#yishai

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By the end of the day, Yishai wanted to weep.

No. He'd wanted to weep long before the end of the day, he simply hadn't dared. HaShem guide him, but nothing in his life had prepared him for suddenly being responsible for another adult who had no idea she was human. Who expected to be sent back to the people who had brainwashed her (and likely tortured her, from what little Miriam had shared. Well, brainwashing and torture did seem like they went together, which was not a thing Yishai had ever expected to be thinking about…) if he was even the slightest bit upset with her.

She called herself 'it'. Not like some of the folks he'd known who were into neopronouns and chose to be 'it' to fuck with social norms -- an attitude Yishai honestly didn't understand but who was he to say? No, she meant it the way a car or a tree or a shirt was an 'it'. A thing with no… what was the word his therapist sister used… /agency/. Or autonomy? He thought they were different, but wasn't sure how.

He also thought Little One (who said she had had no name until he gave her one and Baruch ata Adonai what was the world coming to?) believed she had neither. And that was… how did he deal with that? How did you /give someone/ things that were inherently /theirs/? Or should be…

When the largest closet has been fitted out as a mini bedroom with a futon and a small clothes chest… when the pantry had been stocked (because what else did Jews do when things went wrong?) and the board and Chesed committee left with promises to be on call and have the rabbi check in tomorrow… when sigh /Little One/ (would she accept a different name? A human name?) had curled up and slept from sheer exhaustion…

Well, he did the only sensible thing. He reheated the hot chocolate and got a bowl of pretzels to dip in it. Then he curled up on the sofa with one of his favorite books. A collection of short stories he could put down in an instant but would still help him relax.

It may have been intuition. Or luck. Or an angel sent to guide his hand. Whatever the case he got about halfway through the book, closed his eyes, and said a short prayer of thanks. The Roost Prince by Rabbi Nachman of Breslov was a story about a prince who woke up one morning convinced he was actually a rooster. Nothing anyone could do would convince the prince otherwise and the king despaired. Until a wise man came and took a different approach. Instead of trying to convince the prince that he wasn't a rooster, the wise man taught the prince that he could be a rooster -- and still act like a man.

"Fake it til you make it," Yishai said with a small smile.

It would do no good to take Little One across the channel and set her up in a new life where she could legally be free if she still believed she was a pet. But maybe, instead of trying to convince her she was human (which had backfired horribly earlier), he would teach her to act human until she learned to believe it.

It was worth a try, right?

Right.

Okay, first thing -- absolutely a new name.

Yishai pulled up a baby names website and started searching. He'd give her a few options to choose from. That was less likely to overwhelm her. He hoped.

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"You can't."

"What do you mean, I can't? There has to be some way I can free her!"

The yelling woke the pet. Shocked and panic coursed through it. How had it managed to fall asleep? How upset must its master be? How… more yelling cut off pet's thoughts.

"No, I will not keep her. We need to--"

Panic drove the pet out of the box. It had seen it's master only for a moment, but even though there were several strangers in the room, it recognized him. It crawled to Master as quickly as it could and knelt, pressing its forehead into the floor.

"Please forgive this pet, Master. This pet will be better, will never disobey again. Please Master, don't send it back--"

But Master recoiled from the pet, cursing, and the pet knew it was too late. The pet has already failed, would be sent back. What would the trainers do to it? Would it even survive? Would they…

A hand on the back of the pet's head. The pet froze, waiting for pain.

"Yishai, she's shaking," another voice said and the pet despaired. It tried to be still, to stop the shaking, but it's body wouldn't listen. It was a bad pet, it deserved to be sent back. It deserved…

Another hand, under it's chin. "Hey." Master's voice. "Hey, look a me, okay?"

The pet obeyed, the pet looked up. Saw Master on the floor in front of it. Flushed in shame that it had behaved so badly Master would need to be on the floor to punish it.

"You're safe," Master said. "You haven't done anything wrong. And you are never going back there."

The pet whined. It wanted to believe, but Master had just said he was getting rid of it, and they couldn't both be true.

"Will you come sit on the couch? We're trying to figure out a way to help you."

On the couch? No, that couldn't be right. Furniture was for humans. Well, sometimes cats, because cats were… cats. But the pet wasn't a cat. Was this a trap? "This pet is a good pet, Master. It knows better. Pets belong on the floor. This pet won't dirty your furniture. It promises, Master, it will be a good pet."

"Leave it, Yishai." Another voice, an older one. "I've seen… be glad she is talking, and telling you what she's thinking." The pet cringed. It had been talking to much. It needed to do better, it needed to-- "Ack, I should not have said that. Tell her she's a good pet for being honest, Yishai. Tell her you want her to talk, or she'll clam up and you'll never know what's going on."

Everything was silent for a moment. Master was looking over the pet's head, probably at the person who had just spoke. Who had told Master how to care for his pet. Who had… then Master was looking back at the pet.

"Miriam is right, little one. It's good that you talk. You have a pretty voice. You'll keep telling me what you think, yes? Especially if I ask a question."

At the words 'little one', the pet's tension disappeared so fast it felt dizzy. Little one. If master was already giving pet a name, that meant Master was happy with the pet. Right? Even if the pet didn't understand why or what it had done right, if Master was happy everything was okay.

"Y-yes, Master." It paused. The trainers would say it should stop there, would punish it for saying more. But Master said he wanted to know it's thoughts… "Thank you, Master. It will be a good Little One. It wants to make Master happy."

"Little one? Oh! Well. It's better than pet."

"Miriam," the woman said, "How the hell do you know so much about pets?"

Master let go of the pet's chin, letting the pet… letting Little One lower it's head. The-- Little One tried not to listen. Eaves dropping was bad. Master's discussions didn't concern it. Except this conversation was about it. And it was trying to be a good pet, but what Master wanted and what the trainers said a good pet should do weren't the same.

It was very confusing.

But even if it had dared cover it's ears, Little One would have heard the response. The proud, almost challenging tone of the older one. "My family survived thanks to the Righteous of Denmark. Did you think I would shame their memory by doing less?"

"The channel?" Master asked, so quietly Little One had to strain to hear. If the older one responded, Little One didn't hear it. Then Master looked down at Little One, as if remembering that it was there. "Alright. Little one, the hot chocolate I made is cold by now, but there's still food. Let's get you comfortable."

JUSIDMAN, YISHAI (México, 1963) 

• Ciudad de México 

• 1963, (56 años) 

• Estudió en el Art Center College of Design (California) y en el New York Studio School of Drawing, Painting and Sculpture 

• Expos: Museo de Arte Contemporáneo de Monterrey, Museo de Arte Carrillo Gil 

• Línea de trabajo: reflexión sobre la propia práctica pictórica en la sociedad actual, revisando las preocupaciones clásicas de la misma

http://www.yishaijusidman.com/es/

Howdy Nya’ll