“We ate with his wife, and while she washed the dishes-”
“He slipped his hand in your cleavage.”
“No, he only used his tongue.”
“Gross!”
“To tell me about you.” Tara slowed the car, glanced left and right, and passed through a red light, speeding up again. “He’s not your enemy. He deeply cares about you.”
“Do you realize who you’re dealing with?” Masada was getting angry. “If you’re going to confide in Colonel Ness, maybe we shouldn’t work together. I have too much at stake.”
“Don’t worry.” Tara passed two cars over a solid white line, forcing her way back into traffic. “I dispense information only in front of a TV camera.” She pointed ahead at a large building. “Isn’t this the defense ministry?”
When the morning service at the small neighborhood synagogue ended, Rabbi Josh recited the Kaddish and sat on a low stool near the door. The men folded their prayer shawls and stuffed them in storage compartments under their seats. Each paused on his way out and recited, “May God comfort you among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.”
Rabbi Josh nodded at the unfamiliar faces. He wished they knew Raul.
The synagogue emptied quickly. An old man turned off the lights and locked the doors.
On the street outside, the rabbi was surprised at the bustling traffic, but he realized Sunday was a workday in Israel. The sight of men hurrying to their jobs made him think of his own future. He was alone here, unable to even sit shiva for Raul properly, as no one would pay him a visit. What would he do with his life here? He could teach, but who would hire him with his heavily accented Hebrew? There was one place he could go for guidance.
Tired of waiting by the phone, Elizabeth had decided to visit the camp, break the ice with Father, and meet the old neighbors. The taxi dropped her off at the checkpoint. An Israeli soldier approached her while three others stood at a distance watching. A concrete wall extended in both directions, gray and ugly.
She gave her U.S. passport to a soldier, and a moment later an officer appeared. “Sorry. Tourists must first obtain a travel permit.”
“My name is Elizabeth McPherson. I’m senior counsel for the United States Immigration Service. We’re now part of the Homeland Security Department, so you can rest assured-”
“Sorry.” He handed her the passport. “Even if you were senior counsel to God, I don’t have the authority to let you through.”
His English was good and his tone was friendly, so she decided to take a different tack. “But I’m here to visit relatives.”
“Who?”
“The Mahfizie family.” She motioned at the camp, a short distance behind the wall.
“You’re related to Hajj Mahfizie?”
“He’s my father.”
“Wait.” He disappeared into a tent.
Elizabeth climbed the embankment to get a better look over the wall. Camp Kalandria had swelled since she had left, its block houses covering most of the hillside east of the separation wall the Israelis had built along the 1967 border. She tried to breathe only through her mouth, as the air stank of sewage and smoke. Not for long, she thought. Abu Faddah’s plan would end Palestinian humiliation. They would move into the Jews’ houses, excrete into the Jews’ underground sewage system, and cook on the Jews’ gas stoves.
“Miss McPherson?” The officer approached her. “Thing is, if I let you in, you’ll be stuck there. We can’t let anyone out because they blow up people in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv.”
“Do I look like a suicide bomber to you?”
The young officer laughed. “I’m not a politician. I just want to go home in one piece.”
“I’ll call the consulate.” Elizabeth unzipped her purse, though she knew there was no phone in it. “Your superior won’t be happy hearing from the consulate.”
“Do you think the consul general wants his kids blown up?”
She fumbled in her purse.
“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll try again.”
The curtains were drawn. A thin line of light marked the edge of the window. Professor Silver heard a heart monitor beep near the bed. He touched his face, traced the lids of his right eye. He shut his eyes and opened them several times.
“Hello, Professor.” Dr. Asaf came in.
Shaking his hand, Silver decided he would make sure Dr. Asaf would keep working even after Israel was finished. An exception would be made for such a talented physician.
“How are you feeling?”
“Perfect!” Silver tried to make out the doctor’s face in the darkened room.
“You’ll probably have a bruise where the line was put in.” Dr. Asaf touched Silver’s forearm. “But the anesthetics are still in your system, so you don’t feel it yet.”
“Did you give me a black eye too?” Silver laughed.
“In fact,” the doctor hesitated, “we had to abort the procedure.”
“What?”
Dr. Asaf launched into a long explanation about fluid pressure, tiny blood vessels, aging cornea, and diminished nerve conductivity.
But all Silver could hear was the voice in his head: Blind.Blind. Blind.
A moment after Dr. Asaf left, the nurse appeared and opened the curtains as if a theater play had reached its tragic ending. She unhooked the heart monitor and helped him get dressed.
Dr. Asaf reappeared, handing the professor a small, opaque glass bottle. “These eye drops are the next stage in our experiment, designed to stop the growth of the affected macular area without an invasive procedure.”
The nurse glanced at the doctor and left the room.
“Apply twice a day, and don’t lose the bottle.” The doctor shook a finger. “Cost us a fortune to develop, and I won’t have more for several months.”
Silver held the little bottle in both hands.
“I shouldn’t even give it to you, but I feel terrible about this, with your one eye and so on. We’ll add you to our study. Come see me in a week, will you.”
“Yes. Of course!”
Masada and Tara spent more than two hours at the Veterans Affairs office at the Ministry of Defense, trying to obtain her service records. The archivists could not find her file.
They drove down to Hebrew Union College near the King David Hotel, where the Alumni coordinator told them that Rabbi Joshua Frank had been ordained in New York without ever attending the reform movement’s Jerusalem campus. In fact, he had never been to Israel until now. “You can ask him,” the coordinator said. “He’s in the library, waiting to meet our career advisor.”
In the library, Rabbi Josh was standing among the bookshelves.
Tara shook his hand.
Masada folded her arms on her chest. “We’re looking for evidence of your past connections with Israel and its secret services.”
He rolled his eyes. “My name is Bond. Joshua Bond.”
Tara grabbed each by the arm and pulled them through the library to the courtyard, where a fountain gushed over rocks. “Instead of suspecting each other, why don’t you cooperate to find out who really was behind the bribe?”
“Judah’s Fist is him,” Masada pointed at the rabbi, “and Colonel Ness. How convenient that Al Zonshine expired. I can’t make him talk.”
“Convenient?” Rabbi Josh pulled back his hair, tying it in a knot. “You manipulated him-”
“I manipulated him? To do what? To hide a rattlesnake in my bed? Booby-trap my house? Shoot at me in the synagogue? Rape me?”
His face turned white. “Dear God!”
Tara’s hand covered her mouth.
Masada groaned and walked over to the fountain, where the sound of falling water drowned everything else. She was simultaneously relieved at unloading the secret and shocked at her indiscretion.
Tara followed her. “Talk to him!”
Masada made a dismissive gesture. “Crocodile tears.”
“Don’t be a cruel bitch.”
Rabbi Josh came over. “I swear to
you!” He knelt at her feet. “In the name of God! I didn’t tell Al to harm you in any way! On the memory of my Linda and my Raul!”
Masada turned her back to him.
“May they both never rise from the dead on the Messiah’s arrival if I’m lying! I was never involved with that bribe! Or the attempts to hurt you!”
“I don’t believe you.” Her voice contained much more certainty than her heart. “I don’t!”
He circled around to face her. Tears streamed down the stubble on his cheeks. “How could I?” He tried to take her hand. “I love you!”
Masada tore away from him and run off. “Liar,” she muttered between clenched teeth, “bloody liar!”
The Israeli officer beckoned Elizabeth into the tent. They sat on plastic chairs. “Listen,” he said, “I don’t need problems. This is my reserve service. In three days I’m back to school.”
“What do you study?”
“Law.”
“Have you taken human rights yet?”
“I’m still fighting for freedom from my mom.”
“Your English is very good.”
“Will you give me a job in Arizona?” He smiled. “I’m only joking.”
“So, will you let me through?”
He flexed his fingers. “How long are you planning to stay?”
“A few hours. And I’ll be here again on Wednesday.” It occurred to her the Israelis might not know about the ceremony.
“I must inform you that whatever happens there,” he pointed in the direction of the camp, “is the Palestinians’ business. I don’t have to tell you what’s going on. The Palestinian police and the criminals are the same people, Hamas and Fatah killing each other, and so on. Once you cross over, we can’t protect you.”
She laughed. “It would be a sad day when I need protection from the Israeli Gestapo.”
His lips curled to form a response, but he changed his mind and beckoned her toward the gate. “Shalom.”
She crossed over and found no guards on the Palestinian side. She walked down the road to the entrance to the camp, which was strewn with burnt tires, stones, and debris. A group of kids ran to her, begging for change. Women in robes and headdresses glanced at her from a distance. Despite the heat, she felt underdressed in her short-sleeve shirt and loose pants. She shooed the kids and quickened her steps.
Old men’s eyes followed her as she walked by an outdoor cafe, their hands lingering over the backgammon boards. She turned left into the alley, where she had played as a little girl, and approached the only true home she had ever known. Like a missing tooth, a gap appeared in the row of houses. A leg of a table stuck out from the rubble like a human arm pleading for help. She could tell it had been in ruins for a long time.
A boy not older than ten yelled from a terrace, “Itbach el Yahood!”
She understood his call to kill the Jews to mean that the Israelis had destroyed her father’s home. He would be in the mosque, she guessed, and turned back. Near the main strip, a group of men in jeans and green headbands blocked her way.
She smiled. “Salaam Aleikum.”
They circled her, so close that she felt the warmth of their bodies.
“Salaam Aleikum,” she repeated.
A man in a black hood approached her. He flashed a curved, shining blade, and Elizabeth suddenly realized that the boy’s call to kill the Jews had been aimed at her.
Rabbi Josh dipped his hands in the fountain and splashed his face. “How can she even think I was the one manipulating Al?” He searched the reporter’s face. “Do you believe I’m capable of it?”
Tara shook her head. “But I can see Masada’s logic. You had influence over Al as his rabbi, you knew his secrets, and you’re a devout Zionist.”
“Guilty until proven innocent? Would your editor let you go on the air accusing me of bribing Mahoney based on such circumstantial evidence?”
“Why did Colonel Ness attend your son’s funeral?”
“Why did you attend? To see who else was there, sniff around?”
“Fair enough. But what’s with the clandestine meeting at the Wailing Wall last night?”
He was shocked that they had followed him. “It’s the first time we’ve ever talked. He’s desperate to stop the Fair Aid Act. You can’t blame him for grasping at straws.”
“Are you a straw?”
“I’m a clueless rabbi from Arizona who had the bad luck to count Masada El-Tal and Alfred Zonshine among my parishioners. I’m a schmuck. Do you know what a schmuck is?”
Tara smiled. “I know what a shiksa is.”
“A schmuck is an idiot who thought himself smart. I thought I understood Masada, with her traumatic past, abstinence from happiness, and workaholic mania. I thought she suffered survivors’ guilt. I wanted to help her, maybe help myself too.” He breathed deeply and exhaled. “I don’t know anymore. She’s done things that cannot be reconciled with her goodness.”
“Like what?”
“Like seducing Al.”
“Bullshit! Who fed you this crap?”
Rabbi Josh was taken aback by Tara’s bluntness. “A friend overheard Masada and Al on the night of the shooting. They were doing it.”
“It’s Lenin, right?”
“Who?”
“The professor.”
“What if?”
“What if I told you he was the one who gave Masada the incriminating video clip?”
“I don’t believe it. Did she tell you that?”
“Not explicitly, but I can put two and two together.”
“Levy is a retired history professor. A good man.” Rabbi Josh shook his head. “Why would he get involved in this?”
“That’s the riddle. What motivates an elderly Jewish professor of history to bribe a U.S. senator for pro-Israel legislation and then leak the story to Masada?”
“Impossible.” Rabbi Josh followed her through the courtyard toward the exit. “The two acts are contradictory.”
“Aren’t rabbis trained in psychology?”
“I’m certain Levy Silver isn’t suffering from multiple personalities. You’re on the wrong track.”
She got into her car and lowered the window. “Maybe he’s conducting some kind of an experiment in political science? Academics do crazy things to get noticed.”
Rabbi Josh watched the TV reporter drive off. Had Levy Silver really given the video to Masada? Had he been the one manipulating Al? And where would the professor obtain such a pile of cash to bribe Senator Mahoney? Realizing how little he knew about the man he was so fond of, a sense of loss came over the rabbi. First Linda, then Raul, and now he had lost Masada, and maybe even Professor Silver. What would be the end of this suffering?
He broke into a run, sprinting along the busy street in an explosion of uncontainable energy. At the intersection on Agron Street, he turned left, away from the Old City, pounding the pavement with his feet, pumping the air with his arms, left-right, left-right, his mind going numb as his body worked madly, his skin sweating off bitter beads. He kept the sun at his back, gradually settling into a constant pace, avoiding potholes by habit learned over years of jogging.
The neighborhoods changed from old stone buildings along narrow streets to newer, taller condominium complexes along wide avenues, the men’s heads from wearing black hats to knitted, colorful skullcaps. He ran through parks and patches of pine trees, driving his body hard until his muscles burned for oxygen and his throat begged for water. He only slowed down when he saw the sign at the side of the road: Hadassah Hospital.
Professor Silver had asked the nurse to call Ezekiel, who was waiting outside when he came out of the hospital. As they drove down toward the main thoroughfare, a man with long hair ran by the car in the opposite direction. Silver turned to look though the rear widow, but couldn’t focus his eye well enough to be positive. Why would Rabbi Josh run to the hospital?
Ezekiel slowed down. “You know this guy?”
Silver settled back in the seat. “I thou
ght Jesus has already been crucified.”
“I can see you’re feeling well!”
“Wonderful,” Silver lied. “The procedure was a great success.” Reflecting on Dr. Asaf’s behavior, he wondered whether the doctor had lied about the reasons for aborting the procedure. But why? A dreadful thought occurred to him: Had he spoken Arabic in his sleep?
“That’s terrific!” The cabbie tapped the steering wheel. “May you go strong for a hundred and twenty years!”
“God willing.” Silver felt the eye drops bottle in his pocket and focused his mind on the immediate future. He would fulfill the vow he had made to his son-find and kill the woman soldier.
First, he needed information. The memorial service would be a perfect opportunity. He would go with Masada, who would introduce him to the survivors and the victims’ families, who likely knew the identity of the woman who had tried to save their kids with her crazy rock-climbing stunt.
Second, the discovery that Masada’s little brother was the boy he had pushed off the mountain necessitated her elimination. With all that was at stake, he could not afford the risk of her prodding into that old affair.
The two challenges, he concluded, could be met in a single swipe. “Ezekiel,” he said, “are you free tomorrow night?”
“Ah!” The driver grinned. “Taking a lady on the town?”
“Actually, taking her out of town.”
“Cancelled?” Masada had taken a taxi to Hadassah to visit Professor Silver, only to be told by the nurse that he was discharged moments earlier. “But he travelled all the way from Arizona for this procedure!”
The grandmotherly nurse beckoned Masada, and they took the elevator downstairs. In the lobby, they bumped into Rabbi Josh. He was out of breath, wiping the sweat off his face with the tail of his shirt. Masada looked away from him, embarrassed that he knew what Al had done to her. “Levy has been discharged,” she said.
“What?” Rabbi Josh followed them out of the building.
The nurse stood by a group of smokers clustered around a few trees. “You’re his kids?”
The Masada Complex Page 32
