Apparently a lot, because suddenly two policemen stood in the aisle.
“Ma’am, just pay for your ticket and we’ll go away,” a gruff voice said.
Abe shrugged his shoulders, or at least he thought he did.
“It’s just ninety-five cents, ma’am. Nobody gets a free ride,” the other officer said.
Abe sat still, trying not to laugh. That’s right, he thought. Nobody gets a free ride. Not on this bus. Not even if you’re dead.
Abe doubled up with laughter. This was like a joke from an old Groucho Marx movie: dead guy gets on a bus and…
The cops didn’t think it was funny. “Ma’am, you’ll have to come along with us,” they said.
Then one cop pulled the other aside. Abe could hear them whispering, but couldn’t make out their conversation.
Abe had never been in trouble with the police. He had been a model citizen all his life. But Abe couldn’t help marveling at all that had happened. He had come back from the dead and people talked to him.
The two officers faced him again. The gruff one read Abe his Miranda rights. They did not attempt to handcuff him. They escorted him single-file to the door, sandwiching Abe between them. When they got to the door Abe lurched forward before the officers could offer assistance. He used his torso muscles to fling himself to the ground. He landed on his feet and continued shuffling along with the officers. He was getting pretty good at maneuvering himself. When they got to the squad car Abe sat down on the back seat and used his torso as an anchor to swing his legs inside. Then he ducked his head inside before either of the officers had a chance to help him. His body seemed to fill out the burka, but whether it would feel solid to their touch he didn’t know.
Abe kept his head down during the ride to the police station. He felt the jig would be up once they saw he had no eyes. He didn’t want to think about what would happen after that.
Abe thought he would be placed in a large cell with other prisoners. Instead, they locked him in a small room by himself. The only window in the room was in the door, where the police could observe him. He sat down on one of the two gray metal chairs in the room and stared at the gray linoleum floor.
A matronly woman, wearing a black head scarf and a drab green dress came into the room. She had an olive complexion and carried a large briefcase. She locked the door behind her. Abe kept his head down and continued to look at the floor.
The woman recited something in Arabic, which sounded to Abe like an Arabic version of his Miranda rights. Abe nodded as if he understood. Then the woman said something else in Arabic, and again Abe nodded. The woman opened her briefcase and took out a camera and a tripod. She set up the camera and then came toward Abe.
Abe turned away. The woman spoke in Arabic, this time more emphatically. Abe nodded, and the woman waited. He didn’t know what to do. But the woman did. She grabbed the top of the burka and snatched it off him.
She looked at the spot where Abe sat, now without a burka to cover his body, and made a low shriek. Still looking at that spot, she reached for the burka, which she had thrown on the floor, and shook it with one hand. Again, she shrieked, but this time louder. With her gaze on the burka and then on the spot where Abe was, she moved backwards toward the door. In a panic, she rattled the door knob, forgetting she had locked it. By now, she was panting. She dropped the burka and put her hands on her head and screamed. Then she fainted.
Oh, God. He didn’t mean to scare her.
Abe shuffled to the woman and peered at her. What if she died from the shock? That would be horrible. What if she ended up like him, not quite dead, yet not quite alive? That would be even more horrible. Then, for all eternity, he would have to listen to her berate him in Arabic for the trouble he caused her.
The woman opened her eyes. It looked like she was going to be okay, but that began to worry Abe more than the thought of her dying. Soon he would have to endure the tumult she would cause––more screams and perhaps hordes of people stampeding into the room––he couldn’t bear it. He didn’t care if he ever got to Israel, or that he might not be wearing his blue suit. He had to get out of here. He was tired of pretending to be alive. He just wanted peace.
Determined to find a solution to his dilemma, he shuffled to the back of the room. When he reached the wall he faced it. Then, with great resolve, he walked right through it. As he did so, a last moment of bliss, so short yet so complete, stopped him from wondering why he couldn’t have done that in the first place.
