Etgar Keret - Fly Already

The Seven Good Years

Suddenly, a Knock on the Door

The Girl on the Fridge

The Nimrod Flipout

The Bus Driver Who Wanted to Be God & Other Stories

P.T. sees him first. Were on our way to the park to play ball when he suddenly says, Daddy, look! His head is tilted back and hes squinting hard to see something far above me, and before I can even begin to imagine an alien spaceship or a piano about to fall on our heads, my gut tells me that something really bad is happening here. But when I turn to see what P.T. is looking at, all I notice is an ugly, four-story building covered in plaster and air conditioners, as if it has some kind of skin disease. The sun is sitting directly on it, slightly blinding me, and as Im trying to get a better angle, I hear P.T. say, He wants to fly. Now I can see a guy in a white button-down shirt standing on the roof railing looking straight at me, and behind me, P.T. whispers, Is he a superhero? But instead of answering him, I shout at the guy, Dont do it!

The guy stares at me and doesnt answer. I shout at him again, Dont do it, please! Whatever brought you up there must seem like something youll never get over, but believe me, you will. If you jump now, youll leave this world with that dead-end feeling. Thatll be your last memory of life. Not family, not loveonly defeat. But if you stay, I swear to you by everything I hold dear that your pain will start to fade, and in a few years, the only thing left will be a weird story you tell people over a beer. A story about how you once wanted to jump off a roof and some guy standing below shouted at you...

What? the guy on the roof yells back at me, pointing at his ear. He probably cant hear me because of the noise coming from the road. Or maybe it isnt the noise, because I heard his What? perfectly well. Maybe hes just hard of hearing. P.T., whos hugging my thighs without being able to encircle them completely, as if I were some kind of giant baobab tree, yells at the guy, Do you have superpowers? but the guy points at his ear again as if to say he cant hear, and shouts, Im sick of it! Enough! How much can I take? P.T. shouts back at him, as if they were having the most ordinary conversation in the world, Come on, fly already! And Im starting to feel that stress, the stress that comes with knowing that its all on you.

I have it a lot at work. With the family too, but not as much. Like what happened on the way to Lake Kinneret, when I tried to brake and the tires locked. The car started to skid along the road and I said to myself, Either you fix this or its all over. That time, driving to the Dead Sea, I didnt fix it, and Liat, the only one not buckled in, died, and I was left alone with the kids. P.T. was two and barely knew how to speak, but Amit never stopped asking me, When is Mommy coming back? When is Mommy coming back? and Im talking about after the funeral. He was eight then, an age when youre supposed to understand what it means when someone dies, but he kept asking. And even without the constant, annoying questions, I knew that everything was my fault and wanted to end it all. Just like the guy on the roof. But here I am today, walking without crutches, living with Simona, a good dad. I want to tell the guy on the roof all about it, I want to tell him that I know exactly how he feels right now, and that if he doesnt flatten himself like a pizza on the sidewalk, itll pass. I know what Im talking about, because no one on this blue planet was as miserable as I was. He just has to get down from there and give himself a week. A month. Even a year, if necessary.

But how can you say all that to a guy whos half deaf? Meanwhile, P.T. pulls my hand and says, Hes not going to fly today anyway, Daddy, lets go to the park before it gets dark. But I stay where I am and shout as loudly as I can, People die like flies all the time, even without killing themselves. Dont do it! Please dont do it! The guy on the roof nodsit looks like this time, he heard somethingand shouts back at me, How did you know? How did you know she died? Someone always dies, I want to yell back at him. Always. If not her, then someone else. But that wont get him down from there, so instead I shout, Theres a kid here, and point at P.T., he doesnt need to see this. Then P.T. yells, Yes I do! Yes I do! Come on and fly already, before it gets dark! Its December, and it really does get dark early.