Log Cabin Chronicles
ELISHA PORAT
THE RETURN HOME OF SGT. GILAD SHALIT
They waited for him to come home: the trimmed lawn, the tree in its saucer, the faded plastic chairs, the rusty gate, creaking on its hinges. Mother, brother, father, sister, frozen in time: wilting, transparent, bowed down with weight of days. And then, when suddenly he comes in, everything begins to move, the lawn thickens, the tree bears fruit, the plastic chairs are scrubbed, the gate turns and creaks, moving endlessly. If only he would come in, come home. The bubble of time bursts. The scarred heart beats again. Slowly they go down on their knees, lift their eyes to him in grief, in gratitude.
Translated from the Hebrew by Eddie Levenston.
Elisha Porat writes on a kibbutz in Israel.
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