Headmistress

I was taken aback when we got back from the Meir Hospital to the support clinic at the sheltered housing, because my sister pointed out the room opposite our waiting area. The door bore a ceramic plaque with the name Germann, Zehava. That's our elementary school headmistress, isn't it? Between 1961 and 1965 it was my school. The lady in charge was a formidable matron, held in awe by all. She was a tough, strict womwn. My memories of her were not fond ones. I remember being sent out of class once over some misunderstanding. Feeling wronged, I hissed under my breath without actually saying something, and the teacher thought I had used some obscenity. She suspended me from school, summoned my parents, I was grounded for a while, and through it all I wasn't told what I was (presumed to be) guilty of. I forget, or perhaps never found out how it was resolved, but I did have to go to Mrs. Germann's office to plead my innocence soon after my mum finally mustered the courage to repeat to me the offending words I was accused of uttering. It was a scary, unpleasant experience, but not the worst one. That was after I dressed up as a girl for the festival of Purim, at the age of 10 or 11 (my school friend's sister dressed me up, and I was assured it was just great). I thought it all went well at the school party, but a day or two later I was naughty - talking at class, and for some reason the headmistress was asked to come along. She stood me up in front of the class and declared that to dress up as a woman might be all right for him, but that didn't mean he ought to chatter on like a woman at class or generally in life. I could feel my face burning with the humilliation. I hated her for it. I was glad we were to move to another part of the country, so I would go to another school.
Now, old and frail, she resides at the clinic, uses a wheelchair but otherwise seems to have all her faculties. And the years haven't dulled that gimlet-like stare in her eyes. She gazed upon me at some point, and I thought, for a split-second "oh, no, am I in trouble again?". You know, it took me two days to psyche myself up to speak to her, and then in the company of a friend of my mother's, a girl who was a few years above me at the same school, who came to visit. Mrs. Germann couldn't remember who I was. I would have felt relieved if that happened 37 years ago, but now I felt awful for not dwelling a little longer.