The Bus Driver Who Wanted to Be God & Other Stories Read Online Free PDF

come. To hell with the Bart Simpson. Me, hit a friend on the head with a hammer? “I don’t want the Bart.” I gave Dad the hammer back. “Pesachson’s enough for me.” “You don’t understand,” said Dad. “It’s alright, it’s educational, come on, I’ll break it for you.” Dad was already lifting the hammer, and I looked at Mum’s crushed eyes and Pesachson’s tired smile and I knew that it was up to me, if I didn’t do anything he was dead. “Dad.” I grabbed him by the leg. “What, Yoavi?” said Dad, the hand with the hammer still in the air. “I want another shekel please,” I begged. “Give me another shekel to stick into him, tomorrow, after the cocoa. And then we’ll break him, tomorrow, I promise.” “Another shekel?” Dad smiled and put the hammer on the table. “Yes, see? I’vedeveloped the boy’s awareness,” I said. “Tomorrow.” There were already tears in my throat.
    When they left the room I hugged Pesachson very hard and I let the tears out. Pesachson didn’t say anything, only trembled quietly in my hands. “Don’t worry,” I whispered in his ear, “I’ll save you.”
    At night I waited for Dad to finish watching TV in the living room and go to bed. Then I got up very quietly and sneaked out through the porch with Pesachson. We walked for a long time in the dark until we reached a thorn field. “Pigs are crazy about fields,” I said to Pesachson as I laid him on the floor of the field, “especially fields with thorns. You’ll like it here.” I waited for an answer but Pesachson didn’t say anything, and when I touched him on the nose to say good-bye he just gave me a sad look. He knew he’d never see me again.

Cocked and Locked
    H e’s standing there in the middle of the alleyway, about twenty meters away from me, his kaffiyeh over his face, trying to provoke me to come closer: “Zbecial Force cocksucker,” he shouts at me in a heavy Arabic accent.
    â€œWhat’s up, ya blatoon hero? Your cross-eyed sergeant bush it up your ass too hard yesterday? Not strong enough to run?” He unzips his pants and takes out his dick: “What’s up, Zbecial Force? My dick not good enough for you? It was blenty good for your sister, no? Blenty good for your mother, no? Blenty good for your friend Abutbul. How’s he doing, Abutbul? Feeling better, boor guy? I saw they bring in a zbecial heligobter to take him away. Like a crazy-man he ran after me. Half a block he ran like a
majnun
. Blatsh! His face squashed up like a watermelon.”
    I pull up my rifle till I have him dead center in my sights.
    â€œGo ahead and shoot, ya homo,” he screams, unbuttoning his shirt and jeering. “Shoot right here.” He points at his heart. I release the safety catch and hold my breath. He waits another minute or so with his arms akimbo, looking like he doesn’t give a shit. His heart is deep under the skin and flesh, perfectly aligned between my sights.
    â€œYou’re never going to shoot, you fucking coward. Maybe if you shoot the cross-eyed sergeant, he won’t go shoving it up your ass anymore, eh?”
    I lower the gun, and he makes another one of his contemptuous gestures. “
Yallah
, I’m going, cocksucker. I’ll bass by here tomorrow. When do they let you guard these barrels again? Ten till two? See you then.” He starts walking off toward one of the back alleys, but suddenly he stops and smirks: “Give Abutbul regards from the Hamas, eh? Tell him we really apologize for that brick.”
    â€œWhat’s up, ya homo?” he shouts. “Your brain all screwed up from so much fucking with Cross-Eyed?” I tear the wrapping off my field dressing and tie it across my face. The only thing still showing is my eyes. I take the rifle, cock it, and make sure the