Zion (Jerusalem)

by Colin Falconer

  Talbot hung his head, ashamed; of her, of himself. Ashamed he did not have the physical strength even to punish the man who had taken his wife, ashamed that God has so misshapen his soul that he did not even want her anyway.

  He thought about Chisholm at Jaffa Gate and it seemed to him there was only one way he might recover his pride.

  Chapter 11

  Saturday evening: crowds milled around Zion Square, harangued by the Arab shoe-shine boys banging their brushes on boxes to attract prospective customers. The aromas of roasting coffee lured others into the boulevard cafés on Ben Yehuda and King George V streets, where the European exiles in their shiny double-breasted suits tried to recreate a lost way of life, promenading in the latest fashions purchased from shops on Princess Mary Avenue. Stilettos clipped on the pavements, music blared from Arab shops.

  Henry Talbot saw Sarah join the queue outside the Zion Cinema and purchase a ticket at the booth. He bought a bagel from a Yemenite hawker and ate a few mouthfuls without appetite and gave the rest to one of the shoe-shine boys. He looked up at the hoarding: Abbot and Costello in Hollywood.

  Had the Haganah woman chosen this particular picture for any particular reason? He bought a ticket and went inside.

  He waited a few moments at the back of the cinema for his eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness. There was a sudden shock of laughter at the antics on the screen, the English words subtitled in Hebrew and Arabic.

  Sarah was sitting just a few feet away, in an aisle seat at the back. He ignored the usherette and slipped into the seat beside her.

  Another sudden shout of laughter.

  “Comedies are ideal for this sort of thing,” she said. “When people are laughing they can’t eavesdrop and they don’t shush you.”

  “Ah, this is a comedy. I hadn’t realized.”

  “You don’t like Abbot and Costello?”

  “If I had my choice I would rather dip my head in boiling oil. But we’re here now.”

  “Did you bring the chocolates, Henry?”

  “Sorry, I forgot. Will the High Commissioner’s files on the Haganah do instead?”

  More laughter.

  “You have them with you?” Sarah said, her voice suddenly tense.

  “A bit bulky, don’t you think? But I can get them for you.”

  “The complete file?”

  “Everything.”

  Sarah took a deep breath. “Well.”

  “Will that release me from my commitment to you?”

  “We’ll have to see.”

  “Have to see? Have to see? What more do you want?”

  An Arab in a western suit and keffiyeh squeezed into the seat next to them. He stared at the screen in stony silence. Talbot watched him in the darkness. The man’s face was creased with concentration. He could have been watching King Lear.

  “We start with a famine and move swiftly to a feast. I’m afraid you mystify me completely.”

  “Can you get a jeep and some British uniforms?”

  “Of course.”

  “Of course,” Talbot said, mimicking her. “I can arrange for you to have the file for eight hours. What you do with it is up to you. At the end of that time you must return it to me intact. Is that clear?”

  “It’s not much time.”

  “For classified information, it’s an eternity. You’ll need two men who can impersonate British officers. In other words, a pair of arrogant bastards.”

  “Where do we make the pick-up?”

  “At the Hill of Evil Counsel.” Talbot passed her an envelope in the darkness. “Two sets of identity papers. They’ll get you inside. And a map of the grounds. Tell me when you’re ready and I’ll nominate the time. You’ll have one shot at this, that’s all.”

  “That’s all we’ll need.”

  A whoop of laughter from the audience. A Jew across the aisle was actually rocking in his seat, dabbing at his eyes with a huge white handkerchief. Talbot looked at the Arab beside him. His expression had not changed. Why should he laugh? he thought. How could he possibly understand what was funny? For the last thirty years he had been on a collision course with a culture he could not comprehend, a way of life diametrically opposed to the one he had learned as a child. The western suit and the keffiyeh were symbols of the dichotomy the British and the Jews had brought to his land. And here he was, still struggling to understand, still trying to laugh.

  And here I am, he thought, selling you out.

  But someone has to protect the Jews from people like Chisholm.

  “Are you staying for the end of the picture?” he said.

  “Only if I’m struck with paralysis in the next five minutes.”

  “There’s hope for you people yet then.” Talbot got up and went outside. Night had fallen. Judas has met with Caiaphas, he thought. All that remains now is the final kiss.

  Rehavia

  “You can choose whoever you want for this operation, Asher. You know how important it is.”

  Asher nodded. “Netanel Rosenberg.”

  “You don’t have to decide straight away.”

  “He learned English for his father’s business in Germany so he speaks it well enough. And he has a flair for acting.”

  They were in the flat in Rehavia. The windows were open because of the heat but there was no breeze anyway and the room smelled of fried butter from the omelet Sarah had prepared them for supper. There was a bottle of Rishon wine open on the table.

  “You are sure you can rely on him?”

  “No one is more committed than Netanel - not even Ben-Gurion.”

  “I’m not questioning his commitment. But the Emmerich job - that could hardly be called a success. He left Emmerich alive and assaulted the hausfrau.”

  “She saw his tattoo. She was going to raise the alarm.”

  “We can’t afford any mistakes on this one.”

  “There won’t be any.”

  “All right.” Sarah fetched an envelope from a drawer in the kitchen. She pushed it across the table and poured herself more of the wine. “New identity papers.”

  Asher took them out and examined them.

  “It won’t be as easy as getting into Emmerich’s place,” she said. “There’ll be British soldiers on the gate. If your German friend lets slip with any danke schöns that will be it.”

  “He won’t.’ Ever since he had been seconded by the Shai he had found himself taking orders from his wife and he didn’t like it one bit.

  She reached into the breast pocket of her shirt and produced a piece of white vellum Basildon Bond, folded into a square. She smoothed it out on the surface of the table. A map had been carefully drawn on it, in black ink.

  “My contact drew this for us. Here’s the main gate, this is the layout of the driveway and the gardens. The Residency is here. You drive to the side entrance, right here. Our contact will be waiting for you at precisely nine fifteen. Don’t be early - you’ll invite questions - and don’t be late, or his nerve may desert him. You will salute, give your name and rank, and accept the briefcase he offers you. You then drive straight out again and head for Kfar Herzl as fast as you can.”

  “A donkey could do it.”

  “Well, that’s why I picked you.”

  He glared at her, then saw her smiling and grinned back. He pushed away the comma of dark hair that hung over his face. “Can this contact of yours really get the file?”

  “He says he can.”

  “It’s like having the atom bomb.”

  She covered his hand with her own. “Just be careful. If you’re arrested, they’ll treat you as a spy.”

  He toyed with the ring on her finger. “Would it matter to you if I didn’t come back?”

  “I care about you very much.”

  “It’s not the same thing though, is it?”

  “As what?”

  “As loving me.’

  There was hurt in her eyes. She is trying, he thought. She does not mean to be cruel. “Please, Ash.”

 
He pulled her towards him and kissed her, and she responded, stiffly. Making love from memory, he thought. It never works, it had never worked from the beginning. But at least she was his, in a fashion, and he would not give her up.

  Even now, when they were at last back under the same roof, her back was turned to him in bed. But he yet hoped for a miracle.

  He lay awake for a long time, watching her sleep. In the moonlight she had a face like an angel. An angel and a liar. When he had returned after the war, he had somehow hoped things would be different between them. But she had grown accustomed to being a war widow, he supposed. Her devotion to him was feigned and her loving mechanical.

  The tragedy of it was that he considered even that enough.

  Chapter 12

  The Hill of Evil Counsel

  There were several files locked in a desk drawer in an office adjacent to Sir Alan Cunningham’s sitting-room . Each one was stamped MOST SECRET in red stencil. Apart from Sir Alan, only a handful of men had the keys to the desk. Henry Talbot was one of them.

  He arrived for work ten minutes earlier than usual and instead of going straight to his office, he went upstairs and along the corridor to the High Commissioner’s suite. The corporal on duty at the desk recognized him immediately and let him in. Talbot went inside, unlocked the desk and removed three files. They were marked: HAGANAH, STERN, and IRGUN ZVAI LEUMI. The file marked HAGANAH was several hundred pages thick. It’s like trying to smuggle War and Peace, Talbot thought.

  He re-locked the desk and went outside. He signed for the files in the desk corporal’s register and returned to his office. He felt surprisingly calm. He squeezed the three files into a black leather briefcase and clicked the lock shut.

  There. Nothing to it.

  He looked at his watch. Five minutes to nine. Plenty of time. Suddenly his knees started to shake and he had to sit down. At that moment there was a knock on the door and First Secretary Reginald Chandler walked in.

  “Good morning, Talbot. Another warm day by the looks of it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Sorry to barge in on you like this. Busy?”

  Jesus Christ! “Not at all. Do sit down. Like a cup of tea?”

  “Why not?”

  Talbot went into the outer office and told his clerk, Mahmud, to fetch two cups of tea. He looked at his watch. Three minutes to nine. How could he get rid of Chandler in less than eighteen minutes?

  He went back to his office and sat down.

  “You look pale, Talbot. Feeling all right?”

  “Fine, thank you, sir.”

  “Got something to discuss with you. Strictly confidential, of course.”

  “I see. Nothing untoward, I hope?”

  “Good Lord, no. Good news, in fact. As you know, I’ll be retiring at the end of August.”

  Talbot glanced at his watch. What did the old goat want? “You’ll be sadly missed.”

  “Thank you, Henry. But can’t say I’m not looking forward to it. Got a little cottage in Esher. Pity the good woman isn’t still around. It’s going to be pretty lonely without her.”

  For God’s sake, don’t let him get maudlin, Talbot thought. You’ll never get rid of him. “At least you’ll be able to go and watch some decent cricket. That’s something I always miss.”

  “Suppose so. Anyway, that’s not why I wanted to talk to you . . .”

  Mahmud entered with two cups of strong tea in rose china teacups. He set them down on the desk and went out again.

  Two minutes past nine.

  Chandler stared miserably into his cup. “Never met a native yet who knew how to make a decent cup of tea. The Indians were the worst. And they grow the stuff! You know, when I was a junior in Delhi before the Great War . . .”

  The sentry wore a khaki uniform and steel hat, and his boots were polished like black glass. He had a rifle over his right shoulder. His companion kept a Thompson pointed at the car as the papers were checked. Neither man attempted to smile.

  “Nice day for the race,” Asher said.

  The sentry ignored him and checked the security passes. “Corporal Davidson and Lieutenant Jenkins.”

  Netanel tapped on the dashboard with his swagger cane and sighed with impatience.

  “Who are you here to see?”

  “Is that any of your business, Sergeant?”

  The two men stared at each other.

  “We have an appointment with Henry Talbot in the Commissioner’s office,” Netanel said finally.

  The soldier seemed satisfied with that. He handed Asher back his papers. “Sorry to delay you,” he said. Asher put the jeep into gear and drove through.

  “You shouldn’t have used Talbot’s name,” Asher said.

  “We had no choice.”

  Asher grunted. Sarah had told them to use the name only as a desperation measure. It was hardly that. As he drove he wiped the sweat from the palm of his right hand on the leg of his khaki shorts. He experienced a familiar tight, liquid sensation in his belly.

  He could see Talbot’s map in his mind as clearly as if it were spread out across the steering wheel. Instead of following the driveway to the front of the building, he turned off along a gravel drive bordered by rose bushes. He looked at his watch. Nine fourteen.

  Perfect.

  He stopped the jeep at the side entrance and looked up the steps to the porticoed doorway. It was locked. No sign of Talbot.

  'He remembered what Sarah had said: If they arrest you, they’ll treat you as a spy.

  He looked at Netanel. He was lounging in his seat, tapping the toe of his boot with his swagger cane, staring vacantly at the overhanging branches of a conifer.

  “Where the hell’s Talbot?” Asher whispered.

  “He’ll come,” Netanel said and yawned. “Look at all these roses. The British know how to build a garden, don’t they?”

  “The point is,” Chandler was saying, “Whitehall have yet to decide on a replacement for me. So an Acting First Secretary will have to be appointed. It needs to be someone dependable, someone discreet.”

  Someone thoroughly compromised by the Haganah? Talbot thought.

  “I took the liberty of putting your name forward to the Commissioner.”

  “My word, that’s very kind of you, sir.” Good God Almighty, nine sixteen!

  “Well, you’ve worked hard and you’ve proved yourself thoroughly reliable. You have a great future, young Talbot. A great future.”

  If only you knew the future I have: in prison or in disgrace. “Thank you very much, sir.”

  “Of course nothing’s been decided yet. If it comes off, the appointment will only be temporary, until someone a little more senior arrives from England. But the experience will stand you in good stead and I’m sure a promotion will quickly follow.”

  “I am really most grateful, sir. I don’t know what to say.” Look, please just bugger off and let me put my head in the noose without piling on any more pain.

  “Well, I just thought I’d let you know. Sir Alan will no doubt inform you officially in due course.” He got up to leave.

  Then changed his mind.

  “One other thing. Now this is strictly in confidence . . .”

  “Pine trees,” Netanel said. “There were pine trees at Buna.” The shadows of the leaves played on the polished visor of his cap.

  “Where’s Buna?” Asher said. Where was Talbot?

  “Buna was the name of the marshalling yards outside Auschwitz.’ His voice was soft and dreamy. “Strange how you associate one thing with another. When I look at a pine tree I feel cold and hungry. I feel like I want to die.”

  Asher drummed on the steering wheel. Any moment a British officer would challenge them. Why are you here? What are you doing? Then perhaps Netanel will have his death wish. Asher had decided he would not let them arrest him. Better to die with a bullet than a rope. “We give him five more minutes,” he said.

  “The worst of it is you never leave it behind. I can eat a big dinner and afte
rwards I still feel hungry. You see, it’s not your body that starves, it’s your brain. It does something to your mind.”

  The first time Netanel had chosen to talk about the camps; he could have chosen a better time.

  “It’s hard to explain to someone who wasn’t there. It was like you died and God sentenced you to hell. It was just like that.” Netanel turned and stared at him. “Where did you say you were from?”

  “Bavaria. A town called Ravenswald, near München.”

  “Have you always been Asher Ben-Zion?”

  “No, that’s the Hebrew name I adopted when I came here. I was a Zionist so - Ben-Zion, son of Zion. And Asher - the Hebrew word for happiness. It’s how I felt when I finally came to Palestine. Where the hell is Talbot?”

  “What was your name before?”

  “Mandelbaum. Why?” If a soldier comes we’re dead, for the love of Almighty God!

  Netanel stopped the tapping with the swagger cane. He was suddenly still, his face very pale.

  “If Talbot doesn’t come out with that file soon,” Asher said, “I am going to go in and get it.”

  “I was going to keep this to myself,” Chandler was saying - Impossible! Talbot thought - “but I shall tell you this in the strictest confidence. It appears my name has been put forward for the New Year’s honors list.”

  “Well, that is wonderful news!” Nine twenty-two. Please, please, please bugger off!

  “Isn’t it? It looks like a KCMG. Forty years of outstanding service and all that. Margery would have been very proud.”

  Not Margery, Talbot thought. Don’t start on fucking Margery!

  “We’ll all be proud, sir.”

  “Thank you, Talbot. I can rely on you to keep mum?”

  What you mean is, can I rely on you to spread the rumor so you get some kudos before you leave? I can do that for you, old boy. But I rather think I might upstage you shortly, in a rather perverse manner. If you give me the chance. “I shan’t tell another soul,” Talbot said, and rose from his chair.