by Batya Gur
“I know him.”
“At the hospital, then,” said Michael. “We’ll arrange for space at the hospital.”
Theo looked at him suspiciously, and then at Balilty. “What do you mean, you’ll arrange for space?”
“It means that we’ll ask them to make a private space available for you, an office with a door,” said Michael, “so that you can talk comfortably. Doesn’t that make sense to you?” he asked innocently.
“You’ll be listening on the other side of the wall,” said Theo with a sudden flash of illumination. “What do you take me for, a total idiot?”
“Maybe I do and maybe I don’t,” said Balilty “I just want to understand why that should bother you.”
“I’m not prepared to talk to him in your presence,” said Theo angrily.
Michael leaned forward. “Because of him or because of you?”
“What difference does it make?” grumbled Theo. “Do you want to add it to the list of my failings in your eyes? Go ahead and add it. I’ll talk to him alone or not at all.”
“No problem,” said Balilty indifferently, glancing at his watch. “I understand that you’re afraid he may say something we’re not supposed to know about. Excuse me a minute,” he added, and he left the room.
Theo’s gaze followed him suspiciously. They were alone together now, he seemed to be saying to himself when he realized that Michael was still sitting before him, and his body relaxed. “Is Nita feeling a little better?” he asked quietly.
Michael nodded.
“Isn’t it strange for you to be so involved in this matter? For example, the fact that you had dinner with me the day before yesterday? Doesn’t it bother you?” he asked with some malice. “Or are you one of those people that nothing bothers?”
Michael smoked in silence.
“You’re not even answering me,” said Theo bitterly. “You’re living with my sister and you won’t even answer me.”
Michael said nothing.
“And what was all that about, all that stuff about me having an argument with Gabi backstage?”
Michael shrugged his shoulders.
Theo shook his head. “She never told you anything of the kind,” he said confidently.
Michael didn’t blink. He never took his eyes off the green, sunken eyes opposite him. And in order to distract himself from the consciousness of the effort, he compared Theo’s eyes to Nita’s. He concluded that they were only similar in form, not in color, and especially not in the proportions of the parts. It was this proportion, he consoled himself, that created the expression. “Why should she lie?” he asked, and he feared that he had gone too far.
Now it was Theo who shrugged his shoulders.
“I wanted to ask you,” said Michael casually, “if you know anything about an envelope of spare cello strings Nita had at home.”
“You’ve already asked me that,” said Theo impatiently, “and I told you.”
“No,” Michael corrected him. “I asked you about the ones in her cello case. Now I’m asking you about another envelope, which was still unopened.”
“How should I know?” complained Theo. “I’m not a cellist. I don’t have anything to do with such things.”
Michael sank into his chair despondently. The search in the cabinet at Nita’s apartment hadn’t produced anything. They were going in circles.
“Where is he, your friend Mr. Balilty?” demanded Theo after a few seconds of silence.
“He had to see someone about something else,” lied Michael.
“What’s all this about Dora Zackheim? Why do you have to talk to her?”
“I told you already. Your brother spoke to her a few weeks ago. We’re trying to get to know him.”
“You’re trying to get to know him? Gabi? Why do you have to get to know him?”
“That’s what we do when someone’s murdered. We find out everything we can about him and his surroundings.”
“Do you really think you can get to know someone in such a short time?”
“That’s the question. Who knows if it’s possible to know anything at all about anybody?” said Michael philosophically, as if he were oblivious to the cliché. “But we have to try.”
“To reach as far as Dora Zackheim!” muttered Theo. “It’s been years. And, you might as well know, she can’t stand me,” he warned.
“That bothers you,” said Michael, making an effort to sound sympathetic.
“Yes,” Theo admitted frankly, “but she always loved Gabi. She’ll tell you that, too.”
“Why, exactly?”
“She thought that he was more . . . more serious, I think, as if he was more talented.”
“And was he really more talented?” asked Michael. “In your opinion, too?”
Theo looked hurt by the question. He took a deep breath. “Do you really want to know?” he whispered, and Michael nodded.
“And if I answer honestly will you believe me?”
Michael nodded again.
“I think not,” said
Theo. “And not just because I’m more, let’s say, more famous, if you’ll excuse me, but it’s a simple fact, and it doesn’t mean anything, just that I was more successful, but because I’m more ambitious, apparently.”
“More ambitious than who?”
“More ambitious than everyone else. Than Nita, than Gabi,” said Theo matter-of-factly. “Gabi was a really great violinist. But the truth is, and Gabi would have told you the same, manners are irrelevant when you’re talking seriously about things like this, and I’m not as unserious as Dora Zackheim thinks. Even she doesn’t really think so. Gabi is . . . was . . . very gifted. A great artist, but in his own field. He could never have done Wagner. And he didn’t want to. He couldn’t even listen to the Overture to Tannhäuser. The first few bars drove him up the wall. Not that he didn’t understand Wagner’s greatness, his innovations and contributions to the history of music. Do you know that he was a great revolutionary? Do you understand what was involved in that?” he asked almost contemptuously. “Gabi hated Wagner. And even Mahler, he couldn’t conduct Mahler. Bartok, yes, he played Bartok brilliantly. He didn’t conduct him, but he played him. And if you ask me, all that obsession of his with period instruments and historical performance paralyzed his libido.”
“What do you mean?” asked Michael.
“I mean that with his pedantry, his fanatical insistence on authenticity, he lost all the vitality and passion that even Baroque music is capable of. And as for Bach, if you ask me, in the cantatas and the B Minor Mass, Gabi simply murdered him! As a conductor, I mean. With a chorus of eight singers and a bland articulation of music that should raise the roof!”
“You’ll have to explain more to me about this authenticity business,” said Michael.
“Let Dora Zackheim tell you about it. Since you’re going to see her anyway, she can explain it to you!” Theo said resentfully.
“If you really think that he wasn’t a greater musician than you are, why does Dora Zackheim’s attitude upset you?” To his satisfaction, Michael heard his voice sounding gentle and fatherly. There was suddenly something childish in Theo’s expression, in his pouting lower lip.
Theo shrugged his shoulders. “Unfinished business,” he said dismissively. “Are you now playing psychologist?”
Michael smiled. Theo looked at his watch.
“How much alimony do you pay a month?” asked Michael.
Theo looked surprised, thought for a moment, and said: “I don’t know exactly. I’ve got it written down somewhere. Why do you ask? It’s a fortune. Almost half my income, and I make a lot of money. You know how it is, Nita told me you’re divorced. There’s no end to it. How do you manage?”
“With me it’s different. My son is grown, and my wife comes from a well-to-do family. Her father left her enough to last her the rest of her life. He was a diamond dealer, and she’s an only child. From that point of view I only had a few difficult years.”
“Sometim
es that’s not relevant. Sometimes it’s the opposite. The woman who gives me the most problems in that respect is the one who comes from a rich family. It’s a kind of revenge,” said Theo confidingly, as if they were both in the same boat.
“That kind of trouble at least,” said Michael with a sigh, “I haven’t really experienced. Not like you, anyway. Tell me,” he said as if the thought had just come into his head, “that woman, the one you were with, you said, on the day your father died, the Canadian, does she come to this country often?”
“Two or three times a year. Sometimes we meet in Europe, or else in New York. It’s not so far from Toronto. I don’t know how to get rid of her.”
“And we don’t know where to find her.”
“It shouldn’t be so difficult,” said Theo sarcastically. “She’s a married woman with children and a house and a permanent address. A pillar of Toronto’s Jewish community. She’s easy to find.”
“There’s no one at the phone number you gave us, only an answering machine. Do you have any other way of contacting her?”
“I never contact her,” said Theo. “She always contacts me.”
“You should try a little harder. She’s your alibi for the day your father was murdered,” said Michael sternly
“Why do I have the feeling that you . . . that you’re laying a trap for me?” complained Theo.
“If anyone’s laying a trap here,” said Michael, grinding out his cigarette on the tin ashtray, “it’s not us for you.”
“What? I’m laying a trap for you?” He laughed unpleasantly.
“Or you for yourself,” said Michael quietly.
“Me? For myself? What are you trying to . . .”
The telephone rang, a long, sharp, continuous ring, which made them both jump. Michael picked up the receiver.
“Congratulations! She’s had the baby,” said Tzilla. “One hour ago, cesarean, and everything went well.” It took a few seconds before he realized what she was talking about.
“What is it?” he asked.
“A girl. We knew that already. Just over five pounds, thirteen ounces. But she’s not in such great shape.”
“Who?”
“Both of them, actually. The baby had respiratory problems toward the end, and Dafna has some complications.”
“And Shorer?”
“I haven’t spoken to him,” said Tzilla. “You’re not alone in the room, are you?”
“Not really,” said Michael, averting his eyes from Theo. “Is there anything new in that other business?”
“I haven’t had time to find out. Where am I supposed to find the time to talk to Malka about babies?” A note of annoyance and resentment crept into her voice. “I’m stuck here with all the orchestra musicians. One after the other, for the second day running. Nobody saw that Herzl on the day Felix van Gelden was murdered. We’ve talked to all the neighbors. And nobody saw him in the concert hall area or at the rehearsal when Gabi was murdered. As for Izzy and Ruth Mashiah, nobody saw them that day. And there was a whole business here with Mrs. Agmon, the violinist—”
“I know who she is,” Michael interrupted her. “What about her?”
“Nothing significant. Fainting, hysteria, weeping. And the concertmaster, Avigdor—another character. They may be artists, but they’re also like a bunch of union officials. All they can talk about is pensions and work rules. There’s only one of them, a young new guy, who sounds different. All he dreamed of was being in the orchestra, and then he discovered that it’s a job, just a job. And now they want me to go with them to search Herzl Cohen’s apartment. Balilty’s just ordered me to meet him there. He’s bringing Forensics, too, for fingerprinting. . . . By the way, what do you think about Dalit finding Herzl?”
“I think this: Some hours went by from . . . if you know what I mean.”
“Do you mean that she kept the information to herself?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sure she has an explanation for that,” said Tzilla.
“I’d very much like to hear it,” said Michael, and he looked at Theo, whose eyes were wandering over the walls of the little room. “In any case, thanks for letting me know the news.”
“He wants to talk to you,” warned Tzilla.
“Who?” said Michael, tensing.
“Shorer. His secretary said that he wants you to get in touch with him toward evening at the hospital. Soon, that is. You can’t avoid it much longer,” she said gently. “You have to talk to him.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“And another thing. Have you obtained permission from Theo van Gelden and from Nita to examine their bank accounts? And we also have to get permission from Izzy Mashiah. Eli will talk to him. We have to look at the bank accounts.”
“It can be arranged,” said Michael in a stiff, neutral tone. “But it won’t give us a true picture.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s almost certain that most of it is outside the country, especially in this case.”
“What case? The van Gelden family?”
“Also individual members.”
“I don’t understand what you’re getting at,” said Tzilla slowly. “Who’s there with you? Someone from . . . Theo?”
“Exactly.”
“Oh,” said Tzilla guiltily, as if she had been particularly obtuse. “Why didn’t you say so? Oh, of course you couldn’t have said so. . . . Well, when I saw Balilty here I assumed that you’d finished with Theo. Okay, we’ll talk later.” And she hung up.
Michael and Balilty drove Theo to the psychiatric hospital in Talbiyeh in Balilty’s Peugeot and dropped him off there. Then they drove around to the back of the large, low building and parked near a repair van with the Electricity Company logo on it. Walking with Balilty from the car to the van, Michael was assailed by the gray sky and oppressive air, heavy as if the first rain of the season was about to come splattering down. “Doomsday weather,” said Balilty
“Do you still need me here?” asked the technician from Forensics who had installed the listening equipment.
“You’d better stay, in case something goes wrong,” muttered Balilty, and he sat down behind the wheel. The technician obediently moved into the back seat and Michael sat down next to Balilty. A gust of wind blew a plastic bag against the windshield. Their brief argument while they were driving around the building still echoed in Michael’s head. “Why do we both have to be here?” Michael had asked as they watched Theo, his shoulders stooped, going through the gate and crossing the concrete square in front of the hospital entrance. “Lately I keep feeling that we’re like children playing at something. What’s to stop me from listening to the recording later?”
“It was you who taught me to be prepared for any eventuality, that anything could happen!” protested Balilty, shocked. “You were the one who always talked about being on the spot in real time and so on. Now all of a sudden you no longer understand that? Do you have something more urgent to do? Some diapers to change?”
Michael said nothing.
“You asked me to head the team. I told you I wasn’t going to be a rubber stamp. What do you want? For me just to be your tool? You’re free to go, I’m releasing you. But that you should be saying it’s a waste of time?”
“Okay, okay,” said Michael sourly, raising his palms in capitulation. “It’s just that. . . .” He fell silent. The truth was that Balilty was right. He felt very uneasy about the baby, even though he knew that Nita wasn’t alone with her. A whiff of the baby’s comforting smell enveloped him as he thought of the coming meeting with Shorer. It was as if he hoped to draw strength for the meeting from the infant. He wouldn’t even have time today to bathe her. And Nita, who knew something she didn’t know she knew, at any moment someone could harm her.
He tensed as the van suddenly filled with sounds: the click of a door handle and the door closing, heavy, dragging footsteps, the creak of a chair, the muffled murmur of an unfamiliar voice. Behind them the back seat squeake
d as the technician shifted his weight from side to side.
“Have you ever seen him?” Balilty whispered, as if they could be overheard by those they were overhearing. Michael shook his head. He had never seen Herzl except in a photograph of one of Theo’s weddings. Nita had pointed to the edge of the group, where, she remembered, her father had urged Herzl to squeeze in because he was “one of the family.” Without bitterness, she was mimicking a foreign accent, presumably her father’s. “Some family,” she had said the evening after her father died. “None of us even knows where he is.”
“Only in an old photograph,” Michael heard himself whisper to Balilty, silencing for a moment the creaking of the chairs in the room he couldn’t even picture.
As if he was reading his mind, Balilty said: “It’s the hospital director’s office. He’s the one I spoke to, because the others, the doctors, are too busy with the psyche to have any time for real life. The director’s owed me one for a long time.”
Michael put a finger to his lips, but Balilty had already stopped talking, for he too heard Theo’s voice, after the familiar cough, saying: “I brought you some grapes. And also the cheesecake you like, Herzl.” Theo’s voice, Michael noticed immediately, was submissive. There was an emotion in it he had never heard from Theo before, and he couldn’t identify it. His voice was higher, as if produced by strained vocal cords.
“You see how important it is to hear things in real time. That’s something I learned from you, a long time ago,” whispered Balilty.
“I’m not arguing anymore,” said Michael calmly. “I’m just saying that lately I’ve had a strange feeling about things like this. Maybe it’s because of my absence from the job for the past two years. Sometimes I just say things, not everything has a deep meaning. Anyway, it’s clear that we should be here.” He himself wondered at the word “clear,” because at the moment things weren’t clear at all. But there was a feeling of danger and urgency in the air, maybe simply because Herzl was mentally ill. The baby’s soft, pink face suddenly turned into Yuval’s face. Suddenly he saw his lost and despairing expression, and then the image of Nita’s hollow cheeks. The terror in her eyes. The sounds of the Bach Cello Suite she played over and over again in the afternoons as if she were seeking solace in it, while Ido lay as if he were listening, sucking his fist.
