Eilat – Far from Home
The night before Lily arrived, I couldn’t sleep. There were so many things I wanted to share with her. For instance, what if she said there was no way she was moving to Eilat? That the heat, the wind, the dryness, the people, or something else just didn’t suit her, and that she wanted to go back to life in Tel-Aviv, to Tel-Aviv’s rhythm. To Tel-Aviv’s galleries. What I feared most was the stifling heat. True, the “four days and that’s it” line really did work – at least for me. But what about her? She was so different from me.
For me, the heat had stopped being a factor; I felt fairly at ease. I could see you could do what you wanted – and needed – to do even in the heat. But Lily was built differently; there was something in her that no one could name for sure. And the department head who declared Eilat would be best for her wasn’t here to feel what I felt – or what she was about to feel.
Her reaction to the heat the moment she got off the bus surprised me. Even after a six-hour ride, she looked radiant. She stepped out into the dry air and hugged me without a word of complaint. Not only did the heat not seem to bother her, but it appeared to energize her. When we got out of the taxi at the Soldiers’ Center, she even scoffed at the heat.
“This is nothing like what I imagined,” she said before bringing her lips to mine.
After the Soldiers’ Center, we went to the National Housing Authority apartment. After going up the stairs to the fourth floor – easier than I’d feared – we walked in. Before she even looked out the windows toward the bay, she said I could tell them we’d take the place. I was surprised, but didn’t say anything. When weopened the shutters, Lily pounced on me with kisses and hugs, as if she’d found the treasure of her life. “I’m never leaving this place,” she cried, enchanted. She was utterly captivated by the view of the bay before her eyes and was already talking about the immense potential the place held for people like her.
The next day, our things arrived from Tel-Aviv. The movers who hauled the gear upstairs were not pleased about the climb to the fourth floor.
“There’s a piano,” the foreman announced what I already knew. “We’re not taking that up,” he decreed.
I stared at him. “What do you mean you’re not taking it up? What do you expect me to do with it?” I snapped.
He only shrugged, called the other movers, and they got back in the truck and disappeared. I stood there stunned and helpless before the white piano in the entryway.
As I stood there at a loss before the “white elephant,” Yossi, the base crane operator, happened to pass by, saw my distress, and came to the rescue. He went down to the port, rounded up a few buddies, and they got the piano up to the apartment. “That’s how we do it here,” he declared. Even now, I can’t find words for what we felt. We stood there, the two of us, indebted and apologetic that all we could offer them was a glass of not-quite-cold water.
So on Friday evening, exhausted, we sat facing each other amid the chaos and tried to figure out what to do first.
While we were eyeing the piles of belongings, there was a heavy knock on the door.
“It’s open,” I called, shooting Lily a surprised look.
“Who could that be?” I wondered. We weren’t expecting anyone, and who would be knocking on a Friday night – in a strange city, no less?
“It’s open,” I called again after a few seconds of silence.
“I’m sorry, but there are two diving casualties at the hospital –they’re calling you in! I’m waiting downstairs.” Musa, the driver, stood on the threshold, then turned and vanished.
It was the last thing – absolutely the last thing – I wanted to hear. “Damn it – medicine!” I muttered aloud, thinking that this was exactly what the day didn’t need.
“I’ll get dressed and come right down,” I answered from the room, feeling my heart kick up its pace.
“I’m sorry – in all the mess, we forgot I’m also a doctor.” I kissed her and left.
Seconds later, I was back, grabbed my “brain bag” – the kit with all the essentials I’d learned in Haifa in the hyperbaric course – and bolted downstairs. On the five-minute ride I even managed to skim a few basic guidelines for a case like this. I had never encountered a real diving casualty, hadn’t even seen pictures. Everything on the course had been theoretical.
As we approached the hospital, I spotted the medical director and the on-duty physician; only then did I calm down. I felt even better when the director told me both casualties had come in under their own steam.
“The moment we came out of the water, we felt sick,” they said. “A few minutes later, we got tingling in the shoulders and arms that hasn’t gone away.”
One of them remembered from the diving course that those sensations could indicate a “diving accident,” so they decided to stop by the ER. Someone at the water-sports center told them that the hospital had a hyperbaric chamber.
From a brief inquiry into the depth and duration of the dive, I understood we were indeed looking at a diving accident. We decided to activate the new hyperbaric chamber, which had been installed only a few days earlier.
“You’ll go in with them,” the director read from the manual. “We’ll pressurize quickly to a level simulating a depth of aboutfifty meters, and then we’ll decompress slowly.” I nodded my assent, and we went inside.
After about an hour in the chamber, a strange voice crackled over the intercom.
“Michael.”
“Who is it?” I wondered.
“Lily.” Her voice sounded distorted – like Mickey Mouse in a cartoon.
