Free The Place Will Comfort You by Naama Goldstein

which released in the process a complicated smell, overwhelming that of peaches. Mr. Durchschlag disguised his distaste with a cough.
    â€œIs it working on you?” Meshulam said.
    Mr. Durchschlag looked quickly away from the barrel. He mustdisengage. Something in his demeanor was indicating interest to the old man.
    â€œI can give you another one if it’s not working on you,” Meshu-lam said, digging a hand into his trouser pocket again to find a second pill.
    To judge by this Meshulam’s expectations, his primitive faith in medicine had medicinal value in itself. In that case Mr. Durchschlag would authenticate this faith and the man would be satisfied and go away. “There! It began,” Mr. Durchschlag said. “No need for a second dose. Quick action.”
    Meshulam let his pocket be and pressed down the garbage again. He examined the bottom of the dustpan and peeled off something thick that he let drop into the barrel. Next he began picking at a residual clingage. It seemed that no matter how Mr. Durchschlag strove to present himself as a finished project, the man would find another one near.
    â€œThe students aren’t waiting?” Meshulam said.
    â€œThe students?”
    â€œYour students in your class that you teach, they aren’t waiting for their teacher to teach them?”
    â€œThe girls are taking a test,” Mr. Durchschlag said.
    â€œThey won’t copy?”
    â€œThey’re taking the test on the honor system.”
    â€œIf you want I can check they won’t copy.”
    â€œYou have my full admiration for your fine work in area maintenance,” Mr. Durchschlag said. “I’ll thank you to leave the teaching to me. I trust the girls.”
    â€œThe principal allows this new system testing since when?” Meshulam said. “They had a meeting and I didn’t hear? It’s no problem for me to check,” he said. “My next stop is the toilets room upstairs.”
    The men observed each other.
    â€œListen, Meshulam.” Mr. Durchschlag pressed his fingers intothe janitor’s upper arm, which was large and layered, soft but underneath inflexible with muscle. The man liked to eat but had been mopping many years. “You are a religious man, Meshulam, true?”
    â€œBanish the evil eye.” Meshulam spit into the barrel. Mr. Durchschlag removed his hand. “Of course, yes, with God’s help, a believing man. Every Shabbat eve, healthy or sick, at the synagogue. They already asked me when they hired, ten years before they hired you.” He inhaled to continue. “Adeena was maybe only a young bride,” he said, “but even then no problem for her to ask the questions, questions she always has but for sixteen years never again that.”
    He had finished. “Tell me then,” Mr. Durchschlag said. “The way the girls dress in this school, Mr. Banai, do you think it’s becoming?”
    â€œSome girls more than others. A man sees but he also remembers his age and his position and the family at home.”
    Mr. Durchschlag moved to massage his temples, but caught himself before he would incite another bid for medication. The message hadn’t crossed yet but it would. He tented his raised palms in a contemplative gesture with which he prodded the space between himself and the janitor. “There it is in your own words,” he said. “You shouldn’t have to
see.
Do you see? And how well our teachings provide, for if they were followed to the full you would in fact not see. What I mean to tell you is that here you find yourself compelled to strive beyond your job description.”
    For a moment the man looked startled but in a flash he chose relief and took on a jocular aspect. “What, Adeena gave me the wrong numbers? Sixteen years I’m cleaning some rooms twice?” He slapped the side of the barrel like the rump of an animal and laughed. “I have no