“Don’t worry, cozy up to the CSM and he’ll fix you up with a towel in no time.”

Grandpa nodded and then asked: “What’s a CSM?” I told him it was short for “company sergeant major,” to which he replied they had just called them “sarge” when he served in the science corps sixty years ago. After a moment he added, “I haven’t slept outside the house in years.”

“You can still change your mind. Just say the word, and we’ll drive back to Ramat Gan and have a falafel at the Georgian’s.”

He feigned a smile. Five minutes later, the name Zvi Neuerman flashed on the big electronic board. A soldier with a green beret appeared from within the crowd, picked up Grandpa’s bag, and requested that he follow him. Grandpa put his hand on my shoulder, turned around, and started walking toward the bus. He didn’t even say goodbye. He wasn’t fond of goodbyes and didn’t really know how to go about them. When the doctor at the hospital had told him to say a final goodbye to Grandma Miriam, he stared at her for a few minutes and said he was just popping out for a moment to buy a pretzel. He didn’t come back.

I followed him to the bus. He struggled up the stairs, lumbering slowly all the way to the back seat. I waved to him with both hands. He glanced at me, then quickly averted his gaze.

“They get old so fast, huh?” a woman standing next to me said. She had a high-pitched, slightly irritating voice, pretty curls, a blue dress, and black rubber boots.

“Totally,” I answered.

“What’s your excuse?” she asked. “Why did you make him enlist?”

“We didn’t make him, he wanted to.” On the bus, an elderly man sat by the window, obstructing my view of Grandpa.

“Why did he want to?”

“He said there were too many draft dodgers in Tel Aviv,” I said, wishing she’d just go away.

“You’re fucking with me,” she replied.

“Excuse me?” I looked at her. She was smirking, satisfied that she’d finally managed to catch my attention.

“Old men don’t sign up for the army because of draft dodgers in Tel Aviv.” She fished a pack of gum out of her bag and offered me a piece.

“I hate gum.”

The bus started crawling along, all the old fogies waving at their families. All except for my grandpa, who was hiding among them. The bus left the terminal and was instantly replaced by another one. I was beginning to feel hemmed in. Everyone was standing too close to one another. Too close to me.

“Say,” the woman started up again. Wouldn’t give me a moment’s peace. “Why did you guys even let him enlist? Got fed up taking care of him?”