The Bus Driver Who Wanted to Be God & Other Stories by Etgar Keret Page A

their course. One morning, Father took Abdu and me to the King’s Highway, and together we watched in silence as the convoy wended its way in the distance. Father was about to head home when Abdu mustered the courage to ask the question that I had not dared utter: “Why are we not leaving with them, Father? We are among the richest families in the Valley. Why could you not hire someone to watch over our fields so that we might also go away?” Smilingsoftly, Father looked at Abdu, and said: “Why must we flee, Abdu? Have you too come to fear the God of the Hebrews?” “I fear no man and no god,” Abdu retorted. “Whosoever challenges me I will smite with my sword! But these plagues which have been inflicted upon us come from the heavens. There are no enemies in sight for me to defy. Why then do we not join all those who are leaving for Nubia? If there are no enemies pitting their strength against ours, then our presence here avails our Pharaoh nothing.” “There is truth in what you say, my son,” Father replied, his smile waning. “Indeed, the God of the Hebrews is both clever and cruel. Though He cannot be seen, He has dealt us a mighty blow. Yet you must understand, I am bound to this land by a vow which forbids me to send our family to Nubia.” “A vow?” Abdu was taken aback. “What vow?” “A vow I made many years ago, even before you were born,” Father said, his gentle smile reappearing. He gathered up his tunic and sat down on the ground, crossing his legs. “Come sit beside me,” he said, patting the earth, “and I will tell you about it.”
    I sat down to the left of Father, and Abdu to his right. He lifted a clump of earth, crumbled it in his hands, and let the story unfold. “You know that my roots are not in this fertile soil,” he began. “After your mother and I were wed, I was forced, alas, to leave her in her uncle’s care, and to set out with my elder brother to faraway lands, where the black oil flows from the earth. For four years we lived as nomads and endured the heartache of separation, and in those years I amassed considerable wealth. Then I returned toEgypt, to my home. I gathered up your beloved mother, who had waited for so long, and bought a plot of land here in the Valley. On the very day when I completed the building of our home, I made two vows. First, never would I leave the Valley. Second, I would do everything in my power so that my family does not become separated again, even for a short while.” Father tasted the sand that was clinging to his palm, sat up straight, and looked into Abdu’s eyes. “Even as a very young man, I knew that my family is like a plant. Uproot it, and it will wilt. Pluck away at it, and it will die. But leave it to thrive in the soil, untouched, and it will weather both gods and winds. It is born with the soil, and it will live so long as the soil shall live.”
    That talk with Father, far from discouraging us, made us realize how strong we were. Now we also knew the secret of that strength, and guarded it zealously. With each new plague, we grew stronger still, drawing closer and closer together. When the Plague of Lice descended, we learned to delouse one another and nursed the wounds of our kinfolk. On the morning after the Plague of Hail, we actually managed a smile, as we watched Abdu’s stupefied expression: He had just awoken out of his very deep slumber—so deep that even the hailstones rained upon us by the God of the Hebrews had not caused him to stir. Thus did the nine plagues descend on us, one by one, yet leave us unscathed. And then, toward the end of August, came the Plague of the Firstborn.
    It was the shrieking of our neighbors that jolted me in the middle of the night. I ran outside and found everyonethere already, except Abdu. Samira, our neighbor from just across the way, managed to blurt it out between sobs. We rushed