Includes  hole in the wall,   a souvenir of hell,  and  rabin’s dead

Keret, Etgar

English

Iowa Research Online

University of Iowa 
International Writing Program Archive of Residents' Work 
Fall 10-1-2001 
Writing Sample 
Etgar Keret 
Includes "hole in the wall," "a souvenir of hell," and "rabin’s dead." 
Rights 
Copyright © 2001 Etgar Keret 
Recommended Citation 
Keret, Etgar, "Writing Sample" (2001). International Writing Program Archive of Residents' Work. 10. 
https://ir.uiowa.edu/iwp_archive/10 
Hosted by Iowa Research Online. For more information please contact: lib-ir@uiowa.edu. 
        Keret  1
hole in the wall
On Bernadotte Avenue, right next to the
Central Bus Station, there's a hole in the wall.
There used to be an ATM there once, but it broke
or something, or else nobody ever used it, so the
people from the bank came in a pickup and took
it and never brought it back..
Somebody once told Udi that if you scream a
wish into this hole it comes true, but Udi didn't
really buy that. The truth is that once, on his way
home from the movies, he screamed into the hole
in the wall that he wanted Dafne Rimalt to fall in
love with him, and nothing happened. And once,
when he was feeling really lonely, he screamed
into the hole in the wall that he wanted to have an
angel for a friend, and an angel really did show
up right after that, but he was never much of a
friend, and he'd always disappear just when Udi
really needed him. This angel was skinny and all
stooped and he wore a trench coat the whole time
to hide his wings. People in the street were sure
he was a hunchback. Sometimes, when there were
just the two of them, he'd take the coat off. Once
he even let Udi touch the feathers on his wings.
But when there was anyone else in the room, he
always kept it on. Klein's kids asked him once
what he had under his coat, and he said it was a
backpack full of books that didn't belong to him
and that he didn't want them to get wet. Actually,
he lied all the time. He told Udi such stories you
could die: about places in heaven, about people
who when they go to bed at night leave the keys
in the ignition, about cats who aren't afraid of
anything and don't even know the meaning of
"scat." The stories he made up were something
else, and to top it all, he'd
cross-his-heart-and-hope-to-die.
Udi was nuts about him and always tried
hard to believe him. Even lent him some money a
couple of tunes when he was hard up. As for the
angel, he didn't do a thing to help Udi. He just
        Keret  2
talked and talked and talked, rambling off his
harebrained stories. In the six years he knew him,
Udi never saw him so much as rinse a glass.
When Udi was in basic training and really
needed someone to talk to, the angel suddenly
disappeared on him for two solid months. Then
he came back with an unshaven,
don't-ask-what-happened face. So Udi didn't ask,
and on Saturday they sat around on the roof in
their underpants just taking in the sun and feeling
low. Udi looked at ithe other rooftops with the
cable hookups and the solar heaters and the sky.
It occurred to him suddenly that in all their years
together he'd never once seen the angel fly.
"How about flying around a little," he said to
the angel. "It would make you feel better."
And the angel said: "Forget it. What if
someone sees me?"
"Be a sport," Udi nagged. "Just a little. For my
sake." But the angel just made this disgusting
noise from the inside of his mouth and shot a gob
of spit and white phlegm at the tar-covered roof.
"Never mind," Udi sulked. "I bet you don't
know how to fly, anyway."
"Sure I do," the angel shot back. "I just don't
want people to see me, that's all."
On the roof across the way they saw some
kids throwing a water bomb. "You know," Udi
smiled. "Once, when I was little, before I met you,
I used to come up here a lot and throw water
bombs on people in the street below. I'd aim them
into the space between that awning and the other
one," he explained, bending over the railing and
pointing down  at the narrow gap between the
awning over the grocery store and the one over
the shoe store. "People would look up, and all
they'd see was the awning. They wouldn't know
where it was coming from."
The angel got up too and looked down
into the street. He opened his mouth to say
something. Suddenly, Udi gave him a little shove
from behind, and the angel lost his balance. Udi
was just fooling around. He didn't really mean to
hurt the angel, just to make him fly a little, for
laughs. But the angel dropped the whole five
floors, like a sack of potatoes. Stunned, Udi
        Keret  3
watched him lying there on the sidewalk below.
His whole body was completely still, except the
wings, which were still fluttering a little, like when
someone dies. That's when he finally understood
that of all the things the angel had told him,
nothing was true. That he wasn't even an angel,
just a liar with wings.
Translated by Miriam Shlesinger
a souvenir of hell
There's this village in Uzbekistan that was
built right smack at the mouth of Hell. The soil
there isn't any good for farming, and the minerals
aren't too great either, so whatever small income
the inhabitants can earn to make ends meet comes
mostly from tourism. And when I say tourism I'm
not talking about rich Americans in Hawaiian
shirts, or grinning Japanese who take pictures of
everything that moves. because what would
anyone like that be looking for in a godforsaken
place in Uzbekistan. The tourism I'm talking about
is domestic. As domestic as you can get.
The people coming out of Hell are very
different from one another, and it's kind of hard to
give an exact profile. Fat/thin, with/without a
moustachea very mixed crowd. If they have
anything in common at all, it's the way they act.
They're all kind of quiet and polite, always giving
you the exact change and everything. They never
try to haggle over prices, and they always know
just what they want-no hemming and hawing.
They come in, ask how much, gift wrap/no gift
wrap, and that's that. They're all kind of very
short-term guests, spending the day and then
going back to Hell. And you never see the same
one twice, cause they only come out every one
hundred years. That's just how it is. Those are the
rules. Like in the army when you only get one
weekend off out of three, or on guard duty, when
        Keret  4
you're only allowed to sit down for five minutes
every hour on the hour. It's the same with the
people in Hell: one day off every hundred years.
If there ever was an explanation, nobody
remembers it anymore. By now it's more a matter
of maintaining the status quo.
Anna had worked in her grandfather's grocery
store for as long as she could remember. Apart
from the villagers, there weren't that many
customers, but once every few hours someone
would come in smelling of sulfur and ask for a
pack of cigarettes, or chocolate, or whatever.
Some of them asked for things that they'd
probably never actually seen and had only heard
about from some other sinner. So every once in a
while she'd see them struggle to open a can of
Coke or try to eat cheese with the plastic wrapper
still on it. Things like that. Sometimes she'd try to
chat them up, to make friends, but they never
knew Uzbek or whatever you call the language
she spoke. And in the end, it would always wind
up that she'd just point to herself and say "Anna"
and they'd point to themselves and mumble
"Claus" or "Su Ying" or "Steve" or "Avi," and then
they'd pay and take off. So she'd see them again
later that evening, cruising the neighborhood or
hanging out on some street corner, staring out into
the evening sky, and the next day she wouldn't
see them anymore. Her grandfather, who suffered
from a condition that wouldn't let him sleep more
than an hour a night, would tell her how he'd see
them at dawn going back down through the
opening that was right next to their front porch. It
was from this same porch that he also saw her
father, who was a pretty nasty piece of work,
going down through the opening like the others,
stone drunk, and singing some really off-color
song. Ninety-odd years later he too was supposed
to come back for a day.
Funny, but you could say these people were
the most interesting thing in Anna's life. Their
faces, the ridiculous clothes, the attempts to guess
what terrible thing they were supposed to have
done to deserve Hell. Cause the truth is that it
really was the only thing going on. Sometimes,
when she got bored in the shop, she'd try to
        Keret  5
picture the next sinner who'd walk through the
door. She'd always try to imagine them very
good-looking or funny. And once every few
weeks there really might be some gorgeous hunk
or else some guy who'd insist on eating the
contents of a can without opening it  first, and
then she and her grandfather would talk about it
for days.
Once, this guy walked in who was so
gorgeous that she knew she simply had to be with
him. He bought some white wine, some soda
water, and all sorts of hot spices, and instead of
adding up his bill, she just took him by the hand
and pulled him toward the house. And the guy,
without understanding a word she was saying,
followed her and tried his very best, but when
they both realized that he just couldn't, Anna
hugged him and gave him her biggest smile, to
make sure he understood it didn't really matter.
But that didn't help, and he cried right through the
night. From the moment he left, she prayed every
night for him to come back and for everything to
be alright. She was praying more for him than for
herself, and when she told her grandfather about
it, he smiled and said she had a good heart.
Two months later he was back. He came
into the shop and bought a pastrami sandwich,
and when she smiled at him he smiled back. Her
grandfather said it couldn't be him, because
everyone knows they only come out once every
hundred years, and that it must be his twin or
something, and she wasn't really completely sure,
either. In any case, when they got into bed, things
actually went fine. He seemed content, and so did
she. And suddenly she understood that maybe it
wasn't only him that she was praying for after all.
Later, he went into the kitchen and found the bag
he'd left behind the last time, with the soda water
and the spices and the wine, and he took it and
mixed a drink for Anna and himself that was fizzy
and hot and cold, and wine, too. A kind of
spritzer from Hell.
When the night was over and he was
getting dressed to go, she asked him not to, and
he shrugged like someone who had no choice.
And after he left, she prayed he'd come a third
        Keret  6
time, if it was really him, and if not, that someone
would come who looked enough like him that
she'd be able to make the same mistake. And a
few weeks later, when she started throwing up,
she prayed it would be a baby, but it turned out
just to be a virus. It was just about then that
people in the village began talking about plans to
close up the opening from the inside. This had
Anna very worried, but her grandfather said it was
just a rumor being spread by people who had
nothing better to do. "You've got nothing to worry
about," he said and smiled at her. "That opening
has been there for so long that neither devil nor
angel would ever have the nerve to close it." And
she believed him, except one particular night, she
remembers, when she suddenly felt, for no special
reason, and it wasn't even in her sleep, that the
opening wasn't there anymore. She ran out in her
nightgown and was happy to see that it still was.
And then, she remembers, there was a moment
when she had this urge to go down there. She felt
as though she was being sucked in, because of
how she felt about her special visitor, or maybe
because she really wanted to see her father, who
was a nasty piece of work, or maybe more than
anything, it was because she didn't want to go on
being alone in this boring village. She put her ear
to the cold air coming out of the opening. In the
distance she could make out something that
sounded like people screaming, or water run-
ning-it was impossible to tell just what it was. It
was coming from really far away. Eventually she
went back to bed, and a few days later the
opening really did disappear. Hell continued to
exist down below, but nobody came out anymore.
Ever since the opening disappeared, it
became harder to make ends meet, and also much
more tired and serene. Her grandfather died, she
married the fishmonger's son, and the two shops
merged. They had several children, and she loved
to tell them stories, especially ones about the
people who used to walk into the shop, smelling
of sulfur. Those stories would scare them, and
they'd start to cry. But still,even though she
couldn't understand why, she went right on telling
them.
        Keret  7
Translated by Miriam Shlesinger
rabin’s dead
Rabin's dead.  It happened last night. He
got run over by a scooter with a sidecar. Rabin
died on the spot. The guy on the scooter got hurt
real bad and passed out, and they took him away
in an ambulance. They didn't even touch Rabin.
He was so dead, there was nothing they could do.
So me and Tiran picked him up and buried him in
my backyard. I cried after that, and Tiran lit up
and told me to stop crying cause I was getting on
his nerves. But I didn't stop, and pretty soon he
started crying too. Because I really loved Rabin a
lot, but Tiran loved him even more. Then we went
to Tiran's house, and there was a cop on the front
stairs waiting to bag him, because the guy on the
scooter came to and squealedthe bus driver who
wanted to be god to the doctors at the hospital.
He told them Tiran had bashed his helmet in with
a crowbar. The cop asked Tiran why he was
crying and Tiran said, "Who's crying, you fascist
motherfucking pig." The cop smacked him once,
and Tiran's father came out and wanted to take
down the cop's name and stuff, but the cop
wouldn't tell him, and in less than five minutes,
there must've been like thirty neighbors standing
there. The cop told them to take it easy, and they
told him to take it easy himself. There was a lot of
shoving, and it looked like someone was going to
get clobbered again. Finally the cop left, and
Tiran's dad sat us both down in their living room
and gave us some Sprite. He told Tiran to tell him
what happened and to make it quick, before the
cop returned with backup. So Tiran told him he'd
        Keret  8
hit someone with a crowbar but that it was
someone who had it coming, and that the guy'd
squealed to the police. Tiran's dad asked what
exactly he had it coming for, and I could see right
away that he was pissed off: So I told him it was
the guy on the scooter that started it, cause first he
ran Rabin over with his sidecar, then he called us
names and then he went and slapped me too.
Tiran's dad asked him if it was true, and Tiran
didn't answer but he nodded. I could tell that he
was dying for a cigarette but he was afraid to
smoke next to his dad.
We found Rabin in the square. Soon as we
got off the bus we spotted him. He was just a
kitten then, and he was so cold he was trembling.
Me and Tiran and this uptown girl with a navel
stud that we met there, we went to get him some
milk. But at Espresso Bar they wouldn't give us
any. And at Burger Ranch, they didn't have milk,
cause they're a meat place and they're kosher, so
they don't sell dairy stuff. Finally, at the grocery
store on Frishman Street they gave us a half-pint
and an empty yogurt cup, and we poured him
some milk, and he lapped it up in one go. And
Avishag-that was the name of the girl with the
stud-said we ought to call him Shalom, because
shalom means peace and we'd found him right in
the square where Rabin died for peace. Tiran
nodded and asked her for her phone number, and
she told him he was really cute but that she had a
boyfriend in the army. After she left, Tiran patted
the kitten and said that we'd never in a million
years call him Shalom, because Shalom is a sissy
name. He said we'd call him Rabin, and that the
broad and her boyfriend in the army could go
fuck themselves for all he cared, cause maybe she
had a pretty face but her body was really weird.
Tiran's dad told Tiran it was lucky he was
still a minor, but even that might not do him much
good this time, because bashing people with a
crowbar isn't like stealing chewing gum from a
candy store. Tiran still didn't say anything, and I
could tell he was about to start crying again. So I
told Tiran's dad that it was all my fault, because
when Rabin was run over I was the one who
yelled it to Tiran. And the guy on the scooter, who
        Keret  9
was kind of nice at first and even seemed sorry
about what he'd done, asked me what I was
screaming for. And it was only when I told him
that the cat's name was Rabin that he lost his cool
and slapped me. And Tiran told his dad: "First, the
shit doesn't stop at the stop sign, then he runs
over our cat, and after all that he goes and slaps
Sinai. What did you expect me to do? Let him get
away with it?" And Tiran's dad didn't answer. He
lit a cigarette and without making a big deal about
it lit one for Tiran too. And Tiran said the best
thing I could do would be to beat it, before the
cops came back, so that at least one of us would
stay out of it. I told him to lay off, but his dad
insisted.
Before I went upstairs, I stopped for a
minute at Rabin's grave and thought about what
would have happened if we hadn't found him.
About what his life would have been like then.
Maybe he'd have frozen to death, but probably
someone else would have found him and taken
him home, and then he wouldn't have been run
over. Everything in life is just luck. Even the
original Rabin-after everyone sang the Hymn to
Peace at the big rally in the square, if instead of
going down those stairs he'd hung around a little
longer, he'd still be alive. And they would have
shot Peres instead. At least that's what they said on
TV Or else, if the broad in the square wouldn't
have had that boyfriend in the army and she'd
given Tiran her phone number and we'd called
Rabin Shalom, then he would have been run over
anyway, but at least nobody would have got
clobbered.
Translated 6y Miriam Shlesinger


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