“Roots project? Has he spoken to my parents?”
“He spoke to whoever he needed to,” replied Jerry, signaling with his head to Michael to go to his room.
“Wait, I want to be with Mom for a while!” Michael protested.
“I need to speak to her and you have work to do,” Jerry said, glaring at him.
“I’m going, I’m going,” said Michael and stood up. After he left, Jerry said with ominous calm, “I understand you’ve decided to tie your destiny with Marin’s.”
Sally’s heart sank. Did he find out about something? Pierre had promised her last night that he sent Natalia and the other employees to their quarters. Did Natalia figure out what was going on in her employer’s bedroom anyway? She may have brought it to Jerry’s attention, who she had met during his visit to the mansion. Jacques double-crossed Pierre at the behest of the criminal organization that was backing Ben David. Who’s to say Natalia wouldn’t do the same?
“Sally?” Jerry asked.
She awoke from her thoughts. “Sorry. I’m still a bit overwhelmed by the flight. So, I understand that aside from the fire nothing unusual happened. The threats have stopped. So, everything is all right, no?
“We can’t carry on like this with your disappearances.”
“We’ve managed all these years with your disappearances.”
“That was to earn a living. With Marin, you don’t even have an income, and we need your salary. I’d like to remind you I’m simply a government employee, and if you stop working for the insurance company—”
“I won’t continue working there,” Sally said decisively. “It’s not the life I wanted, and I refuse to continue it.”
“Where will you work then? Will Marin pay you a salary?”
“No, but I have money. I will ask him for permission to transfer six months’ salary to our bank account. That should do for now, no?”
“And then?”
“Then we’ll see.”
Jerry frowned. “You can’t lead a life of ‘we’ll see.’ You need a plan, a stable base—”
“You need a plan. I don’t. And when I see an opportunity, I jump on it.”
“What’s the big opportunity? To work for Pierre Marin?”
“Yes. He offered me the job of his personal assistant,” said Sally as neutrally as possible, suppressing the other things that were said and done.
“And where will you live?”
“Here. Today you can work anywhere,” she said, quoting Marin. “You can e-mail, Skype, WhatsApp, video conference…”
“It won’t work,” Jerry said. “Don’t kid yourself. A personal assistant must be close to her boss. You’ll have to travel a lot.” He leaned back and sighed. “Where are we headed, Sally? I know we’re different. I’m an introvert and you’re a heart-to-heart type. I’m closed off and you connect with everyone. But we were still always coordinated. What does this Marin have that makes you want to throw away your family and our marriage?”
“I’m not throwing anything away,” Sally replied, shaken. “I’ve been given a chance to lead the life I always wanted and never had a chance to experience, since we started our family. I gave birth, and then constantly traveled to the places where you had work.”
“So basically, you’re saying you’re going to lead an independent life, irrespective of my needs and the children’s?”
“I’m considerate. Until you stopped talking to me, I called every night. I come back as often as possible, and when this matter ends I’ll be home most of the time. Meanwhile, I’d like you to take my needs into account.”
“They’re incompatible with normal family life,” said Jerry, and stood up angrily. “They’re simply incompatible,” he repeated and left the room.
Sally remained at the kitchen table, next to the leftovers of the non-kosher meal, and struggled not to succumb to the tears in her eyes.
43.
The drive to the moshav the following morning left Sally feeling no better. She drove nervously, maneuvering her car with its destroyed back fender between the scores of cars crawling north. She was half an hour late, and her father and mother were waiting for her at the front gate. “I’m sorry, the traffic was terrible. How long have you been waiting here?” she asked.
“We’ve just come out,” her mother said. “You know Dad can sense you coming.”
Inside, all the regular delicacies awaited her on the large table around which the household revolved. She ate slowly, with small bites, to prolong the solace her childhood food gave her. Her parents updated her on news from her brother and sister, events in the moshav, and cute sayings from her young nieces and nephews. When she finished eating, silence fell on the room. Her parents’ eyes looked on her with anticipation. “You’ve always taught me that bringing Jews closer to faith is a mitzvah,” Sally began.
“True,” her father said with a smile, and she knew he could tell where she was going.
“I would like you to prepare a boy for his bar mitzvah. His Torah portion is Beha’alotcha, in a little less than three months.”
“It takes at least a year to prepare a boy who doesn’t speak Hebrew for his bar mitzvah. Passover and Shavuot take place during this time, and the boy,” her father said calmly, “lives far away.”
“You can even prepare a gentile for a bar mitzvah,” Sally said, “and you can celebrate Passover in his father’s home. Mom will come, and if you’d like, the boy’s father will fly over additional family members.”
“And what about you and Jerry?” her mother asked hopefully.
“I’m not sure,” Sally replied.
A tear appeared in the corner of her mother’s eye. “So it isn’t working out?”
“No,” Sally said, “it isn’t.” She quickly changed the subject. “Is there someone to take care of the farm?”
“We’ll leave the farm with Mom,” her father said. “The neighbor will help her and we’ll pay him for his effort.”
“I assume you’ll receive a proper salary as compensation,” Sally promised.
“I don’t care about the salary. The reward for a mitzvah is the mitzvah. Man is repaid for his good deeds from heaven. When do I leave?”
“I’ll let you know.” Sally hugged him. “And I’m so thankful to both of you for sticking with me on this.”
“You’re the one who’s sticking with us, child,” her mother said. “After all, you’re implementing what your father taught you.”
She was much calmer on the ride back. She dialed Marin, who was amazed to hear about the identity of Joel’s prospective teacher. “It’s a great honor for my son to be taught by the father of the woman who was willing to help me, for heaven’s sake,” he said. Sally continued driving with a sense of elation, which dissipated the closer she got to home. When she stepped into her apartment, she found it dark. Michael was already asleep and Jerry was holed up in his study. Just a thin strip of light under the door indicated his presence.
The next day was full of silence, as were the following days. Jerry spent his time in the study and Sally in the bedroom, which became hers alone. They met for short, businesslike dinners, where they politely discussed household chores. Meanwhile, her conversations with Marin grew longer. He filled them with expressions of passion and longing, while she was more hesitant, still unsure what she thought about the new situation. “I suggest we put that night in the past,” she told him once. “It could be the start of something new, as you say and feel, or it could be a mistake to be forgotten.”
“How can you call that night a mistake?” asked Marin. “It contained so much. I’ve never felt so…”
The intensity of his emotion frightened Sally. She still hadn’t processed everything that took place that night, nor the repercussions for her family life if she confessed to Jerry. Now it took all her resources not to be sucked into the whirlpool that Marin
created in her. “It could be a mistake, at least as far as our work relationship is concerned.”
She could sense the hurt in his voice when he said, “You didn’t behave like someone who’d made a mistake.”
“I got carried away,” she explained, “and so did you. That’s why we both need to examine our feelings on our own.”
“I know what I feel, and if you feel differently, say so immediately. I can’t stand being misled.”
“Pierre,” she pleaded, “you must understand that feelings aren’t a business transaction. There’s no reality of loss or gain, of leading and misleading. I’m extremely confused; both happy and torn over what happened. Don’t pressure me.”
Yet in every conversation, Marin continued to invite her to his mansion, or at least to Gstaad or Geneva, so they could see each other. Sally felt herself beginning to recoil. She cherished the memory of the night they spent together and missed him, but also felt burdened by his suffocating neediness and his hunger for control. “I’ll stay in Tel Aviv for now,” she informed him one evening. “I’ll only come if something comes up.”
“So you’re not interested in me.”
“I don’t know. You leave me no space to decide.”
“All right,” Marin promised, “I’ll shut up from now on. It will be purely business.”
The next day, Sally received an e-mail containing a list of charities requesting Marin’s donations, along with a request to visit them and write a report on their activities. Sally started scheduling meetings and traveling across the country. She loved these missions, which brought her back to where it all began, with Marin’s generous donation to her studies. They also filled her conversations with Marin with new content. His pleas that she join him in Switzerland died down, and she assumed he had found a new candidate for his courtship. She wasn’t indifferent to that, but didn’t mourn it either. From the very beginning, Marin was both a prize and a source of embarrassment. His distance sometimes made her uneasy, but also allowed her to repress that wonderful, terrible night of which she never spoke to Jerry.
The repression didn’t last long. After her father left for Switzerland, she began to worry. She knew how Marin craved intelligent interlocutors on faith and Judaism, and knew her father’s ability to influence others all too well. She had no doubt that the two men were chatting into the night in the cold Alpine climate. She also knew that her father could grasp one thing from the other, put together sayings and hints, and finally discover his daughter’s relationship with Marin. Didn’t the proximity between his bar mitzvah preparation mission and her secret intimate relationship with Marin place her—even slightly—in Ben David’s despicable position? She knew that factually the two were unrelated, but felt emotional distress, which only increased given Marin’s high regard for her father. He had warmed up to Joel and little Rubi, who even called him Grandpa, Marin said.
From Jacob’s reports, Sally learned that the children were living in Marin’s mansion while Muriel was completely out of control. She went out every night, and Jacob’s men—who had attached a surveillance device to her car—found it parked next to an apartment in Gstaad that she had secretly rented for Ben David. Her tail revealed that the moment she entered the apartment, the two wouldn’t leave. “That’s a breach of the restraining order. We could go to the police and argue contempt of court.”
“The police won’t deal with this,” Jacob said. “Not even in Switzerland. Besides, we don’t need a newspaper article reporting that a Geneva court won’t let two lovers meet, one of whom happens to be Mrs. Marin.”
“All right, at least install a system there that will film and record.”
“I have no way of doing that. Ben David is there all the time and never leaves. He’s scared of the police and perhaps of the criminal organization behind him, which is probably pressuring him to show results and get Marin’s money. We’ve spotted some well-known criminals from Beersheba and the Negev wandering around.”
“You’re not concerned they’ll harm Muriel?”
“They’re probably scared of annoying Marin. If they harm Ben David no one will miss him, but Muriel is a different matter, and Marin is rich enough to hunt them down to the end of the world. In short, I need you to pull him out for an hour so that I can install my system. An hour is all I need.”
“We could stage a fire in the stairway,” Sally suggested.
Jacob sighed. “Sally, Sally. How many times have I told you that I’ll do anything but get in trouble with the police?”
“All right,” Sally said. “We’ll wait. Another idea will come up.”
44.
When Sally’s first salary from Pierre Marin was deposited in her bank account; she joyfully showed the bank statement to Jerry. “See how everything worked out?”
“Nothing worked out,” he said wryly. “Maybe it’s just calmed down. Ben David remains, as does the organization behind him, and no one is planning to forgo Marin’s money. My problems are also still here.”
“What problems? I’ve been in Israel for six weeks taking care of the house, working, earning money, and you’re still angry with me, God knows why.”
“I’m angry because you’ve brought trouble to our doorstep and it’s not over yet. You’ll see.”
Trouble did indeed return when the doorbell rang one evening. Jerry rushed to open it to find a man in his forties holding a briefcase with shiny number locks. Jerry didn’t seem surprised. He led him to the dining room and sat across from him. The stranger placed a few forms on the table and started filling them in, as he spoke to Jerry in a muffled voice. Without know what this was about, Sally sensed bad news was coming.
A few minutes later, Jerry called out to her. “Sally, would you care to join us?”
Sitting across from the stranger, Sally took in his severe look under his bushy eyebrows. She noticed his gray stubble left by sloppy shaving. “My name is Yigal,” he said with a phony politeness that caused Sally to doubt that was his real name. “I’m investigating the circumstances of the fire in your husband Jerry’s car,” he added in a formal tone. “It was a government car, as you know, and since this is a criminal act, the SSDS is in the picture.”
“What’s the SSDS?” asked Sally.
“The Security Supervisor in the Defense System,” he said.
“All right. What would you like to know?” Sally asked impatiently.
“I understand you were involved in a private investigation recently concerning a certain group of people.”
“I conducted an investigation into an imposter rabbi from Beersheba who harmed a foreign national who is—” she paused for a second, hoping Jerry didn’t notice “—my friend.”
“And I understand this investigation caused you and your entire family to be threatened.”
“You could say that.”
The man looked at Jerry, who nodded in confirmation, then moved the forms aside, opened an empty notebook, and said, “I’d like you to tell me everything that happened, from the start. How, why, and where.”
Sally tried to stay polite. “Are you serious? It will take hours.”
“I have time.”
Sally couldn’t hold herself back. “I don’t. I also don’t understand under what right you ask me to reveal private information that—”
“The moment government property is harmed, information on the circumstances is no longer private and I have the legal right to demand of every Israeli—soldier or civilian—to give me a deposition.”
Sally turned to Jerry, who nodded. “So I refuse to give you my deposition, as you call it,” she said. “What will you do? Arrest me?”
The man jotted something down in his notebook. “Will you sign that you refuse to provide your deposition?”
“I won’t sign a thing, and if you keep bugging me, I’ll call my lawyer.”
He smiled dismissively. “Tha
t’s all right. We’re prepared to deal with lawyers too.”
Sally stood up from her chair. “Would you like some coffee? Because otherwise, this meeting is over as far as I’m concerned.”
“A glass of water, please,” Yigal said nonchalantly.
Sally served him a glass of water, walked to her bedroom, and lay down on her bed in rage. A few moments later, she heard a knock on the door. Jerry entered. “Is that it? Has he left?” she asked.
“He left, but it’s not over. They’ll want explanations and won’t let go.”
“I don’t owe anyone explanations and besides, why are you involving me in this?”
“Because my car didn’t burn itself. You live in your own world, Sally, where you can do whatever you want. You can follow Ben David, you can fly back and forth to Geneva on Marin’s money, and you can give up a very lucrative job, like the one you had at the insurance company.”
“I’ve transferred money to our account like I promised,” Sally burst out, “and I have a lucrative and very satisfying job at the Marin Foundation.”
“I’m not finished yet,” Jerry said. “In your world, there’s also no commitment to other people. You should know that I’m in trouble. My position is in jeopardy. The man you refused to talk to could remove my security clearance and deny me access to classified material. Without classification, I won’t even be able to apply as a janitor, and I’ll have to retire.”
“And you accept that fate? You won’t fight? You won’t appeal it? You won’t consider another option, like retiring and starting a business? You have such rare skills, you’ll be snatched up anywhere.”
“Sally, that’s where you’re mistaken. You can’t fight everything.”
“You have to try!” Sally fumed. “Your defeatism drives me crazy, Jerry. You’re willing to accept any authority, any order, any diktat. Even when that man, Yigal—or whatever his name is—was here, you didn’t protect me. You didn’t silence him.”
Married to the Mossad Page 18
