Free The Bus Driver Who Wanted to Be God & Other Stories by Etgar Keret Page B

salesman. Did pretty well. Didn’t see him for about seven years. Things were going my way. My son was born. My grandfather in Switzerland died, and left me a lot of property. On the flight back from Basel I saw him sitting there, in first class. By the time I spotted him, itwas too late. The plane was taxiing down the runway, and I knew I was in for five very long hours. Next to me was this rabbi, who didn’t stop yapping, but I didn’t hear a word. For five hours straight, my eyes were glued to the back of Katzenstein’s head. “Take a good look at the empty life you lead. You’re a shell of a man. No values.” The rabbi was holding a mirror up to my sins, sprinkling his sermon with sacred verses. I had some orange juice. Katzenstein ordered a Jack Daniel’s. “For example, take . . .” the rabbi said. No thanks. I sprang up and made a dash for the rear of the plane. The flight attendant asked me to return to my seat. I wouldn’t.
    â€œWe’re about to land, sir. I insist you return to your seat and fasten your seatbelt, like . . .” True, she went on to say “like all the other passengers,” but what I saw in her eyes was Katzenstein. I pushed down on the lever and forced the door open with my shoulder. I was perfectly calm as I was sucked out, leaving all hell behind me.
    Suicide is still considered a dreadful sin in the Afterlife. I begged them to try and understand, but they wouldn’t listen. As they were dragging me to Hell, there was Katzenstein. Him and the other passengers, waving at me through the window of the tour bus that was taking them to Heaven. The plane had crashed as it hit the ground, about fifteen minutes after I’d bailed out. A rare malfunction. One in a million. If only I’d stuck it out in my seat another few seconds, like all the other passengers. LikeKatzenstein.

The Mysterious Disappearance of Alon Shemesh
    O n Tuesday, Alon Shemesh didn’t show up at school, and when the teacher, Miss Nava, handed out the stencils, she gave Jakie two of them, because he’s Alon Shemesh’s best friend, and their families know each other, and they go on picnics together on the weekend and everything, so it made the most sense for Jakie to bring Alon his homework. “And, Jacob, don’t forget to wish Alon a speedy recovery from the entire class,” she announced. Jakie, who’s a regular con artist, went like “Piss off, you bitch,” with his head, but the teacher thought it was just a nod.
    Wednesday morning, Jakie didn’t show up at school either. “He must have caught it,” wheezed Aviva Krantenstein the crammer. Meyer Subban wasn’t buying: “No way. I betthey’re both playing hooky, together with their families,” he said. “They’re all having a cookout on the beach.” “Quiet, children,” Miss Nava squeaked. “Do we have any volunteers to bring the homework to the children who are home sick?” “I’ll take it to Alon,” Yuval volunteered. “We live on the same block.” “And I’ll take it to Jacob,” Dikla snapped before anyone else got a chance. Everyone knows she has the hots for Jakie. “And I’ll take it to Jacob,” Meyer Subban mimicked, and everybody laughed. “Wanting to help a sick friend is nothing to make fun of. I will call the children who are not well myself, to see how they are.” “Wanting to help, my foot. She’s itching to get laid, that one,” Gafni said in a really loud whisper, and was out on his ass.
    The next day, Yuval and Dikla didn’t show up either. “I don’t know about the others,” Subban said, “but Yuval stayed home because of the geography test. I’ll bet you anything.” “Maybe they came down with typhoid fever. It says in the Reader that the pioneers had it a lot . . .” Aviva Krantenstein