by Erez Aharoni
The young attorney paused for a brief moment and examined the impression her words were making on the audience. She loved such moments of silence in front of a crowd of listeners, moments in which she was aware of the words that came out of her mouth, words that created a different world and changed the thoughts of her listeners and the way in which they perceived reality.
“The research we’ve conducted raises many question marks regarding many troubling subjects. We refuse to accept this disturbing situation. It could very well be that the Viromedical factory complex is filled with hazardous materials from top to bottom. Like a large planter, watered with bleach and other toxic materials for many years. Before the factory is privatized by the state, we have a right to receive all the information about what is going on behind its closed doors. This is our basic right as citizens.”
She spoke eloquently and with determination in spite of her youth. She was well aware of where the self-confidence that drove her towards the goal in such a focused way came from.
One summer, when she was fifteen, her life had abruptly changed. Her father’s printing house was about to go bankrupt because of faulty management. Instead of confronting his difficulties, her father simply left home. Gali was forced to leave the big city and her high school because her mother wasn’t able to support her and her sister.
She left behind not only the only home she’d ever known, but all her lifelong friends as well.
When they moved to the far-off city of Karmiel, to live next to her mother’s family, she became a wild, disobedient and authority-hating youth. No trace of that rebellious period remained, except for a small tattoo of a scorpion on her left shoulder which could tell many stories about her tumultuous younger years in the northern periphery. After her military service she had pulled herself together. A strong discipline and a relentless sense of ambition had brought her all the way to the university.
She worked two jobs, spent many sleepless nights, and with the aid of an endless supply of stubbornness and diligence she managed to graduate with honors. She despised the way in which her classmates pursued the large law firms. Financial prosperity did not interest her. She saw in her father’s house how money could create a false sense of happiness and then snatch it away and replace it with misery. She decided to go her own way.
Filled with faith in her talent and a strong sense of justice, she established without hesitation the Environmental Action Association and served as its chairwoman as soon as her internship period ended. From that moment on, she knew this would be the path she would take in life, a path that fitted her personality like a glove.
She still savored the sweet taste of her last legal victory. She had run into Joshua Fliegelman, the senior physics teacher who had always been abused by her high school classmates, by chance only a few months before. He was on the verge of becoming homeless when she accidentally bumped into him in central Tel Aviv. The money he earned was barely enough for him to pay for the small room he rented in the southern city apartment. Even so, the apartment was divided up like a dovecote, which he shared with four similarly impoverished men.
He walked slowly and heavily across Rothschild Boulevard, wandering the city streets with a cart filled with empty bottles he recycled for a living.
She stared at his rusty white beard. His head was almost completely devoid of hair. But some faces, no matter how changed by time, one could never forget.
“Mr. Fliegelman?” she whispered.
He looked closely at her. His pupils examined her in an attempt to discover where she knew him from. The fact that someone called him by name certainly flattered him. “Yes, that’s me. Mr. Fliegelman. Joshua Fliegelman. And you are?” he asked.
“I’m Gali Shviro. You were my ninth grade physics teacher. Remember me, sir? Ten years have passed, if not more.”
“Yesh, shomething comes to mind when I look at you, your clash was…” said Fliegelman, squinting his eyes and trying to remember her.
“You used to call it ‘the crazy class.’ You fainted in our laboratory…with the mouse…they took you to the hospital…”
“Of courshe, of courshe I remember. Sho it’s you…how wonderful that you’ve recognized me.”
“What are you doing here?” She’d forgotten just how difficult it could be to understand Mr. Fliegelman, so she paid close attention as he spoke again.
“What am I doing? I became sick from teaching, or more precisely sick of the students. Sick of you. More precisely…Ever since that incident, I haven’t worked full time again. I spent some time in the hospital. My heart was weak. After a year of sick leave, I decided to ‘fully’ retire from my job as a teacher. It took me two more years to recuperate and regain my physical strength.”
Even though she had identified herself, she saw in his tired eyes that he did not recognize her personally but was filled with delight that someone actually remembered him and treated him like a human being again.
They sat on one of the benches lining the boulevard, and he told her his terrible story. How his health had gradually deteriorated since that fateful day on which he fainted in the classroom, how his family was torn apart, how he was fired from his last job without severance or benefits and how he wasn’t able to find a new job.
Even though she was a young and inexperienced lawyer, within three months she saw to it that his last employer paid him his salary and severance and also got him a decent job with decent pay in a security firm.
He worked as a night guard in one of the Yavne industrial area factories. She wasn’t about to tell the audience that he was her source, the man who suggested to her that she scour the trash cans in search of shredded printed materials from the complex she wanted to find out more about. It was there that she had found most of the information she now presented to her audience. A secret report that was presented to the factory’s management and was to be destroyed but luckily enough was only partially shredded.
“The implications are obvious,” she continued passionately with her claims. “A pollution right under all our noses, an invisible and highly dangerous enemy. Viromedical is just the tip of the iceberg. There are hidden complexes with such hazardous materials all over the country. Even in the Tel Aviv area. Right under the foundations of our homes, parking lots and cellars; right under the rooms in which our children play, our kindergartens and schools. And the worse part of it is that the authorities are well aware of it but shut their ears and mouth and nose, so as not to smell the cancerous stench.” Gali paused, content with the eloquence and poetic quality of her own speech. It’s a pity Father can’t be here, a thought passed through her mind. I would love to see him sitting in the audience and bursting into applause while seeing how his small and ambitious girl dominates her crowd of listeners.
All the parties in the cellar listened to her with great concentration, drinking in with thirst the words of the energetic lawyer. An unshaved young man in a dark green T-shirt, his hair gathered in a ponytail, raised his hand and asked a question without waiting to be acknowledged. It was obvious that in this crowd anyone could speak his mind without asking for permission.
“So what do you suggest that we do, Gali? I mean, let’s get to the point. Chattering about it won’t get us anywhere.”
Gali answered him with the same straightforward, passionate tone in which she had delivered her speech, “Giora, I couldn’t agree with you more. I was just about to outline our course of action, after covering the facts and information that we now have. I suggest that we file an urgent request for a temporary injunction to prevent the privatization of the factory and a court order that will force the factory to fully reveal all the operations that take place inside its walls. I suggest that we fight against them in court and by using any other legal means, until all the information is made available to the public. I suggest that we create such a commotion that the state and the authorities will have no other choice but to address the situation and take care of the problem. We won’t have a better opportun
ity…”
“And when will the injunction request be filed? The tender is already underway; it was all over the news. What could we possibly do?” Giora continued to question her.
Gali flashed a secretive smile. “I’ve already taken all of that into consideration. I’m not going to delay and let them get away from this by using some procedural excuse.”
She held up a booklet from a small table in the corner of the cellar. “I already have everything written down. It’s all here. All you need to do is go over it and approve it. The injunction request will be presented to the court tomorrow morning, and if God is willing, and trust me, if He reads this report He’ll be very willing, by noontime, a judge will go over our request and give us the injunction that we want.”
A ceremonious silence ensued. That girl certainly knows what she’s doing, the collective thought passed through the minds of all who sat in the plastic white chairs.
But Giora did not let go. He rose from his seat and said, “Gali, it’s all good and well. Well done. You’ve thought about every angle and prepared a request which I’m sure is wonderful even without reading it. But to my knowledge, no court is going to provide such an injunction without us committing to pay for the possible damages to potential buyers participating in the tender. And as you well know,” he continued with a disappointed voice, “our cash box is so empty that its stomach is grumbling.”
He sat back, frustrated that he had to play the part of the spoilsport.
Gali Shviro gave him a sober gaze. Once more, a tiny smile sprouted in the corners of her mouth and her eyes closed a bit.
“Giora, have no fear, we’ve thought of that as well,” she said, deliberately using the plural, even though she had thought of the idea all by herself. “And this is why I would like to present to you to this evening’s guest.”
She raised her hand and pointed beyond the audience to a remote corner of the cellar, right next to the entrance. “Igor, come here. Don’t be shy,” she said out loud.
From the farthest seat of the last row, a man in his fifties rose. His hair was thick and strewn with silver, his forehead was elongated, and it was difficult to say whether his face wad tanned or flushed.
“Friends, I would like to introduce you to Igor Harsovsky. He is joining our just struggle. Igor, would you mind coming up here and telling us why you’ve decided to support us?”
The well-built man, elegantly dressed in black, well-tailored clothes, crossed the cellar and stood beside Gali, placing his hands on his hips.
“Good evening, everyone. My name is Igor. Igor Harsovsky,” he said with a Russian accent, flashing a half smile in which shyness and indifference were mixed. “I immigrated to Israel almost twelve years ago. I came from the Chernobyl area. I know what it’s like to live in a polluted environment. I’ve always been a businessman. I know well the field of industrial biology and the pollution that it creates. I’ve never forgotten where I came from nor what I’ve seen happening to the people who lived with me and next to my house. That’s why I’ve decided to donate a large amount of the money I’ve earned to fight such things.”
He looked around him with a penetrating gaze, and then added in a deep, cigarette-scorched voice, “And I’m donating a hundred thousand dollars to your association. I’m also going to pay for all the court-related expenses.”
Igor finished speaking and with a measured gait returned to his place.
Murmurs of surprise and whispers of amazement were heard among the audience.
“Igor has not only promised but has already delivered. The money has been in our bank account since noontime today. So, can we get going? Are there any objections?” Gali inquired with glittering eyes.
Not a single finger was raised.
The silence was interrupted by the sound of the cellar door being thrown open and banging against the wall.
A tall man, his face completely covered by a dark ski mask and brandishing an M16, burst inside and slammed the door shut behind him. The people turned towards him at the noise and were petrified at his sight.
The intruder began firing his automatic weapon. The gunfire echoed loudly in the small room. People threw themselves to the floor in panic. Gali dropped to the floor as well. She was shivering, but her eyes remained open. Through all the chaos, between the scattering people and the moving chairs, she managed to take note of the shooter’s ankle boots and his steady posture.
He shot in silence for several minutes, and immediately after that, the door was opened and slammed shut once more. The shooter had disappeared as quickly as he had appeared. Complete silence prevailed. Only half a minute later did the shock begin to dissipate and the sound of murmurs and gradually intensifying sobbing was heard.
Gali was the first to rise, pale and terrified. She examined herself and was glad to see she wasn’t hurt. Beyond the empty chairs and the people lying on the floor, she recognized the muscular body of Igor Harsovsky, lying sprawled on his back.
She lunged from her place and ran to him, jumping over the wounded people lying on the floor.
Igor clutched his right shoulder with both hands, blood seeped through his fingers. Holes were torn in his black Armani shirt and they were trickling with thick blood. His face was twisted in pain and had turned as white as the fluorescent lights above his head.
Gali covered her face with her hands and felt the salty tears pouring uncontrollably from her eyes. She leaned towards him on the blood-stained floor and was happy to discover Igor was still conscious and breathing.
“Call an ambulance, quickly…” she shouted.
All of a sudden the noise around her became horrific. People were screaming and rushing with panic towards the exit. She raised her head and looked around, relieved to discover there weren’t many injured people. Giora came over to her, his hand stained with blood, but he was walking by himself and did not seem seriously wounded. The cellar emptied out quickly.
Gali regained her self-control. No point in shouting. As usual, no one was going to do her work for her. She took out her cell phone and made two calls. One for an ambulance, the other to the police.
Her report was brief and accurate. Her voice was steady, “Come quickly. There was a shooting incident in the cellar of 19 Ahad Ha’am Street, Tel Aviv. People are wounded.”
She wiped Igor’s face and told him, “Be strong, you’re going to survive this. They’ll be here to take care of you any minute now.”
Chapter 3
While Ofer searched for a pulse and dealt with the eyelids of the chubby carcass lying on the bed, Natalia remained petrified. She only shivered a bit, perhaps because of the chilly air blowing from the air conditioner.
Ofer went to the other side of the bed, picked up the phone and dialed zero to get the receptionist.
“I’m in room 613 and there’s a body here,” he said, trying to steady his voice.
“I’ll send someone right away,” squeaked the plum-like mouth of the blonde from the other end of the line, as though she were used to receiving such messages.
Rodety’s large testicles, like faded pink tennis balls, caught Ofer’s eye. Definitely not a heartwarming sight. That’s the nature of testicles, he thought, not a very charming sight even when attached to a live person.
He pulled out the edge of the sheet from beneath the mattress and covered Rodety’s groin area. Rodety’s package was as dead as the rest of him, but it seemed to Ofer that any man, alive or dead, deserved a little privacy.
He looked about and realized that he had touched many objects in the room. The empty whiskey bottle, the silver flask, the bed, the sheets, the telephone and especially, the body itself.
Thoughts began to run through his mind. Various questions began to bother him much more than the fingerprints he had left.
“Did you happen to see if someone came in here before me?” he asked Natalia.
“No, no, of course not!” she said without even looking at him.
“Are you sure?” he insisted.
“Are you a cop? Why you ask so many questions?” she raised her voice in anger and turned her back to him.
Ofer did not reply. The bright braid on her back suddenly seemed familiar—was it she who had peeked into the corridor when he had reached the room?
On the nightstand next to the bed, a folded piece of paper lay beneath the phone he had used to call the receptionist. Written on the folded paper was a cellular number. He didn’t need to read it twice. It was his number.
Without giving it a second thought, taking advantage of the fact that the chambermaid still turned her back to him, he quickly shoved the folded paper into the back pocket of his trousers. From the corner of his right eye, he thought he spotted a shadow. A broad-shouldered figure of a man crossed the corridor. He turned his gaze quickly and managed to see that the figure paused for an instant next to the half open door of the room. It was impossible to distinguish the man’s features. He continued on his way with the same urgency with which he had appeared. When Ofer looked at him from behind, he managed to see a small and rounded bald spot at the center of his head.
“Did you see who it was?” he asked Natalia.
She shook her head. He ran across the room and headed out into the corridor. Only while he was already chasing the balding man did the reason for his action occur to him—who wears a long dark coat on such a warm summer day?
He managed to see the dark back of the man with the bald spot as he turned left towards the staircase. The man was slightly shorter than him but with broader shoulders. Ofer ran after him, opened the emergency exit door and followed him down the staircase but wasn’t able to catch up.
When he returned to the room, panting, Natalia had vanished as though she were never there. He went out to the corridor once more and with wide paces walked to its end to look for her.
