what about rotator cuff injuries? Oh, those were nasty, that she remembered… Maybe some gentle stretching? Heat? Cold? She couldn’t remember…

Time passed, sticky with effort, stretching and contracting in the rhythm of their knowledge and confidence, punctuated by Dor’s chewing and Julia unwrapping her carob protein bar.

At last, the time was nearly up. Julia was predictably the first to hand her exam in, and as she opened her phone, it bleeped unpleasantly with the warning sound they all recognized at once. The security alerts app sound like a barbed wire going through your ribs. All the heads turned. “Do not disturb your friends!” – Sarit hissed at her in a worried whisper. Then she grabbed Julia by the wrist and breathed in her ear, “Where?”

“Tel Aviv. A shooting attack on Dizengoff. Three dead, twelve wounded”, - Julia’s accent was suddenly much more pronounced. Red blotches appeared on her cheeks, then spread to her forehead. She tugged at her neckline, then reached into her backpack for an asthma inhaler.

A gasp travelled around the class. Dor stopped “feeding” and hastily swallowed so he could talk. “Have they caught the terrorists?” – he asked.

“Say what?” – Liat jumped out of her seat, letting the exam papers slide down to the floor.

“Hush, hush! Nu, really! It’s the exam!” -Sarit was flapping her arms like a wounded flamingo, her pink sleeves flying up and down, but her voice was not steady.

“I don’t care… “– Liat whispered. The colour drained form her face and she ran to her backpack, then tried to pull the string open with shaking hands. On the third attempt, the bag opened, but her phone and wallet fell out, scattering credit cards, bus cards, and discount cards all over. She ignored them, and began dialling numbers. Diana left her exam, and started to pick up the scattered items.

Julia focused her gaze on the two Arab girls, still sitting in the corner, as if trying to highlight their separateness. Fatma suddenly found the tip of her pen very interesting, she could not stop studying it in minute details. Amira was staring out of the window, as if the panic and distress of the people around her was contagious, and she wished to avoid it. They would not look at each other, or at the other students. Then Fatma began studying the acupuncture chart on the wall.

Diana picked up the last card, only to realize that it was a yellowed photograph of a boy in a soldier’s uniform. She handed the items to Liat, who was still clutching at her phone by her ear. Their eyes met, and Liat’s voice suddenly filled the room.

“Yes, that’s my brother, thanks for asking.” – Her tone was bitter, her voice rang like crystals of ice in a glass vase. “Second Lebanon War. He was trapped in a burning tank. We buried what was left of him without looking, there was nothing left to identify. My uncle died in the two helicopters accident over Shaar Yashuv. My father fought in Yom Kippur War. My grandma walked out of Auschwitz on her own two feet, even though she weighed just over thirty kilograms. Her grandfather was killed in a pogrom in Russia. I’m just an Israeli, like all of you.” – she looked around the room. “Well, like almost all of you” – she added, even more bitterly. “Sorry for oversharing.” – She shoved all the cards into her backpack, without looking at them, and walked out in long purposeful strides. Sarit carefully folded the exams into the damp blanket of silence and fear that settled over the classroom. “You can leave, if you need to…” – she offered hesitantly.

Diana hugged her teddy bear close. If only it could offer some comfort to people like Liat… then she had another idea. She dragged one of the empty massage tables into the centre of the room. “Who wants a reflexology break? Come on, this is exactly why we studied this… so we can help people. You can hug him as I’m treating you. Anyone?”

“I’ll add in a head massage on the other side” – Dor piped in. His eyes were wet, and he wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“Sure,” – Leah was the first one to climb on the table. “Then I’ll take over form you.”

More students walked in, unaware of what just transpired.

“Breathe into your pain…” – Dor muttered, making sure not to touch the complicated turban as he pressed points in Leah’s neck.

“It’s absurd that the sun is shining just as before, and yet, we lost three more people…” – Diana found herself pressing Leah’s feet so hard that her "client" winced. “Sorry…” – she sighed. Leah nodded.

The wind chimes at the entrance were singing the tune of summer. Sarit lit a candle under the oil burner, then dripped a few drops of lavender oil inside. “To calm the students…” – she thought. Another "client" climbed up onto the treatment table.

Nobody noticed Amira and Fatma leaving.