Tongues of Fire

by Peter Abrahams

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  Major Kay smiled at him, the calm, cruel smile a big brother sometimes turns loose on a little one when the parents are out of the house. “I’m doing my job.”

  Rehv knew there was much more to it than that. He stared again at those dark eyebrows, and searched his brain for a memory he knew was there. He could not find it.

  Major Kay drew up another card table chair and sat opposite Rehv, so close that their knees were almost touching. “Where is Nuri Said’s body?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Nuri Said was Abu Fahoum’s bodyguard,” Major Kay said patiently. “Before you killed Abu Fahoum you killed Nuri Said. What did you do with his body?”

  “I’ve never killed anyone. Those names mean nothing to me.” Major Kay continued to smile. “And you’re not working for the U.S. government,” Rehv added.

  The smile vanished. “What do you mean?” For the first time Rehv heard uncertainty in his voice.

  “If I was suspected of a crime I would be formally charged,” Rehv said, hoping his words would keep Major Kay off-balance. “It wouldn’t be like this.”

  The smile returned. “It would be just like this.”

  He had failed to find whatever it was that Major Kay feared. Major Kay pulled his chair a little closer. Their knees touched: Rehv felt the rough fabric of the denim.

  “Was it your idea to raise money selling drugs? Is that why you went to Vermont?”

  “I’ve never sold drugs in my life,” Rehv replied. “Is that what this is all about? Are you a narcotics agent?”

  “Stop trying to outthink me, Isaac. I’m not interested in drugs. I’m interested in what your people in Vermont are planning to do with the money.”

  “I don’t have people in Vermont.”

  “You’re going to have to lie much better than that,” Major Kay said. “I’m talking about the farmhouse in Vermont that calls itself the capital of Israel. You went there on the twenty-seventh of November.”

  He gave Rehv another big-brother smile. It was not the smile itself that was frightening—lips, gums, teeth—but the eyes that did not smile at all. They were pale brown eyes, closer in color to his hair than his eyebrows, and they were full of hurt and the wish to hurt at the same time. Major Kay was right. He had to lie much better; he had to keep him talking all night, like a clever little brother who plays for time. He glanced up at the skylight: It was very dark. He had no idea of the hour.

  “It’s early yet,” Major Kay said, pulling back the edge of his sleeve to look at his watch. He kept its face out of Rehv’s sight. “You weren’t out very long at all.”

  He had to keep him talking. It was all he could think of to do. “I went to the kibbutz in Vermont. There’s nothing unusual about that. I’m an Israeli. It’s the same as you visiting Washington. It didn’t have anything to do with drugs.”

  But there was nothing in that little forest of words that interested Major Kay. He ignored it and said: “And the prostitution. Is that a money raiser too? Or just a freebie on the side?”

  At last his memory released an image: puffs of vapor in the cold night, across the street from Paulette’s window; and somewhere else. And another image: sandy hair, dark eyebrows, the comic page of a newspaper—Major Kay sitting in a car outside Dr. Lanze’s office. Rehv felt his heart beat faster. The fresh blood seemed to wash some half-formed ideas from his mind, and leave in their place one clear thought: He must keep this man away from Paulette.

  “I sleep with prostitutes sometimes. Is that unusual?”

  “No,” Major Kay answered. Again he seemed uninterested in what Rehv was saying. Rehv began to think he was behaving like a man going through the motions; he began to hope.

  Major Kay reached into his pocket and took out a piece of paper. “I almost forgot,” he said. “What’s this: ‘Vitamins A, B-complex, C, and E. Balanced diet, slightly more intake. Milk, greens, fruit, cereals. No coffee, tea, chocolate, alcohol.’”

  Rehv laughed, the laugh of an innocent man caught in an absurd situation. “I’ve been feeling run-down lately. That’s my new regimen.”

  Major Kay smiled. Were his eyes smiling too? He stood up, and Rehv let himself think that he was about to go. But Major Kay shook his head. “I don’t believe you, Isaac. You haven’t been very smart at all. Maybe you’re a masochist.”

  “I’m not a masochist.”

  “We’ll see.” Major Kay turned and went to the far side of the plywood platform. He bent down and reemerged holding a brown paper bag. From it he took out a long black extension cord. He plugged one end into an outlet and returned to Rehv, unrolling the cord as he walked. “Just long enough,” he said, dropping the free end at Rehv’s feet. He sat down facing Rehv, and placed the paper bag on his lap. “These things follow a pattern, Isaac. First you deny everything. Then, when the pain starts you make up a long and clever story that often resembles the truth quite closely, but never really says anything. Finally, you tell the truth. Everyone does. So think about it, Isaac. We can skip all that.” His smile said he didn’t want to skip a thing.

  “I’ve told you the truth. You’re making a big mistake.” He could not take his eyes off the paper bag.

  “Not me, Isaac,” Major Kay said. “You. I lost my goddamned job because of you.”

  “But we’re complete strangers.”

  “Not at all. I know you very well.” Major Kay opened the paper bag and pulled out another electrical cord, only a few feet long. At one end was an ordinary plug. At the other the plastic insulation had been removed, revealing a single copper wire five or six inches long. It was pointed and of nearly the same thickness as the cartridge of a ball-point pen.

  Major Kay pulled his chair forward. Their knees touched again. “I’m going to ask you some questions, Isaac.” His voice was almost sugary. “Questions you know the answers to. If you respond with a false answer I am going to insert this wire into your urethra. I will then repeat the question, although it might mean waiting until you regain consciousness. If you again answer falsely I will plug this cord into the extension, which will send a current as far inside you as the point of the wire happens to be. Is that clear?”

  Rehv jerked backwards with all his strength. The chair overturned. As it toppled he twisted his head to keep it from being struck again at the back. The chair fell sideways. He took most of the impact on his shoulder. He rolled over, straining every muscle against the electrical cords that bound him to the chair. He couldn’t loosen them at all.

  Major Kay watched him struggle without getting up. “I see you’re beginning to take me seriously.” He rose, grabbed the back of the chair, and righted it with an ease that made Rehv aware of a physical strength he had not suspected from the man’s appearance. Major Kay pulled the chair back to its former position and sat down. He grasped the copper wire in his hand.

  “Where is Nuri Said’s body?”

  Rehv felt himself losing control of his body—his heart, his lungs, his sweat glands, his sphincters. They all began behaving wildly, as if they were cut off from his brain. He thought: If this had happened a few months ago, I would have told. Jail, death would not have mattered much. But now it was different. He had to live. He had to be free. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice sounded high and faint, barely audible beyond the tumult in his ears.

  Major Kay leaned forward. His pale brown eyes had gone soft and dreamy. With his free hand he gripped Rehv’s penis. Rehv contracted his muscles to rock backwards again, but before he could, Major Kay stamped on his bare foot and pressed hard, pinning him motionless. With his other hand he took the copper wire and did what he said he would do.

  Rehv fell into a sea of screams. He swam. Was he still swimming? He had been swimming in that sea for a long time. He would swim there forever.

  “You’re a tough boy, Isaac. Most men pass out on the spot.” He heard Major Kay, far away, but he saw nothing more than a
round shiny blur. “Where is Nuri Said’s body?”

  Rehv tried to say, “Fuck you.” The shiny blur moved in front of his face. He sank to the bottom of the cold blackness.

  A noose dangled over his head. Two big fish eyes looked down at him. They were red and sore. “You’re going to be fine, just fine,” a worried voice said. “The doctor says there’s no permanent damage, none to speak of. Rest, that’s all you need.” He felt a little pinprick in his biceps, and something soft and warm being drawn over his body. “Here’s some money in case you miss any work.” Paper rustled. “Just take it easy.”

  “Major Kay?” He heard the voice of an old man.

  “Major Kay? Oh yes. Major Kay. Don’t you worry about him. He’s had it. You can take it from me.”

  Rehv sank back down to the bottom.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Isaac Rehv rested his hand lightly on Paulette’s bulging stomach. A seismic tension was building beneath the surface. “Here comes another one,” he told her, checking his watch.

  “Christ,” Paulette said. She waited for it, her eyes wide and unfocused, like someone who has heard a faint sound in the night and strains to hear another. He felt a trembling in her flesh. Deeper inside something tightened and kept tightening. A tiny drop of sweat squeezed through the skin of her forehead, just below the hairline. It grew. Two more appeared. Paulette gritted her teeth. “Christ,” she said again, more loudly.

  The trembling diminished, and died away. The muscle within relaxed. Rehv glanced at his watch. “Thirty-seven seconds,” he said. How many more of these tremors would there be before the pressure was strong enough to finally shift the two beings along the fault line, and begin the separation of baby from mother? Somewhere nearby a woman yelled in pain.

  Paulette looked at him. For a moment he thought she was going to ask him to take his hand off her stomach. Instead she said, “I’m thirsty.”

  He should have thought of it himself. He went to the sink in the corner of the small labor room and filled a paper cup with cold water. He handed it to her and helped her lift her head to drink, feeling for a moment an intimacy with her he had never felt before: not in bed with her the few times it had taken until she became pregnant; not on his visits to bring her vitamins, oranges, coffee substitutes, and money, and take her for walks; certainly not the night, long after the confirmation of her pregnancy and the amniocentesis, when she had asked him to go to bed with her again, and he had gone, and been unable, not because of Naomi, but something else. No physical damage to speak of.

  Rehv became aware that she had stopped drinking, although the cup was still between her lips. Her eyes again had that inward, unseeing look. Rehv withdrew the cup, returned to the side of the long table, and laid his hand on her stomach. Another hand appeared, small, pale, freckled, and rested beside his. He looked up and saw a woman who needed sleep. Her eyelids were puffy, her eyes sunk deep in dark pockets. Her frizzy hair was the color of newly minted pennies. The rest of her had no color at all. She wore a white robe with her name stitched in black thread over the pocket: F. Pope, M.D.

  “She’s in good labor,” the doctor mumured, taking her hand away.

  “Christ, Christ.”

  “Thirty-nine seconds.”

  The doctor pulled on a rubber glove and dipped it into a jar of lubricating jelly. “What’s your name?” she asked Paulette in a friendly way.

  “Paulette,” Paulette answered warily.

  “This might hurt a little, Paulette,” the doctor said, bending over her groin.

  “Then don’t do it.”

  The doctor smiled a smile she didn’t mean and probed inside Paulette’s vagina. Paulette grunted. “Sorry,” the doctor said, but she continued to probe. Rehv looked into her eyes and saw a thought go by, just under the surface. She kept it to herself.

  “Christ Almighty.”

  The doctor withdrew her hand. The glove was smeared with thick liquids—clear, yellow, red. “Is everything all right?” Rehv asked.

  “Fine.” The doctor turned to Paulette. “We’ll be able to give you an epidural in a little while.”

  “We’d rather not,” Rehv said. “We’ve agreed to try to do without one. For the baby.”

  “That’s up to you.” From the look on her face Rehv had expected her to say a lot more than that. She left the room. Rehv followed her, remembering the thought he had seen in her eyes.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “I told you,” the doctor said, walking away. “Fine.” She stopped and turned. “Are you planning to watch the delivery?”

  “Yes.” She nodded slowly and went off.

  He reentered the room. “What did she tell you?” Paulette asked.

  “Nothing. I went out for a breath of air, that’s all.”

  “There’s air in here.” She opened her mouth to add something, but another contraction began, and she grunted instead. It became very quiet. He heard the distant rumbling of an elevator.

  “Thirty-five seconds.”

  “Stop looking at your goddamned watch.”

  He gave her more water. The woman nearby yelled again. Paulette flinched. “Don’t worry,” Rehv said. He wiped her forehead with a damp cloth. “You’re in good labor. That means it won’t be long.”

  But two hours later Paulette was still in good labor, and she was yelling too. “Goddamn you. This is worth a lot more than fifteen grand.”

  He moved to wipe her forehead. She jerked her head away. You’ve had a baby before, he thought. You knew what it was like. Her mind must have been moving in the same direction. “It wasn’t like this the other time.”

  The doctor returned. “She says it wasn’t like this with her first baby,” Rehv told her, trying to say it in a conversational way.

  The doctor ignored him. She probed again with the greasy rubber glove. Paulette yelled. For some reason he had thought she wouldn’t do that in front of the doctor. The doctor stripped off the glove and went to the sink to wash her hands. “The baby’s in breech,” she said.

  Rehv remembered a few paragraphs from his reading at the library. “Does that mean a Caesarean?”

  “No,” Paulette said. “No scars.” To Rehv she said: “I’ve still got to earn my living after this is over.”

  The doctor looked at her and parted her lips as if to say something, but whatever it was stayed inside. She was very tired.

  “Does it?” Rehv repeated.

  “I always avoid it if I can. I’ll try to turn the baby around with forceps.”

  “No forceps,” Rehv said.

  Wearily the doctor turned to him. “What’s your name?”

  “Isaac Rehv.”

  “Listen, Isaac—”

  “Mr. Rehv.”

  She sighed. “Mr. Rehv. We like having fathers here during delivery. We really do. But you’re here to watch, that’s all. If you interfere we can send you out of the hospital.”

  “But it’s too big a risk.”

  The colorless, almost lifeless skin of the doctor’s forehead wrinkled. “I don’t understand.”

  “Forceps.”

  The doctor managed a thin smile she meant to be reassuring. “Don’t worry, Mr. Rehv. I’ve done hundreds of perfect forceps deliveries. This one won’t be any different.”

  “But I don’t want him marked. Or damaged in any way. His brain.”

  “I’m not going to argue,” the doctor said. Her lower lip began to quiver. “I’m not.”

  “Oh, Christ.”

  They looked at Paulette, lying on the table. Her head was thrown back. The tendons in her neck stood out like flying buttresses under her skin. “And she’s having an epidural,” the doctor said. Paulette yelled. The woman nearby yelled. Someone dropped a tray of metal instruments.

  “All right,” Rehv said, but the doctor had already gone. He found the damp cloth and pressed it gently on Paulette’s forehead.

  A nurse entered. She was slight and dark, with large black eyes and straight black hair. She look
ed like Manolo. She handed Rehv a little pile of white hospital clothing and wheeled Paulette out of the room.

  Rehv dressed himself in the clothing: cloth boots that went over his shoes, a starched gown that tied at the back, a cotton headdress that looked like a shower cap, a mask that covered his nose and mouth, gloves. He waited. He paced. He removed the face mask and drank a cup of water. He put it back on. He heard footsteps cracking the air pockets under old linoleum, quarters drop into a vending machine, two men arguing in Spanish, a woman’s laugh, a baby’s cry. The nurse who reminded him of Manolo opened the door. She had changed into an outfit much like his, except that it was green. She beckoned.

  He followed her along a broad corridor and into a large room. Under a harsh white light he saw Paulette lying on another table, shorter than the one in the labor room. There was no more sweat on her brow, no more pain in her eyes. She was partly covered by a coarse green cloth. Her legs were drawn up, her pelvis close to the edge of the table. Two black nurses stood on either side of the table. The doctor was crouching between Paulette’s legs. The Filipino nurse pointed to an empty stool drawn up to the end of the table nearer Paulette’s head. Rehv sat down.

  One of the black nurses glanced at him. “You have to look in the mirror if you want to see anything,” she said. “We used to let the daddies sit at the side but they got in the way there when they fainted.” The nurses laughed under their masks. Rehv raised his head, and in the small round mirror that hung from a horizontal light support at the far end of the table he saw Paulette’s gaping vagina, its lips pried wide apart by two steel forceps. He looked at her face, upside down. She looked back. They had nothing to say to each other.

  “Push, honey,” said the nurse who liked to see men faint. “Push. Push.” Paulette pushed. The force of her body shook the table. “That’s it, honey. That’s it. Okay.”

  Paulette stopped pushing and waited panting for the next contraction. In the mirror Rehv watched the forceps slide deep inside her body. One moved up, the other down, in a twisting motion. He thought of the baby with its head dented, its face torn open, or its brain bruised where no one could ever see. And what if something was wrong already? A bent spine. Mild retardation. An extra toe. Even an extra toe would mean the end of everything.