Quickly, I put away the rest of the tools, hung Papa’s apron on the hook behind his chair, and lifted the broom. There. The shop was looking much better already. Just a quick sweep to get rid of the dirt and sawdust that covered the floor, and I would be done.

When I had finished, I sat down on one of the chairs Papa had made for the shop. I would rest for just a few moments and then I’d wake up Papa. From the corner of my eye, I saw Akeem stand up and make his way over to me.

“You know, little girl,” Akeem began. Something about the tone of his voice made me stop.

I looked at him as he began to shift the knife in his hand — the one he had been using as a tool only moments before. Back and forth. Hand to hand. “You know how easy it would be to kill him?” He nodded at Papa as if his words needed an explanation. “Oh yes, so easy. With my knife. As he sleeps there. Would you like that? Would you like that, little girl? Should I hurt him right now? Because it would be so easy.” His eyes, normally calm and staid, were dancing and looked almost manic, and my heart began to race.

I could feel the panic. The desire to run, to leave. But no — I couldn’t leave Papa just like that, lying here at the mercy of a madman. A madman, that’s what he was.  My heart seemed to be rising in my throat, closing it up and making it difficult for me to breathe.

And then, as if nothing had happened, Akeem put his knife down on the workbench and began laughing, his head tilting back with each laugh. His eyes, when he looked at me, had their usual, slightly dull look, no trace of that manic excitement I had seen a moment before. “Don’t worry, Elka,” he said calmly, “your father is fine. Look. He still sleeps. Do you not trust me? After all these years, do you not trust me?”

No! I wanted to shout. But I couldn’t. Instead, I hurriedly stood up and, with quick strides, walked to Papa’s side. “Papa,” I whispered into his ear, “Papa. You should wake up now.” All it took was a slight tap on his shoulder and Papa was awake.

“Thank you, Elka,” Papa said, smiling at me, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” He looked around the room, noticing how much I had cleaned up.

Quickly, I handed him the bag with his lunch and got up. With Papa awake, Akeem would not be able to do anything. But I couldn’t stay here. My heart was still pounding and even a glance at Akeem made me tremble all over again. Without a word, I turned and left the shop. As soon as my feet hit the pavement outside, I broke into a run, running as fast as I could. Away from that madman. Away from the person who could say such things — who could do such things. But could he? Would he really?

The streets were still full of people mingling about, going about their daily business, but now every Arab I passed made me shiver in fear, and I rushed past them, as far away as I could go. Running home, where I knew I would finally be safe.

“Mama,” I gasped the moment I walked into the door. I fell into her arms, my trembling body leaning against her, absorbing her strength.

“Elka,” Mama held me tight, stroking my hair, until I stopped trembling. “What happened?” she asked when I finally broke away.

But I couldn’t answer. I tried to find the words to describe it. To describe what Akeem had said, how he had looked, but my mouth wouldn’t open.

“Is everything Okay? Is Papa Okay?” Mama asked, a small amount of fear creeping into her voice.

I nodded, yes. Everything was fine. Except so much had now changed. So much wasn’t fine. But I couldn’t describe it. I couldn’t explain it.

Mama reached for my hand and squeezed it. Tight. And then she let go and went back to whatever she had been doing. I slipped away to my room, collapsing on my bed until the fear had washed over me and my heart had calmed . I lay there, drained, and wondered what had changed. And what did this change mean?

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 907)