Free The Extra by A. B. Yehoshua

the bed to patch a frayed connection. But something goes awry: there is a sharp pop and the apartment is plunged into darkness.
    â€œBe careful,” she says softly.
    â€œIt’s okay,” he assures her, and springs nimbly to his feet. “Don’t move. I know where to find the fuse box.”
    And he goes to restore the light.
    The bedroom windows are open to the clear summer night. The moon is late to appear, but stars are shining. The electric lights in the neighboring windows are dim, frugal. Her eyes can make out the objects around her, though she has yet to rise from the bed. She is waiting for the light to come back on. But Abadi is finding it difficult to replace the fuse in total darkness. “Your mother doesn’t have any candles?” he calls out to Noga, who remains as immobile as the electric bed she lies on.
    â€œWhat for? She doesn’t light Shabbat candles. But the upstairs neighbor has a million candles. Maybe you should go up there.”
    â€œWhat’s her name?”
    â€œMrs. Pomerantz. She’s the grandma of the little bastards. I have no strength for her right now.”
    He walks out but does not even try the light in the stairway, despairing of that one too. She sits up in the bed but can’t bring herself to leave it. A light begins to flicker on the stairs. Abadi descends, carrying a candle of majestic proportions. She hurriedly gets up to greet him and sees he is not alone. The two boys are following him down with lighted Hanukkah candles in their hands. Brazenly they enter the flat through the open door and stand at attention before the dark, silent TV screen.
    â€œThat’s it.” She laughs. “No more television.”
    â€œIt’ll come back,” the older boy says quietly, and the little
tzaddik
turns his angelic face to her, adding, “With God’s help.”

Seventeen
    I N THE MORNING she goes to the bank to check her balance, which is noticeably higher than expected. She phones her brother to clarify if by any chance he might be giving her money she’s not entitled to. “You’re entitled to all of it, sister,” he jokes. But is it possible that she had made that much for four jobs as an extra? “Apparently you were outstanding,” Honi says, “and they gave you a bonus.” Finally he admits that yes, here and there he “rounds upward” the amounts paid to her. “Please,” she objects, “don’t round anything, the experiment is already costing you enough, and I have only seven weeks left and want to live them with integrity. I lack for nothing. I even enjoy running the apartment,” and she tells him about Abadi’s visit.
    â€œFine. And if you need more repairs in the apartment, don’t hesitate to call on him. He’ll do it all happily. He was close to Abba and he also owes us—Abba promoted him and made him his successor. During the thirty mourning days, after you’d left because of an ‘urgent’ concert, Abadi and his wife insisted on bringing us meals, which got out of control, but of course we couldn’t offer them to the
haredi
neighbors since we weren’t sure if the food was kosher enough. And, of course, the electric bed . . .”
    â€œWhat’s his wife like?”
    â€œPleasant and polite like him, and kindhearted.”
    In the early afternoon Noga goes to Mahane Yehuda and heads for the bar that in the daytime becomes a restaurant. The little nighttime tables have been joined together into long ones covered with checkered oilcloths, and the customers sit in rows, facing one another, all of them male, for some reason—
shuk
people, greengrocers and butchers, workmen and porters, who satisfy their hunger quickly with large, identical servings of warm hummus with mashed hard-boiled egg, plus a red meatball garnished with whole chickpeas and fresh parsley.
    She pushes her way among the sturdy patrons, and the