I have broken my bones twice in my life.
The first time was when I was six years old. It was in the playground at school. Some kids were jumping off the bottom end of the slide when one went a bit higher, to show he was cool. Well I was cool, and I wanted to show it, so I went up the ladder to the top of the slide and jumped off. Crunch, I didn't think beyond the jumping bit... I went home and found my arm wanted to float up into the sky. Sort of like when you stand in a doorway and push really hard with your arms out straight against the frame, for about two minutes, then let go, and your arms seem really really light. Mum took me to hospital and the X-ray showed my wrist had clean snapped in half. I soon discovered that a plastered arm made me cool, and tough. So mission accomplished, and then some.
The second time I was off travelling around Isreal. Some backpackers and I were playing basketball against some Arab kids from the nearby school. We were kicking butt, and one of them got fustrated and so kicked at the ball, which was in my hands, and broke my finger. Tim told me there was nothing wrong with my hand and to get back in the game and keep playing, which I did. I shouldn't have trusted him, he was an Israeli Agent, tasked to spy on me. We had hooked up at the El Arab Hostel in the Jerusalem Old City, which I was running for the owner, after he had fallen down the stairs and broken his hip. Tim had introduced himself as a Canadian from Toronto and we did a couple of the tours together. Now I was on the lookout for a bit of spooky business, as I had upset the Isreali intelligence services at the Hong Kong airport on the way over. You see they interview people before they let you on the plane, to suss them out a bit. Knowing this, I decided to play with them a little by answering their questions truthfully, but hold a completly straight face and steady eyes as to not give away the usual tell tale signs as to your honesty. The first lady quized me for a short time then, unable to read me, called in the head honcho who really got down to business. One baggage hunt, body search and explosives machine detector processing later, I was escorted to my seat on the waiting plane. They also keep an eye on people that are profiled for Jerusalem Syndrome. That is: people that when they get to Jerusalem, crack under the impact of such a religous and Biblical place and they start believing and saying that they are a prophet or character from out of the Bible, like Moses. Why I fit that profile is another story, anyway back to Tim. He seemed less Canadian and more like an Isreali speaking American, and he had befriended me, which was suspicious enough, as that's one of the counters to Jerusalem Syndrome; by friendship you keep the subject rooted in reality. Later we were in Hebron and we (or was it he?) decided to split up for a bit and meet back later. Now due to tensions at the time, we were the only westerners in that city, as we (or was it he?) had found the only Palestinean guide willing to take us there. So after we had seperated I wondered where he was going, and doubled back to follow him. I glanced around a corner and was suprised to see him in the street, with his back turned, talking to a military general. Now what was suprising was not that they were talking, but that it was not official like, but casual chit chat, almost chummy I'd say... Later in the week we were walking through the outer city and he said he had to go somewhere, non specific, and he headed off. Again I followed at a discrete distance, and saw he went into the American Consulate. I followed. Noticeing Madeleine Albright's picture going through security, I glared back. Sitting down at the free internet service I didn't see Tim, then a short time later he came out a door, saw me and said "you're here to use the internet too?" When I got home to Australia again I had my finger X-rayed and the knuckle was broken, took a long time to heal too. Later I sent Tim an email, he didn't reply, I guess his mission was over.
Anyway, all I really wanted to say was broken bones heal a lot faster than broken relationships.
It was midnight, and I was restless. I drove into the city, listening to Mozart, heater on; comfort. I thought about waking up, wrapped up in my doona; also comfort. Yet somehow not. I have been thinking a lot about the homeless. The cold Winter around the cold city around the cold hearts of us, walking by the cold ones with no warmth, no shelter, no visibility...
