Suddenly, a Knock on the Door: Stories by Etgar Keret, Nathan Englander, Miriam Shlesinger, Sondra Silverston Read Free Book Online Page A

the plan. We run through the things he needs to tell Sheyni afterward. How he annoyed Grandma. How she gave him a good shove into the wall. In short, how he got himself that bruise.
    “And it’ll hurt?” he asks again at the end.
    “It’ll hurt,” I tell him. “Just this once. But afterward, she’ll never, not ever, shut you up in that room alone.”
    Roiki gets quiet. He thinks. The popsicle is already finished. He’s licking the stick. “And Mommy won’t say that I’m just making it up?”
    I stroke his forehead. “If there’s a big enough bruise on your head, then, no, she won’t say that.” After that, we take the car back to the parking lot. Roiki steers, and I press on the gas and the brakes. Teamwork. I teach Roiki how to honk the horn while we drive, and he goes crazy with it. He honks and honks and honks until the parking attendant comes over and asks us to stop. It’s this old Arab guy that does the night shift. “Let it slide,” I say, winking and holding out a twenty. “The kid’s playing. A few more minutes and we’re gone.” The Arab doesn’t say anything. He takes his twenty and starts back toward his booth.
    “What’d the man want?” Roiki asks.
    “Nothing,” I tell him. “He didn’t understand where the noise was coming from.”
    “And I can beep again?”
    “Of course you can, angel.” I give him a kiss. “More than once. Again and again. Honk until your heart’s content.”

PUDDING
     
    The whole incident with Avishai Abudi should, in my opinion, set a red light flashing for us all. You’d be hard-pressed to find a more average Joe. He’s not the type to go around kicking over garbage pails or starting fights in bars. In fact, he never does anything to set himself apart. And yet, one day, out of nowhere, a pair of thugs are banging at his door. They drag him down the stairs, stick him in the back of some van, and haul him straight to his parents’ place. This, with a terrified Avishai in the back yelling, “Who are you? What do you want?”
    “That’s not what you should be asking,” the driver says, and the brute at his side is nodding. “What you mean to say is ‘Who am I?’ And ‘What do I want?’”Afterward the two of them laugh as if Avishai’s just told the best joke in the world.
    “I’m Avishai Abudi!” Avishai says in a tone intended to sound threatening. “And I want to talk to your superiors. Do you hear me?” That’s when the two of them park the van in the lot outside Avishai’s parents’ building and turn to face him. He’s sure they’re going to hit him and, also, that he doesn’t deserve it. Not at all. “You’re in deep,” Avishai says, careful to protect his face. “You guys have messed up, big-time !” he says as they pull him out of the van.
    But the truth is, they don’t beat him at all. Avishai can’t see exactly what they’re up to, but he senses it. And what he senses is that they are stripping his clothes from him, but not in a sexual way, it’s all very proper. After they’ve finished dressing him back up, they put some sort of heavy pack on his back and say, “Hurry up, run along home to Mommy and Daddy. You wouldn’t want to be late.” And Avishai runs. He runs as fast as he possibly can. He takes the stairs three at a time, until he reaches the brown wooden door to his parents’ apartment. He knocks on it, panting, and when Mommy opens the door, he hurries inside, closes it behind him, and double locks it. “What’s gotten into you?” Mommy asks. “Why are you sweating like that.”
    “I ran,” Avishai pants, “in the stairwell. People. Don’t open.”
    “I don’t understand a thing,” Mommy says, “but never mind. Come, put your bag down and go wash your hands and face. Dinner’s already on the table.” Avishai takes off the knapsack, goes into the bathroom, and washes his face. In the mirror over the sink he sees that he’s in his school uniform. When he opens the knapsack in the living