jacob voice aisav hands

8/14/2019 JACOB voice AISAV hands

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JACOBs voice AISAVs hands

About an hour before the crack of dawn Uri Ofel woke up terribly scared, the wails

of some car alarm system interrupted his slumber and kept on piercing the air with

high-pitched sounds. He kept lying in his bed, resigned in total darkness, praying that

the owner of that vehicle would get down and put an end to his torments to thishorrible torture.

The curse of progress He muttered, an encouraging commencement to a new

day He knew he would not be able to fall asleep again, in spite of his tiredness.

A door was slammed in one of the buildings apartments, sounds of running foot steps

were heard and the alarm siren was cut off with the same suddenness, in which it

woke him up.

Thank god, he muttered aloud getting up, leaving his bed and moved to the

bathroom fumbling his way with his hands; he stood over the sink rinsing his face in

the darkness, averting his eyes from the mirror avoiding the sight of his wrinkled

face and his scanty grey hair. After some hesitation he turned to his studio, opened its

door, turned on the light. He watched a few seconds his neglected easle, switched offthe light, shut the door and returned to his bed.

Last nights events reappeared and floated up in his minds eye, very clearly. If he

would have left the caf earlier, he would have saved himself the shameful and futile

humiliation that ensued; but that young chick with her alluring features pinned him

down in his chair. With her smiles and her coveting eyes, she swept him with hopes

he thought he might leave with her with his arm embracing her waist, and who knows,

maybe this very morning he would have found her beside in his bed Thus he sat

on drinking, and devouring her with his eyes.

About midnight the state of the art in the field of inventions entered. A punk whose

star had risen just recently. He sticks, cuts, writes essays with his brushes, engraves

the canvas with his brushes handles, applies color with his fingers, standing, kneeling

and who knows in what other postures he rapes his canvases; and the critics are

praising him with exhilaration from editorial to editorial, from column to column,

while Ofel searches his own name in ink in vain grinding his teeth. Thus when he

saw him enter he got to feet raising his glass with flushed face and called out: Dear

colleagues, I raise my glass to the guide of the baffled, to the distinguished fashion

designer, to the road sign that media has set up for us!

As he was about to add some more wise cracks, expecting for the roar of a laughing

wave, that would engulf the joint. But instead to his utter astonishment his mouth was

shut, he was admonished and by whom? By punks who didnt warm their chairs inthis joint even one full year! The atmosphere got heated up, an argument erupted with

shouts and curses; as he raised his hand ready to punch, some rushed to keep him and

his opponents apart, but at the end he was thrown out on the pavement right in front

of the entrance at the feet of some curious giggling passers-by. He returned home

stumbling, drunk almost, humiliated, with a grey face.

The deterioration process in which he was in its midest, received a real momentum

due to this incident. He was not aware to it yet it seemed, but the signs of that process

could not be repressed anymore people kept away from him. When was the last that

anyone visited him in his apartment? When was the last time a woman shared his

bed?

The last one of them was a fresh divorcee, an ex model that returned to frequent thebohemian circles. He drew her to himself, did her a favor in fact; that what he


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thought of course, he wasnt fond of her she didnt meet his requirements of beauty,

but as his own star started to fade he could not find a better choice. She was his

temporary solution better than nothing, till he would find some young chick, an

Avishag that would let him to cling to her youth that would rekindle his

inspiration. These were his hops just some six months ago.

But this better than nothing as he nicknamed her with his rude humor slammed hisdoor, after a loud quarrel and a short stay. She wanted him to paint her portraitHer

portrait, what did she take him for, and who deals with portraits nowadays. with thatarchaic decadent art? But how am I going to show my face at the Goblet? He

panicked suddenly, awakening from his reflections. Indeed, how should he cross the

threshold of that traditional meeting place, where he never missed a single day almost

during the last two decades? What would become of his status, his table, his corner,

his adherents that swallowed every word of his with thirst. That group of adherent of

his, that was dwindling lately, would be snatched no doubt by those young punks that

keep pushing him aside.

By god Im not wiped out yet, Im still alive and kicking! He reminded himself with

vigor. He put on his cloths and turned to his kitchen, tidied it up collectedyesterdays leftovers in a bag and went with it down. The day lighted up blue bright

summer sky, he filled his lungs with fresh air and went over to the yards edge. With a

very resolute movement he opened up the garbage can and threw his bag inside.

Something must be done! Something that would open wide again my havens doors,that would remind the public that I still exist! What exactly it should be he did notknow yet, but the right solution would be found. Yeah Ive plenty of ideas, Ill getback and settle in my corner as usual, with every pair of eyes watching me, just as it

used to be! He kept thinking and encouraging himself.

On his way back he took the morning paper from his mail box, settled in his kitchen

and busied himself with his breakfast.

The kettle buzzed on the stove and while munching he passed over the papers

headlines, yesterdays incident was not mentioned it could not be better. But he

needs a headline in one of the inner pages, with a few lines in which his name would

appear the more the better. He does not need anything more at that early stage

But how am I realizing it? Ive got to sit and think the problem over. He thoughtpouring himself a cup of coffee. Theres an idea and theres a way But he must get

someone to do the dirty work for him. Doing it himself would be pointless, and he

should not risk himself of course. Oh yes, that type that he did employ several time in

the past, not for a purpose of that kind, he chuckled aloud pleased with himsefl. Thattype knows a trick or two and has taken part in some much more serious matters he

served some time too With these optimistic thoughts Ofel picked up his phone anddialed the number of the certain municipality deparment where that type wasemployed.

Hello, get me please the head of maintenance and sanitation, Ofel asked the operator

and till that type would reply, he covered the mouth-piece with a napkin. As soon as

the the type muttered a suspicious grunt that sounded like a syllable with a meaning in

it. Ofel hastened to suggest: Listen do you want to make some easy money?

Get lost! The type retorted and hung up.

The napkin fell down to Ofels feet, alarmed he dialed again, and beseeched the

operator to get him that type once again.

He doesnt want to talk to you, she replied and hung up.


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She too, he thought bewieldered. What a bloody mess! He muttered aloud with

anger and frustration. His great idea collapsed before his eyes like a tower of playing

cards.

Theres no other choice Ill have to do it myself, and today, it cant wait Heconcluded gloomily and left to purchase the few things he needed for that task.

When he returned some two and a half hours later, he waited for nightfall impatiently,ignoring his studio as if it was wiped out from his memory.

At seven pm Ofel parked his car some two street away from the certain institute, in

which he planned to commit his scheme, and walked on to his destination on foot.

Having reached it, he stood on the other side of the road, behind the line of parked

cars and contemplated its hall with its transperant front. The place was empty already

except a middle-aged clerk on duty, which was seated behind the long counter inside

the only obstacle he has to pass. Half an hour was left till closure time, till this

middle-aged person would get up and switch off the lights.

Ofel kept standing in the darkness pondering, whether he should rock one of the

parked cars, trigger its alarm system and enter the place through its main entrance inthe tumult that would ensue as the rear one was already shut at this late evening

hour. But the noise would catch the passers-by attention, he might be identified while

crossing the road, or even before leaving the parked car

What a miserable plan without the slightest chance to succeed! He scolded himself

angrily. But some twenty minutes before closure time the clerk rose to his feet and

vanished behind a cupboard open door, the lights were starting to dim out.

Without losing precious time Ofel crossed nimbly the street, entered the place

stealthily, crossed the hall, turned to his left and reached a small clearing before a

broad mosaic on the opposite wall. After a few more seconds of fast heart beating, he

made his way back in total darkness without being noticed.

He walked back through the side streets with vigor and a cheerful heart; he almost

started singing aloud those who sow with tears would reap singing. He felt like his

youth and energy has returned to him, so happy was he. Having reached his car he

mounted it and drove straight to his haven, to his sacred meeting place. He did not

expect a welcome as he deserves to get, but staying there would serve him as a solid

alibi.

At about midnight Ofel returned to his apartment and shut himself in his studio. No

muse hovered round his head, but he would better release all the tension that had

accumulated in him during the last hours; thus mixing his colors and caressing the

canvas with his brushes, he turned his thoughts in his mind and analyzed the

possobilities that lay ahead.Well the switch was set on and the countdown started He thought with satisfaction.But Id better be prepared for the morrow. As far as the authorities are concerned I

might be one of the suspects, theoritically at least. I must avoid exaggeration. Ill have

to appear as terribly shocked, up to the point of not being able to comment, at the first

few moments of course. This would increase the chances that no suspicion would

adhere to me publically, and the publicity campaign that Im conducting from now on,

would succeed as I wish it to succeed.

The next morning about nine twenty after some hours of tension, the phone rang.

Mr. Ofel some horrible thing happened, you must come over immediately, your

mosaic was damaged! The voice on the other side of the line stammered excitedly.


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Who is it? Where are you talking from? Ofel cried out. In a few more seconds the

issue was completely clear to him of course.

Well now after Ive been informed with all the details and the right place, Id better sit

down and satisfy my hunger, and let all the dignataries to arrive before my own

arrival. He chuckled rather pleased with himself, spreading butter and honey on a

slice of bread.Hardly one hour passed and Ofel was standing at the storms eye among reporters,

cops, the place manager and his loyal crew, and even a hord of curious common

citizens, who were crowding the place and shoving and pushing everyone. While Ofel

was preaching dramatically against barbarity, vandalism and the violence that was

creeping in our daily life. While answering the reporters questions Ofel assesed the

damage and gave an estimate of the efforts and means needed for the restoration.

One might think its the restoration of Rembrandts The night watch, remarked

someone with sarcasm.

jacob voice aisav hands

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