Heat -Haze

For two years we lived in the Arava Valley, where the nights were dark, the heat relentless, and electricity never guaranteed. This memory returned to me while looking at this photograph.

*

When the quiet wakes me, it yanks me out of deep sleep, and before I open my eyes I already know it is going to be one of those nights when the electricity fails and the air conditioners fall silent. I try to go back to sleep, squeezing my eyes shut, imagining the hum of the machines that make our nights bearable in this relentless heat, but it is too late. I am wide awake.

Admitting defeat, I get up and slowly feel my way to the window. I push it open, craving fresh, cool air, though I know before I try that none will come. Outside, the darkness is dense, and the quiet and heat wrap around me like a shroud. The heat is an ominous beast breathing fire.

I squint into the night, straining to make out something recognizable to hold on to, perhaps the houses around us, perhaps the silhouettes of the mountains our small desert settlement leans against. But the blackness hides everything. Even the stars, those messengers from faraway cool worlds, are invisible.

I sigh, close the window, and grope my way to the kitchen. I have to be careful, to choose where I step in the dark. I am blind, but I know they are not. They can see me, my mortal yellow enemies. If I were to shine a light, it would reveal their pale ultraviolet glow, but now, in this utter darkness, I can only sense their eyes on me, testing me, waiting for the right moment to strike. They can be anywhere, behind the ordinary objects of daily life, always ready with their curved tail and its deadly poison.

In the relative safety of the kitchen, I reach for the refrigerator like a desperate nomad reaching for water. My island of icy air. I pull the door open and can almost feel the cold water already, in my hands, in my mouth, running through my heat-stricken body. But inside there is only the same darkness, and the small pools of water tell me I am too late.

I try to hold on to the last shreds of my sanity. It is only temporary. The power will come back. It always does. The life-saving hum will return, the lights will flicker on, the air conditioners will cough and rattle and pour out their cool breath. I will lift my sweaty face toward them and feel my tight muscles loosen. The refrigerator will resume its melodious purr. Soon, with the coming of a new day, the monsters of the night will retreat to their shady hiding places.