Excerpt # 6: The Gilboa Iris:


A turn of events...

After grandfather’s passing, my life in the States turned into one huge 

blur – the weeks all running into each other, void of significance. Even 

seeing my mother was a rarity, as she occupied herself with her art shows 

and her cultural pursuits. Just as well. For when she was around, our
relationship was strained, and I didn’t care for the pretentious company that
she kept. On weekends, when my father would be home, he would spend
most of his time working in his library.

Without Pops, each day was more inconsequential than the preceding one.

       I toyed with the idea of leaving the States sooner than I had planned, 

but I decided it made sense to finish the semester. Roni had called the 

previous day and told me that he would be in a training exercise outside 

of Israel for the next several weeks and I wouldn’t be hearing from him 

for quite some time. He could not tell me where. There was little to look 

forward to outside of crossing the days off on my calendar, marking

the time until my semester was over and I would return to Israel, and 

to Roni.

       Soon, however, I would be longing for the repetitive, lackluster life.

It was a Saturday night at the end of November when I returned home 

from a late-night shift at the restaurant. I saw from the street that my 

parents had the lights turned on at each floor level. I glanced at my 

watch. It was 3 a.m. That’s odd at this late hour. I punched in the security 

code and entered. 

        Random papers strewn all over the floor greeted me. Paintings 

were thrown off the walls. Those that weren’t, hung askew, and the 

wind from the opened door blew white fuzzy stuff around like leaves 

in an autumn dance, the stray papers rustling around my feet. I took 

several cautious steps into the gallery and noticed that someone had 

repeatedly slashed my mother’s English Victorian couches, their white 

fillers bleeding out. Oh my God. We’ve been robbed.

        But, where were the police? Why hadn’t my parents called the 

restaurant to tell me – to warn me about the robbery? They had gone 

out with friends to a Broadway play, but surely, they should have been 

home…hours ago. I studied the gallery more carefully. The expensive 

artwork was not taken. In fact, nothing of any obvious value was taken. 

Someone ransacked the place…looking for something specific. After 

fumbling through the mess, I found the phone in the disarray and called 

the police. The smart thing would have been to leave the house and wait 

outside until the police arrived; only I wasn’t too smart that night. 

       I don’t know what prodded me, but I started up the flight of stairs 

leading toward the main floor of our home. The creaks in the wooden 

staircase seemed louder than usual and I stepped lightly, as if walking on 

broken glass. Upon reaching the first landing, shockwaves flooded my 

veins, my knees buckled and I screamed in horror. There, on the steps 

before me, just past the landing, lay Gabriel's body, riddled with bullets, 

his blood splattered on the adjacent wall. I pulled myself up by grabbing
onto the stair rail for support and stared in disbelief, transfixed, frozen in
terror, my heart pounding ferociously against my rib cage. 

      Gradually, I struggled out of my semi-catatonic state and tried to 

think coherently. I staggered up the rest of the steps to the upper 

floor. The living room was identical to the gallery – in total disarray. 

I spun around in every direction, confused, tripping over the tangled 

mayhem. From the corner of my eye, I spotted red splotches on the 

white-tiled floor of the kitchen and forced myself to follow the trail 

around the large rectangular island. 

       I hadn’t noticed that I was no longer alone and jumped when two hands 

gripped my shoulders from behind me. I went wild. The hands held me 

more firmly. A gagging sensation...A noxious smell...The floor beneath my 

feet began to sway like the ocean. The kitchen cabinets swirled around me,
black patches clouded my vision and I crumpled into unconsciousness.