Free A Possibility of Violence by D. A. Mishani

questioning, he didn’t think they’d get to him, in part because of the man who was arrested trying to flee and was caught right before his eyes. And even if they released the man who was arrested, how long would the police investigate a fake bomb in a suitcase next to a daycare that didn’t harm anyone?
    He tried not to think about his bad luck, because that only wore him down. And anyway, time was his prescription for the boys as well. He had to give them time. Even if he didn’t have a plan, he had a goal: to protect them. To make sure they wouldn’t know a thing, so they wouldn’t get hurt. To prevent them from feeling pain, as much as he could, and to continue searing his image into their memory. To bring Ezer, from whom he had grown distant because of Jenny, close to him again.
    The more days that passed, the more things would be forgotten.
    Life taught him that things were forgotten, even if he actually remembered.
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    AFTER HE LEFT THE CHILDREN’S ROOM he told his mother to rest and straightened the living room, folded up the small tables that had been attached to the dining room table, and stacked the plastic chairs in the courtyard. Adina did the dishes in the kitchen. Only once over the course of the meal did his sister ask about Jenny, and his mother told her in their language not to talk about it in front of the children. Because he was the firstborn it fell on him to read the prayers.
    After Adina left, he made his mother a cup of tea. This was their first chance to speak, and she said, “They look good.”
    â€œThey’re getting used to it,” he said. Ezer had smiled more than he smiled before, and had even joined the cousins when they sang the holiday songs.
    She asked if he wasn’t going to have something warm to drink and he changed his mind and made himself a cup of tea.
    â€œSee that things are better for them. She didn’t care for them like a mother. Put in Sweet’N Low, not sugar.”
    He waited for the water in the kettle to boil again.
    â€œAnd you’re sure everything is okay at the daycare?” she asked, and he said, “Yes.”
    Again she said to him, “It’s good that you shouted at the teacher. She won’t be so bold next time. And how is Ezer doing at school?” and he answered, “Fine.” He still hadn’t told her a thing about the suitcase, because he knew she’d get stressed out and increase his stress.
    â€œDo they ask about her a lot?”
    â€œNo. They ask sometimes.”
    â€œChildren don’t understand much.” She sighed. Afterward she asked him, “And what about money?” and he answered, “We’ll manage.”
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    THE HOLIDAYS WERE ALWAYS DIFFICULT. EMPLOYEES of the Ministry of the Interior and the Tax Authority in Holon, his main customers, went on vacation, and even when the offices were operating normally, some of the employees were on leave. More people brought in food from home, whatever was left over from the holiday meals. All in all, during these weeks he prepared and sold less than half the amount of sandwiches that he sold in the winter.
    He had ideas for increasing income from the business, but in the meantime he hadn’t implemented them. He planned to sell hot meals again, a meat dish with a side of rice and salad, as he had done when he opened the business, before the recession. He hoped that if he offered a dish at twenty-five shekels, there would still be demand. And it might also be possible to offer drinks in bottles and cans, but he would need to sell them cold and at a price below that of the vending machines. Beyond this, he wanted to check with his cousin who arranged the Ministry of the Interior account for him in Holon if it would be possible to sell at other branches, perhaps in Rishon LeZion or Ramat Gan. Another possibility was to take advantage of the available morning hours for making deliveries, but he feared heavy