by Erez Aharoni
“Neither one.” Ofer found it difficult to define the girl or the situation.
“Well, it doesn’t matter. Whatever you ask. A debt’s a debt. With us, your word is everything. I’ll call you again soon,” Morris finished the conversation and hung up.
Ofer mounted his bike and drove away aimlessly. He felt intense pain in his lower abdomen again. It didn’t look good and didn’t feel good. Worry began to gnaw at him. How come I don’t feel well? Perhaps it’s the plague? Perhaps I should be hospitalized? But Yoav said there’s no vaccine—so what good will it do me? But perhaps he’s wrong?
No more than twenty minutes of bothersome questions passed before his cell phone vibrated in his shirt pocket once more. He forgot his pains for a moment and stopped again by the side of the road. Morris was on the line.
“Write it down, brother. She lives in Holon. Twenty-seven Hamaapilim Street, apartment 16. You know how to get there or should I come to pick you up?”
“I’d be happy if you could come,” said Ofer. For some reason he found it difficult to be by himself. A discomforting feeling pressed down on his chest. Even Morris seemed like good company compared with being alone. “I’ll wait for you at the Paz gas station next to the Wolfson Medical Center. Is that OK?”
“It’s more than OK, it’s freakin awesome,” answered Morris.
Ofer hit the road, considering, while driving, what he would say to Natalia when he finally met her. What will he ask her, and what were the chances she would answer him truthfully? He reached the gas station in just a few minutes, left the bike next to the car wash station and waited.
A white BMW stopped next to him with a screech of tires. The driver’s window opened and so did the passenger door. Morris’ head and thick eyebrows peeked at him.
“Get in, your honor, get in,” he invited Ofer kindly.
Morris began to drive speedily towards the Ayalon Highway. Ofer had barely fastened his seat belt when he heard the clanking sound of a spoon scraping a plate. He didn’t need to turn his head towards the backseat. He shrunk down in his seat, held the belt in both hands, turned his gaze to Morris and shouted, “Why did you have to bring him?”
“Relax, relax,” said Morris, “What’s with you? He’s a good man. Besides, how else did you want me to find an immigrant called Natalia Schulvitz in all of central Israel without help? Did you think Russian is my mother tongue?”
“But why did you have to ask for help from the Russian bear himself?” Ofer refused to calm down.
He instinctively felt in his pockets to see if he had a salt shaker filled with paprika or any other object that could be used for self-defense. He imagined Ijou filling the backseat with his large limbs and eating his home cooked stew with fervor. Ijou himself, much to Ofer’s delight, was too busy eating and did not respond.
Morris tried to soothe Ofer with flattery and calmed himself by hitting the gas pedal with all the strength his leg could muster. The vehicle sped forward as if they were in a car chase. Ofer looked back down the road, ignoring Ijou’s steady jaw movements. No one was chasing them. Morris’ crazy driving worried him even more. He’d begun to regret asking for help.
He didn’t have a lot of time for remorse. Morris drove with such speed, that they quickly reached the southern Holon intersection. Morris got off the highway and drove down the narrow, empty streets.
“Be careful,” asked Ofer.
“Stop worrying. Don’t forget I was born here. Just around the corner. Where Holon borders Bat Yam.” Morris chuckled.
The vehicle entered a dreary neighborhood, the streets lined with rows of apartment buildings of three or four stories each. Old houses with tiny balconies. Ofer spotted the building number. The yard was dirty and run down. A single bulb spread some faint light over the façade of the building and fought the swarm of mosquitoes that threatened to cover it. At the ground level of the neighboring building there was a small grocery store.
Morris announced that he needed to buy cigarettes. The three of them went into the store. Above the shoulder of the shop assistant was a row of Keglevich vodka bottles on a high shelf.
Ofer bought a bottle. He had an inkling that the alcohol might come in handy. And even if it doesn’t, he thought, having a bottle of vodka never hurts.
Ijou looked at him in a new way, with a gaze that contained both sympathy and appreciation.
“I never visit people empty-handed,” Ofer explained to Morris, who gave him a questioning look as well.
They easily found Natalia Schulvitz’s mailbox among the various other mailboxes. Her family name was written on a stained piece of paper, which hung by a thread.
“The neighborhood looks exactly as it did in my childhood. Nothing’s changed. Full of immigrants then and full of immigrants now,” said Morris.
Ofer said nothing. The mailbox was full of trashy brochures and flyers. There was also a letter from Social Security. He stuffed it in his pocket. They climbed up the stairs all the way to the fourth floor, Ofer leading the way, with the missing tooth and the big bear breathing down his neck, right behind him.
The corridor was flooded with a pale yellow light. The door of one of the apartments opened. Behind it stood an elderly man, bald headed and wearing a white undershirt, short khaki pants and plastic beach sandals. A burning cigarette drooped out of the corner of his mouth. He was the type of neighbor who carefully examined everything that took place on his floor.
“Who are you looking for?” he asked.
“We came to visit Natalia. Natalia Schulvitz,” said Ofer.
“Natalia is not at home,” he said decisively, his face becoming grimmer.
Ofer raised the vodka bottle to his chest and then lifted it in front of him like a flag. That was a move which instantly brought him and the neighbor closer and solved all their communication issues.
“Thank you very much, pleased to meet you. Just a moment, just a moment,” said the elderly neighbor, turning around quickly and retreating into his apartment. He came back after thirty seconds with four plastic glasses. Ofer poured the transparent liquid generously. The floor was littered with candy wrappers and cigarette butts. The four of them stood in the dirty corridor and raised glasses.
“This is police state,” said the old man. Morris and Ijou agreed silently. He drank the contents of the glass in a single gulp and said, “Natalia is not at home. Home is here.”
He pointed at a gray door on which hung a small porcelain sign with the name Schulvitz written on it in rounded letters.
“Natalia’s not at home. Boyfriend’s not here too. Yesterday she left. The police were here too. They looked for Natalia and she’s not at home,” he continued to explain. His face crumpled with regret. He wasn’t in any hurry to provide additional information before he received another drink.
Morris had had enough of the old man’s slow pace. He knocked on the closed gray door. No answer was heard from within. Ijou couldn’t restrain himself. He hadn’t built his reputation on self-control. He went over to the door and leaned his entire body on it. Doors in buildings that were constructed more than thirty years ago were not designed to hold up against such a muscular mass.
The door shrieked, as if it were escaping out of panic into the apartment. Ijou was carried by its forward movement and disappeared inside.
Ofer wondered again what he must have been thinking when he decided to add such a crew to his mission. But it was too late. The old man realized that things were about to get out of hand. Without asking, he hastily filled up another glass from the vodka bottle and set it on the floor. Then he went back in his apartment, leaving the door open only a crack.
Ofer hurried to follow Ijou into Natalia’s dark apartment. He turned on the light in order to hurry and get him out. The scene that revealed itself to him was far from delightful. Clothes, magazines, and fast-food bags were scattered everywhere. The table was full of bread crumbs and unwashed dishes.
Morris did not wait for an invitation either. He went i
nside and walked about the apartment.
“Your girlfriend’s not here,” Morris announced decisively. Ofer accepted his conclusion.
Ijou, on the other hand, understood that Morris wasn’t happy about something, and his inner flame ignited. He walked with long strides into the center of the living room, slammed his hand with all his might on the side of the brown cabinet that stood along the long living room wall and barked with his rumbling voice, “Why not here? Why?”
The powerful blow shook the cabinet. Both its doors swung opened noisily, like saloon doors in the Wild West. Right after they opened, a large parcel rolled out of the cabinet and fell to the floor with a hollow thump. Morris and Ijou recoiled.
Ofer eyed the package. An irregular shape was wrapped with a carpet and tied with a thin, strong rope. He untied the rope and opened the carpet to reveal its contents.
Inside was a body. The three men jumped back in shock.
Ofer didn’t need more than a split second to identify Natalia.
Her hands were tied behind her back with the same rope that had secured the parcel. There was something different about her, though. She had short hair. Ofer understood why instantly. Her thick, beautiful yellow braid had been cut from the crown of her head and stuffed into her mouth.
Fresh bruises could be seen on her cheeks and forehead. Deep cuts. Cuts that had been made maliciously. Not scratches that were caused by chance or struggle. The bastard who had cut her hair had corrupted her beauty in a sick and vicious way. Or perhaps he’d done it to force her to open her mouth and reveal something she alone knew and then silenced her forever.
The braid was held in her mouth with duct tape. Ofer recognized in her eyes the same frozen stare he had seen in them when they had found Rodety’s body together at the hotel.
Morris and Ijou were petrified and did not utter a word. Even for these two rough characters, this was not an everyday sight, the body of a beautiful woman who’d been beaten and murdered.
Ofer returned his focus to the body. He didn’t need to check for a pulse. No living creature could have survived being rolled up in a carpet inside that cabinet with a thick braid stuffed in its mouth, even if it had been alive when it was tied up.
Ijou left the body, returned to the outspread carpet and began to finger it attentively. Ofer looked at him. The carpet’s geometrical shapes captured his eye—deep orange and blue diamonds and triangles inside a large rectangle decorated on both sides with lions that stood on their hind legs.
He wondered if Ijou really knew something about the quality of Caucasian carpets, densely woven from fine wool, or if he was only enthusiastic about the colorful nature of the carpet. Ofer joined Ijou and felt the carpet with his own hands. A shiver passed through his spine. He was as excited as Ijou, if not more.
But it was not the quality or the deep colors of the carpet that put Ofer in such a state.
The terrifying question that filled him with unease was—How the hell did Natalia come to be rolled up in the Caucasian carpet his father, Mordechai Angel, may he rest in peace, had brought home from Turkey?
And the second question that immediately followed, like a Siamese twin—How did the carpet leave his apartment at the heart of Tel Aviv and end up in 27 Hamaapilim Street in Holon?
Or perhaps he was too hasty in his conclusion and it was not his carpet.
Chapter 13
Fliegelman leaned over the book in front of him. A forty watt electric bulb dangled over his head and illuminated the small guard booth with a murky light. He read the thirteenth story in Nabokov’s Dozen. Even though he knew the stories by heart, he returned to read them again and again, like an addict.
From time to time, he lifted his head, looked at the column of cars that disappeared down the main street, then quickly returned to read another paragraph, before raising his head again.
In the next instant, a tall figure wearing dark clothes and a baseball cap emerged from the other side of the road, ran across the two asphalt driveways, crouched when it reached the concrete wall and neared the
booth.
Fliegelman tensed up. He closed the book and took out the gun from the leather holster attached to his belt.
The figure came closer to the booth, and for a moment it seemed it intended to sneak its way inside.
Fliegelman carefully raised his gun to his chest and focused his eyes. The door opened all at once.
“Shtop or I’ll shoot.”
“What’s wrong with you? It’s me,” said Gali Shviro and removed the hat from her head.
“Gali, you’re inshane. I almosht shot you.” Fliegelman was furious.
“But we scheduled to meet here,” Gali tried to explain.
“Exactly. We scheduled. Sho why are you shneaking in like a thief?” said Fliegelman. His nose became redder when he was angry the tiny, tangled capillaries became more noticeable.
“All right, sorry, I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself.”
“You have a great sense of humor, really. You think that if you’re wearing a hat and crouch while you run when everything is lit up all around you, you won’t draw attention to yourself?”
“Excuse me, I didn’t mean to startle you. Say, what’s that large building with the hungry monsters graffiti on its walls? I passed it on the way here.”
“The one that’s next to the fence down the road? It was probably part of the factory but was abandoned. I don’t know why. They’ll probably demolish it soon. I pass by it during my patrols, but I have never actually been inside.”
“Got it. How are you? What have you got for me?”
“I’ve done what you asked me to do. I have the address. Cyrus Street in the Lod industrial area. They told me it’s right next to the large Aerospace Industries factory. There’s no number. Everybody knows where it is.”
“You’re wonderful! You’re on your way to getting another kiss tonight.”
Fliegelman blushed with embarrassment. “No need, really.”
“Tell me, Josh, where’s the entrance to the factory’s sewage system?”
“You never rest, do you? It’s a large system. I’m not sure where the entrance is and if it’s even possible to get inside. But if you want to start somewhere, the northern part of the factory includes a water purification system that has huge pipes coming out of it.” Fliegelman pointed his finger in the correct direction. “The main entrance is on the other side. We are on the back side. You can’t come inside from this entrance. You need to go straight ahead, close to the fence. You’ll see them. The pipes. They pass over the fence and go into the sewage system. It’s too dark now. I don’t know what you’ll be able to do there at night.” It was a long explanation and Fliegelman could see Gali flinch as he struggled to get the words out clearly.
“Don’t worry, I’ll manage. I’ll keep in touch with you.”
“Hold on. Hold on. The inner purification system hasn’t been working for a few weeks. That’s what I was told. Perhaps you should keep that in mind.”
“Again, thank you. Thank you so much!” said Gali and quickly went on her way, leaving Fliegelman disappointed that she did not fulfill her promise regarding the kiss.
She ran quickly to the edge of the high cement fence and passed the large building with the graffiti. The images that were drawn on its walls, wide-eyed with large, gaping mouths full of sharp teeth, appeared scary in the darkness.
To her great joy, the purification system was easy to spot. It was at the end of the factory yard, removed from the main complex, next to the fence, just like Fliegelman had told her. Should she climb the fence and enter the factory? It seemed too dangerous to her. And the purification system wasn’t working. Another solution must be found at this stage, outside the fence and not inside.
The large pipes of the sewage system were easy to spot as well. They passed beyond the high concrete fence and the barbed wire at its top. Black and thick they sprang towards the sky then descended to the depths of the earth. The street wa
s dimly lit. Gali looked around and could see no one.
Gali shrugged off her backpack and took a small flashlight out of it. The light beam was strong and focused as it shone on the fence and the oversized pipes. They were swallowed inside the earth right after they descended above the fence. The system appeared to be hermetically sealed. For a moment, she thought about trying to climb the fence again to see if the purification system could be accessed, but she rejected the idea once more. The fence was high. Barbed wire curled at its top. Every way she considered it, the risk was too
high.
Gali examined the surrounding area again. The pipes must continue beneath the fence and beyond it and then connect to the central sewage system. She advanced north, and after about a hundred and fifty feet, beyond the factory fence, she found the drainage opening. She pointed the flashlight inside and saw a muddy liquid material. She bent and tried to slip her hand beneath the grille and reach the bottom, but the ditch was too deep, and there was no way of reaching it.
She straightened up and tried to think what to do next. Perhaps with a long instrument she could scratch off some of that muddy material. But she didn’t have any equipment.
A vehicle approached from afar, driving slowly. Gali hurried and took off her hat. The vehicle stopped. Gali identified the make—a Mazda 6. The man who came out of the car was about fifty. He wore stained coveralls, his face was dark and the look in his eyes did not inspire trust.
“Can I help you?” he asked kindly.
“Yes, sure.” Gali kept her cool. “I was toying with my ring while walking, and it fell inside the sewer,” she said.
“This is not the sort of place you should hang around in with jewelry. Come to think of it, this is not the sort of place for a young woman to hang around in anyway, especially at this time of night,” he said, and Gali was terrified for a moment and regretted the story she invented.
