by Erez Aharoni
“Come, I’ll help you,” continued the mysterious stranger whose intentions were still unclear to Gali.
Together, they grabbed the iron lattice and tried to lift it, unsuccessfully. “Wait a moment,” he said and went to his car, which was still running. “I’m a car mechanic,” he explained when he came back with a large iron bar, “you’ll never catch me unequipped.”
Gali took a pace back. One should be careful. It was nighttime. And an anonymous Good Samaritan with a metal bar could be dangerous, even if his intentions appeared to be positive.
He jammed the bar between the iron frame and the rail. “Give me a hand,” he said, “it won’t work without a joint effort.”
Gali hesitated before she gave him a hand. This time they managed to lift the grate.
Gali didn’t wait and sprang inside, holding the backpack with one hand. The sewage channel came up past her waistline. Gali turned on the flashlight and crawled on her knees. A sharp stench rose up her nose, and her eyes became teary. She tried to identify the smell but couldn’t. It was stinging and violent.
She became dizzy. She pinched her nose and advanced about ten feet forward. The flashlight cast strange shadows on the walls of the pipe. She held her breath. I can stay like this for at least a minute, perhaps even ninety seconds. With the flashlight between her teeth and her eyes watering, she saw from up close the liquid mud that filled the bottom of the channel.
Without thinking twice, she pushed one hand into the muck while maintaining her balance with the other one. She took a handful of the strange mud and dropped the sticky, smelly material into a plastic bag she had prepared in advance.
“What’s going on? Where are you?” the mechanic outside wanted to know. “Did you find it? Do you need help?” he sounded concerned.
“Yes, what luck,” called Gali when she reached the exit by crawling back.
Only now did she allow herself to breathe and filled her lungs with oxygen. She emerged from the channel with a wide smile on her face. She stood up and showed him the ring she had taken off her finger while crawling out of the sewage pipe.
The mechanic looked at her. Her clothes were filthy, her knees were black from mud, and so was the hand that held the small silver ring.
“What’s so important about this ring that you’d be willing to crawl down the sewer to get it back?” he asked.
“My boyfriend gave it to me,” she invented without any hesitation. “I would have done anything to find it.”
“What’s his name?” He was interested.
“Ofer,” she said, surprised that was the first name that came into her mind.
“Well done,” he said. “Look how dirty you are now. Want to come and clean your hands in my garage?”
“No, thank you. I appreciate it, but I have some wipes in my car. You really rescued me.”
Gali hurried to get away towards her vehicle, happy and proud that she had succeeded in her mission. She knew exactly what to do with the material she had shoved into the plastic bag.
Chapter 14
Ofer looked at Morris and Ijou, hoping they’d say something encouraging. They only stared at him with wide eyes. Both stuck their hands in their pockets and mumbled silent curses, each in his mother tongue.
What should I do now? Who do I call? Should I get help? From who? Too many questions and too few answers passed through his mind.
Morris surprised Ofer by asking softly, “Did you love her?” He ignored her defiled face and examined her naked body, which retained its attractiveness even after the life was sucked out of it.
“No way! I barely know her. This is the chambermaid from the hotel I told you about when I was arrested,” Ofer hurriedly justified himself.
“Oh…so this is becoming even more complex, no?” asked Morris, confused.
“Yes, it looks that way.”
“You know, your honor…I hate to say this, but…how should I put it…we can’t stay here. With our past criminal records. And our future criminal records. We’re on probation…” Morris continued to whisper, chagrined. His shoulders were hunched and his head was downcast as if he’d been scolded. His chin almost kissed the gold chain necklace on his broad chest.
“Go, go…that’s all right…I’ll manage,” Ofer mumbled.
Morris didn’t ask how he intended to manage. And Ijou clearly wasn’t one to ask too many questions. God only knows how I’ll manage, and it seems He’s busy at the moment, thought Ofer but preferred not to say anything else.
“I’ll call you tomorrow to check if everything’s all right,” said Morris with his low voice.
“Don’t call me. I’ll call you as soon as I can,” said Ofer without raising his head. Who knew where he’d be. There were new surprises in his life at every turn.
Morris and Ijou turned around simultaneously, like trained soldiers, slipped silently out of the apartment and disappeared down the dark staircase.
Only when Ofer remained by himself did the full meaning of what had taken place trickle into his mind.
If the carpet was in Natalia’s apartment, it meant that something ominous had taken place in his own apartment while he was gone. Perhaps it wasn’t his carpet after all? He took another peek at it. There was no way he was mistaken. He played and built electric trains with his father on this carpet as a child. He knew every diamond and triangle, and, of course, the four lions that faced one another in pairs. He had often dreamt that he went hunting, faced the kings of the animals and overcame them.
He chased away all thoughts of concern for his apartment. Natalia’s naked body and tortured face forced him to reconsider his priorities.
Ofer rose from the outspread carpet and the cold body and went to the bedroom. He removed a dusty green sheet from the double bed, returned to the living room and began to wrap the body with it. Natalia was still thin and attractive. For a moment, he thought of his friend Yoav, who routinely dealt with cadavers. Now, he could figure out even less what attracted his friend to that grim occupation.
He rolled up the carpet and stood it upright in a corner of the room. He wanted to take back the carpet that was so dear to his heart, but that seemed like a big mistake. For a moment, he thought about removing the golden braid from Natalia’s mouth but didn’t act on this impulse either.
The apartment was completely silent. He had time for a quick assessment of his situation.
For the second time in two days, he was the first one to visit the scene of a crime that contained a body, a coincidence that would be very difficult to explain. The fact that he was becoming a serial finder of dead bodies indicated a problem. He was beginning to feel like a Boston Red Sox fan before the Curse of the Bambino was broken. His curse was only beginning—there was a strong chance he was carrying a deadly virus that could potentially make the effects of the Hiroshima bombing seem like child’s play
That was quite a burden to lay on the shoulders of a twenty-five year old who wasn’t exactly built like a weight lifter. A burden which could potentially lead him to ruin.
Ofer took a small towel from the kitchen and walked around the apartment one final time. With the towel wrapped around his hand, he examined the drawers in the dressers next to the bed. He again opened the closet that the body-filled carpet had rolled out of. The chaos in the apartment appeared to be systemic. No one had tidied it up in quite some time before Natalia’s cruel braid cutter arrived.
There was no room for doubt. The deadly guest had not come to steal valuables, which the apartment clearly didn’t contain, but specifically to kill the girl.
He opened the kitchen drawers and cabinets. No discoveries there either. The refrigerator was almost empty and contained nothing appetizing.
The dark red cover of a passport lying on the kitchen table grabbed his attention. He leafed through it, using a dirty fork he took from the sink and held with a napkin.
He discovered that Natalia, unsurprisingly, came from Russia. She was born in a place called Koltsovo. At least that�
��s what was written on the passport. God only knew where it was. A gold-lettered business card fell from the passport.
The name on the card was Igor Harsovsky.
Some inner sense told him to carefully read the details on the card. Ofer mostly obeyed that inner sense. He looked at length at the few details written on the card in gold embossed letters.
He was stunned. There was no room for error. His memory did not betray him. The cellular number on that fancy card was the same number Jacob Rodety had intended to send his “fire is burning” text message to. The same number Ofer had looked for in vain on the printout he had snatched from the chubby Dan Panorama Hotel receptionist. It was an easy number to remember and he was positive he had it right. Two pairs of zeros. A coveted phone number. Undoubtedly this Harsovsky had some good connections in the cell phone company.
Ofer regained his composure and acted like an automaton. He lifted the telephone receiver with the edge of the sheet wrapped around his hands. Then he called an ambulance and the police. In each call, following a long wait, he left the same laconic message:
“Come quickly to 27 Hamaapilim Street in Holon, fourth floor, apartment 16,” and immediately hung up.
Now he remained by himself. Or not completely by himself. He and Natalia Schulvitz, wrapped in a sheet and bereft of her golden braid. He examined the apartment one last time. A shiny brown object on top of the closet caught his eye. He climbed up on a chair and took down from the closet, with utter disbelief, Rodety’s expensive leather business bag.
The thoughts ran quickly through his head—Now I know why Natalia disappeared from the room while I chased the stranger down the hotel corridor. She took the bag. Undoubtedly, it contained important materials that Rodety had brought with him…but…why didn’t the person who killed her take the bag?
There was no time for questions. Ofer wrapped the bag in a large towel he found in the shower and hurried to get out of the apartment.
The elderly alcohol-loving neighbor opened his door a crack and peeked at him. Ofer paid him no mind. He lifted the vodka bottle from the floor and took tiny sips of the remaining transparent liquid on his way out of the building.
There wasn’t enough to extinguish the fire that was burning within him, but it certainly soothed the stomach pains that had returned to assail him.
Chapter 15
Ofer asked the taxi driver to drop him off at the Paz gas station next to the Wolfson Medical Center. His bike was parked there, hidden behind the car wash, just the way he left it. He hurried home, ran past the Nahalat Binyamin pedestrian mall and entered his apartment building.
It was late in the evening, and Abraham, the elderly watchmaker, was no longer sitting in the alcove off the staircase. Apparently he had already gone home. Ofer was glad he wasn’t there. He was convinced the events of the past few day could clearly be seen on his face, and even if they weren’t, the odors rising from his body would give him away even to a person suffering from anosmia.
He went into his apartment and turned on the light.
The apartment looked just like Rodety’s room at the Dan Panorama Hotel. But without pink shirts, ties adorned with dancing hippopotamuses, and dead bodies, at least for now. Other than that, almost everything else was similar: the mess, the household items scattered all over the place, the open closets…
There was a dark, empty space beneath the living room table. Any doubts he may have had before were now gone in a split second. His lazy habit of washing the floor around the carpet and not beneath it had left a large dusty rectangle at the center of the apartment.
The contents of the closets were spilled on the floor. The rare stamps depicting animals from all over the world, from a collection that had belonged to his father, were sprinkled everywhere like snowflakes. The Formica drawers of the work table were wide open. Photocopies of court rulings were scattered on the bed, around them were CDs, books and PlayStation games.
He tried to catch his breath. Someone had broken into his house while he wasn’t there. A stranger went through his stuff, without any shame and certainly without an invitation, stole his carpet and then went on to Natalia’s apartment. There, he murdered her and wrapped her in his carpet. This wasn’t a coincidence. Someone must investigate what had happened. But who?
The image of Alush popped into his head. Before he’d investigate what had taken place here, he’ll throw me back in a jail cell, Ofer thought. How come he hasn’t come to take me away already? Grim memories from the jail cell made him shiver.
He raised his head again and looked at the work table. Only then did he realize that the office laptop was missing. His spine returned to transmitting nervous vibrations to his head and feet.
When he calmed down a bit, he called Geller’s secretary. Efrat answered his call.
“How are you, Ofer? We were so worried about you,” she said cordially.
He could imagine her black curls and her smile climbing up her high cheekbones. He was glad the office was still open and that someone was there at such a late hour. If Efrat was there then Geller should be there as well.
He was in no mood for chitchat, not even with Efrat.
“Put Geller on the line, quickly,” he asked.
“First tell me how you feel. Are you calling from the hospital?” asked Geller the moment he was on the line.
“All things considered, I’m feeling fine. Other than the new trouble I’m in.”
“I understood that the hospital approved your discharge. They couldn’t find you, so they sent a message here that you are free to go and only need to go there for observation.”
“Really? So here I am, free as a bird.”
“What happened? What’s so urgent?” Geller was curious.
“Someone broke into my apartment,” said Ofer. “They went through all my stuff. They turned the place upside down. I still don’t know what they took and how much damage was done. What do you think I should do? Go to the police?” He couldn’t muster the courage to report the missing laptop.
Silence was heard on the line.
“Don’t do anything, Ofer,” said Geller. “Just let it go and get some sleep. Come to the office tomorrow. It's more important. If I know the police, it's not even certain they’ll come at all. And even if they do, they probably won’t do anything. Go to sleep and take it easy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thanks. That’s exactly what I’ll do.”
Ofer didn’t think twice about the advice he received. Geller has experience in handling such things, he said to himself.
He wanted to start organizing the apartment but noticed that Rodety’s towel-wrapped bag was still under his armpit. He set it on the living room table. Once he put down the bag, he remembered that in his confusion, he had not told Geller anything about his new troubles—Natalia’s murder and finding Rodety’s bag in her room.
He was considering whether or not he should call Geller again, when he saw the file box at the center of the room. The box, which contained all the tangible memories he had remaining of his father, was supposed to be hidden in the attic. His mother had intended to throw away all the documents that remained in the house after his father’s death, but Ofer had insisted on preserving every scrap of paper that still carried a whiff of his father’s scent and every shred of memory. The box was torn open, its contents tossed on the living room sofa.
“Sons of bitches found the box as well,” Ofer cursed angrily.
He couldn’t help himself and went through the documents carefully. Many photos fell out of the yellowing album. Ofer looked at them with longing, recalling his joy-filled childhood days, when they were one big, happy family.
His father worked so hard and seldom found the time for family vacations. But when they went on vacations, they were wonderful. Here was the trip to the Sea of Galilee. Here their kayak overturned when they paddled down the Jordan River. Here was the camel trip in Eilat. Adventures filled with thrills and excitement. Every time they went out into nature,
his father returned to being a fun-loving, happy person who enjoyed a good laugh.
Other than the album, he found some documents bunched together in two brown envelopes, one large and one small. He had never gone through the documents but had never considered destroying them or throwing them away. One day I’ll go over them carefully, he used to promise to himself, but only now did he fulfill this promise, under the shocking circumstances of a break-in at his apartment. He opened the large envelope and curiously examined the documents.
It contained a vast collection of receipts, municipal and electricity bills, colorful postcards, letters his father had written and received. He found an additional, smaller envelope, which contained a bunch of certificates his father had received throughout his life. He was an obsessive collector; Ofer assumed he had inherited the obsession. He too loved to hoard and collect anything he could lay his hands on.
Once again, he felt unwell. Sweat covered his body with insufferable moisture. His breath shortened, and he found it difficult to inhale. Nausea rose from the depths of his stomach.
He lay on the floor and strained to control his shivering body. The convulsions did not stop; a dread-filled discomfort filled his entire being. Here it comes again. Am I going to throw up? I’m not healthy. The virus is going crazy inside my body.
He glanced at his watch and tried to recall the date. How much time had passed? And how much time remained before the seven-day incubation period would be over? He felt so ill, he could barely calculate.
He felt lonely and helpless. But who in God’s name could he turn to?
Ofer closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt as if he were sitting on a speeding carousel. The fit was over after about ten minutes. He rose and tried to organize his thoughts again.
At that moment, it occurred to him how little he knew of his father. He had passed away when Ofer was still an adolescent, and Ofer had continued with his life without thinking about who his father was or what had happened to him.
He returned to going through the documents slowly and carefully. Another letter caught his eye. His father’s handwriting was neat and organized. Like a woman’s. Even though it was written on a plain white page, the lines were straight like those of a military formation.
