Business in the carpet department was slow; in
fact, it was non-existent. Ziv sat behind his desk from the moment the store
opened in the morning until it closed for the night, and looked out at the furniture
displays with little to distract him.
Occasionally, shoppers walked into Ziv’s
section of the floor and admired the classic handmade Persian carpets bearing
certificates of authenticity, or the multi-colored Boho-chic area rugs with
their handwoven geometric designs hanging from ceiling-high racks, but few expressed
real interest. For long hours, Ziv remained motionless and undisturbed. His
shift passed slowly, and he had to prevent himself from yawning and stay
presentable at all times.
“It’s minimum wage, but you’ll earn
substantial commissions,” the store manager had promised Ziv on his first day
of work, three months earlier. “Our carpets are of the highest quality and
sales will be good.”
But there were no sales. Ziv knew that the
imported carpets were over-priced and apparently the customers were aware of
this as well. Of all the departments in the store, Ziv’s was the least
successful, yet Management insisted it was to be manned full time. As long as
Ziv was available for shoppers, whenever they had questions to ask, and as long
as Ziv didn’t complain, he would keep his job, and for this he was grateful.
When he finished work, Ziv boarded the bus for
the journey to his small apartment in a quiet Ramat Gan neighborhood. He
climbed three flights of stairs and unlocked his door. Immediately Charlie, his
ginger-colored cat, rubbed against his legs, purring in eager anticipation of
leftovers from the night before. Ziv couldn’t afford canned or packaged cat
food, but Charlie didn’t seem to mind. Before feeding him, Ziv picked up the
animal with affection, but Charlie had a mean streak and scratched Ziv’s cheek,
drawing blood.
As Ziv stared into a mirror, holding a tissue
to the wound, he wondered where his life had gone off track. He had grown up in
a middle-class neighborhood with caring parents and three older siblings, but
he had lost touch with them after his army service. They refused to support him
when repeated failures in mathematics studies caused him to drop out of university.
“Get a hold on yourself,” his father said to him the last time Ziv had visited
home. “We love you, but it’s time for you to start your own life,” his mother
said.
He hadn’t seen them since.