Illustration by Denis Shifrin

Ohad woke to a strange feeling that he had slept long yet was still very, very tired. His head ached badly. He thought his eyes were open, yet all was dark. “Blind,” he thought and the shock shook him into a frightening reality. “Dear G-d!,” he went on, “I really don’t know whether it’s dark, or …” He didn’t want to think of the alternative. By the smells around him, he felt he must be in a hospital. “But why? What happened?” He struggled with his brain but found nothing that helped him fathom out why he was where he was. He couldn’t recall a thing.

He tried to move first his hands, then his head. Fear clutched at him. He could not move. While he tried to force thoughts on, all he succeeded in doing was to increase a pain and ache that occupied his whole head. He winced. He wanted to call out but no sound came. He must have made some movement for his mother’s voice broke through the dark: “Udi, do you hear me? Can you say something?”

At last there was something he recognised but still could not see why his mother should be in the dark. At least he could say something to her – but his lips wouldn’t say the words that were running through his mind: “I’ll be alright, Ma – I’ll be alright…” He just could not produce a sound. Again he tried, “Where am I?” He made every effort to pronounce words but not only didn’t they come, he didn’t even know whether his lips moved or not.

“Udi, you’re with me – I know you hear me – I am sure I saw a little movement on your lips. Try, Udi! Try again. Can you hear me? Udi!”

“Where am I, Mama?” But this time there was no response. He wondered whether this situation was real or some nightmare into which he had become prisoner. He wanted to pinch himself, but, just as in dreams, he was frozen in place and unable to move – he felt as though he was a statue of ice.

He tried to rationalize: “If this is unreal, would I feel so awake? Would I hear Mum speaking to me? It’s surely no nightmare –and if not, what then the hell is it?” He began frantically trying to remember something that may have happened … happened just before this sleep - this dark.

Shadows moved in his mind which made his ache even worse but he could not make out what they were or what they were doing. His head was pounding with the effort so he relaxed and allowed himself to fall into a hazy sleep. His nose felt uncomfortable but he was unable to release himself from any such discomfort.

Another voice broke into the darkness, a friendly voice full of camaraderie … whose was it … he could just not recall.

“Hello, Udi! What the hell you playing at? You should be smiling, the way we know you. Not lying here like a board. All you have to do is to snap out of it,” - he heard the snap of finger against thumb muscle – “like that. What hit you, anyway?”

Udi loved that voice, the voice of a good friend but he couldn’t think of a name. “Oh damn,” he thought and his head ached angrily, “If I could only place it, place it.” In spite of the pain now he wanted to stay awake. Maybe the voice would say something about how he came to be in such a predicament. Udi knew now for certain that this was no nightmare - but what? Oh, why couldn’t he see, damn it? Maybe his eyes were open but, “Oh G-d, what am I going to do now? What in hell am I going to do?”

The voice continued: “Udi man, do you think I’m going to tell the guys that there’s still no word from you? Three weeks and you’re still tired? You must snap out of it, you hear?”

Yes, Ohad loved that voice. There was something about it … something he must remember … must … must remember. There was now a drum in his head making the pain unbearable but he decided he was going to have another try ... just one more try – he must - but what?

“Udi, you moved! You hear me? You moved!”

This time he did recognise the voice. “Dad!”, he shouted, but the shout was only in his mind. It didn’t reach his own ears so it must have been only in his mind. Quiet sobs reached him and he knew that they were Ma’s. He was so sorry he could not put an arm upon her shoulder and comfort her. Then silence. A silence that went on and on.

Ohad was tired. The throbbing in his mind had stilled to some degree but he was desperately tired. He had to sleep … just had to sleep. He’d think this thing out tomorrow … tomorrow …

Ohad awoke with an uncomfortable feeling at the back of his throat. He wondered what it was. A female voice he did not recognise spoke: “It won’t take a moment – there, it’s already in place. You moved a little – I’m sure I saw a small movement. Are you hearing me? It’s so hard to tell in such cases. Three and a half weeks and not a peep out of you. The doctors say there are chances of your getting out of this – that it’s up to you …It’s up to you, Udi. “The voice babbled on while the young soldier, for the first time felt the movements of the woman’s hands as she lowered the bedclothes then removed and changed a nappy around his groin. She then rearranged the bedclothes. “So I can, at least, feel,” he thought with a certain relief.

“Something happened and I don’t even remember what,” he thought. Except for his mother’s and father’s voices there had been another – a young man’s … but whose? “I know that voice so well – I should recognise it. If I felt the woman’s touch, probably a nurse’s, maybe I can move something.” Using all the strength he could muster, Ohad clenched the fingers of his right hand. He was sure there was some movement and wanted to call out but again the call was only in his mind. “Well, at least my head has stopped pounding,” he thought and again struggled trying to remember something of what put him in his present state.

Again the presence of what he assumed was a nurse moving and doing something at his bedside. Again he made a supreme effort to clench his fingers. This time he was sure there was some movement – though only slight.

“Mrs Klein, Edith, come quickly, Udi moved!”

A moment later his mother’s excited voice, “Udi! Udi! Can you hear me? If you can, make another movement - just another - anything! Udi do you hear?”

His mother’s excitement enabled Ohad to make a second effort, with an electrifying effect. “He moved! He moved his fingers! Did you see?” his mother repeated.

His mother’s shouts brought others. There were exclamations and the shuffling of many feet and he wished with all his might that the darkness would become light.

He could make out little of the babble around him which seemed to be not so much directed to him as between one another. Out of snatches of sentences he began to get a glimmer of what had happened to him - an important event in his life:

“Where’s Shmulik?” one said. “I haven’t seen him for nearly a week,” this, a female voice, he did not recognise but Udi’s mind all of a sudden began working fast: “Of course! Shmulik from his unit. It had been his voice. Who else could he remember – sure, Big Nir – the little fellow with red hair … it began coming back…”

Then his mother’s voice answering the first: “Shmulik had to get back to his unit. His leg healed very quickly and he said he just had to get back – they expect another attack …”

Udi let the voices trail on without listening for it was all coming back to him now. “The four of them followed a group of four terrorists into the valley – it was still dark – just before dawn … shadows moving …”

He listened again, this time to his mother’s voice: “I heard that Udi will get a special mention – maybe even a medal. It was so wonderful of him … It’s strange, I’m so afraid for him yet so proud, too.”

Then another voice, “It was in the news, you know.”

Yes, he remembered now. He and Shmulik had become separated from the others and walked into an ambush. Three terrorists fell and one got away but Shmulik had been wounded in the leg. He was bleeding badly and had to be carried. It was already half light but going up the slope with his wounded comrade on his back was all he could take. The steepness of it, the rocks and bushes tested his strength to his limit. He had allowed himself one rest, placing Shmulik on a patch of grass. The climb went on forever. Just when he saw their bunker … all had suddenly become a complete blank.

“If they had been kidnapped it would have been terrible for their unit,” another said, then added, “He carried him nearly half a kilometrer ... Oh, Dr. Blum! We are sure that Udi can hear us. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Then a deep bass voice, “Must be the doctor,” Ohad thought. “Just got a message that you moved, Udi is that right?” While the doctor spoke Ohad felt his blood-pressure being taken. After releasing the strap the bass voice again, “You were lucky, young man the bullet didn’t penetrate – just sent you into a coma. Over three weeks. If you are hearing me, try raising your shoulder.”

Ohad shrugged. He knew the movement must have been very slight but the response around him was as if he had scored a goal at an important football match.

“I feel sure he’ll pull out of it, Mrs. Klein,” and once again his mother’s sobs came to him almost inaudibly.

“Now for the great part,” continued the doctor and began slowly and carefully removing a bandage around Ohad’s head. “We don’t want the boy shocked, do we?”

As the bandage slipped away Ohad began to make out faint light. He forced his lids to rise and saw – was it an angel’s face or his mother’s smiling at him?

Even without words, Ohad’s eyes expressed all that was needed and although no sound was heard, the word that Ohad’s lips formed was obvious:

“Mamma?”