by Rose Fox
One after another, the nameless people left the apartment. A mirror was placed before her and Abigail regarded her reflection with curiosity. The reflection looking back at her was a different woman. She burst out laughing and pointed at her. She felt a twinge in her heart. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she knew the blue contact lenses she was wearing were not the reason.
People went to the home of the real murder victim in Jaffa, to talk to Pamela’s parents and reach a clandestine agreement with them. They did not reveal that her murder had been an error and both her parents were surprised by the generous offer of compensation of one hundred and fifty thousand shekels.
“What for and why?” the weeping mother asked.
“If you agree to a joint funeral,”
“A joint funeral? But Pamela will be buried in her own grave, right?
“Of course. The Ministry of Defense will arrange for the burial and take care of the headstone bearing her name.”
“So why are you arranging a joint funeral?” the father pressed.
“Firstly, nothing will detract from your daughter Pamela’s funeral but we are asking you to agree to her burial in the south, at a prestigious site, near a famous Bedouin encampment in the Negev. The parents stared at one another and turned back to look at the spokesmen.
“It’s the birthplace of her employer, Adv. Abigail Ben Nun, who will also be buried there on the same day, at the same time.”
“Ah, I understand” the father replied and glanced at his wife because he had only just grasped that the attorney was apparently also murdered.
“That’s why they want to compensate us.”
Beyond that, nothing further was explained to the parents, and the compensation and payment of their daughter’s burial costs sufficed them. They also had no problem with the presence at the funeral of the lawyer’s numerous acquaintances and family.
Barak and San debated whether to allow Abigail to participate in her own and Pamela’s funeral and sought the counsel of a professional. They took pains not to reveal the identity of the parties involved despite their concerns they would discover her.
“Hmm,” Peter, the organization’s psychologist, considered the question.
“It’s important to check what the deceased feels about it and you have to consider the reaction of the mourners among whom he will appear in his new image.” He looked at San and Barak.
“I approve because it is an important milestone for him, to end one incarnation in one stroke, before the…hmm.”
“Yes, but what about him seeing his family?”
“That will be a painful encounter but what will he do if he bumps into other old acquaintances from his previous life?” He said and added:
“I am also considering the feelings generated by an emotionally charged meeting at the burial.”
The announcement of Pamela’s funeral and the location of the burial place near the Ka’abiah tribe in the Negev only appeared the day it was to take place. There was no mention of Abigail though the news spread on the grapevine that it would also be the day of the funeral of the assassinated secret agent.
A huge crowd turned up, a mix of two families: that of the victim from Jaffa and Abigail’s family. Abigail’s relatives, her colleagues, and strangers came to pay their respects to the renowned hostage, who had escaped almost a year earlier from her Iranian captors.
Abigail attended the joint funeral. She stood at a distance, melding into the huge crowd. Large sunglasses shielded her blue eyes, and though she felt like Abigail, she knew she looked like Rania.
Both the ‘Mossad’ agents, Barak and San, were present at the funeral and covertly scanned the crowd. San signaled Barak to pay attention to a man, who insisted on standing close to the grave. His face was partly hidden by a handkerchief, but his eyes were taking in everything going on around him. San drew Barak’s attention to a distant path, where two people observed the mourners and flashes of light made it clear that they were photographing the funeral.
During the funeral, Abigail was heartbroken. It was difficult for her to bear what she saw. She watched the members of her family and mourned with them in their grief. She had forgotten about Pamela, her secretary, who had been killed instead of her and she cried when she saw her loved ones, who surrounded the grave. Clearly, her family had no idea that the figure wrapped in shrouds, now being interred, was not their beloved daughter. They embraced one another and cried as they watched Pamela’s burial.
Abigail stared forlornly at her mother as she grasped the hand of little Arlene, her granddaughter, and Abigail’s only child. She saw her heartbroken brother and sisters and dumbly followed the crippled, limping figure of Adam Ayalon, the father of her daughter, the Judge, who had been her partner during their mission to Russia. He covered his eyes, bitterly weeping over his partner, Abigail, who had escaped together with him in a daring operation.
Two days later, under cover of dark, another grave was dug with no one else present. The gravediggers took care to work three graves away from the new mound under which Pamela had been interred. They laid new wreaths on the new mound with Abigail’s name on them as well as other floral tributes, which they removed from Pamela’s grave. They added black ribbons to them that bore the name of Abigail Ben Nun.
A month later they erected a headstone, on which they inscribed:
To our mother, daughter, and sister
Adv.Abigail Ben Nun
Naima - of the Ka’abiah Tribe
Who courageously escaped imprisonment
by the enemy
And was killed by monstrous villains
1985 – 2014
M.H.D.S.R.I.P
Only three people on earth knew that this grave was a fake.
No one could have guessed that the tombstone covered a pile of tidily rolled shrouds that looked as if they wound around a corpse but were empty.
*
A i s h a
“Hi, Abigail!” she heard
“Yes, what?” she replied and turned around, and blushed when she realized that she had forgotten again.
“Oh, it’s difficult to overcome the instinct and even harder to get used to my new name” she declared when Barak approached her. He embraced her shoulders and laughed, saying:
“Let’s agree that if it depended on me I would only let you err one more time.”
“Only one?”
“Believe me, that’s one time too many because out there, where it counts, you wouldn’t even get a single chance. Just one mistake could seal your fate.
“Oh, I know.”
“No, we think you’re taking this too lightly so, we’ve brought someone in to help you.” He said and stepped back.
A curly-headed man appeared from behind him. The t-shirt he wore barely covered his broad chest and revealed his powerful muscular arms. In spite of his solid body, there was something gentle about him because his curls and the expression in his eyes softened the physical impression he made. As he drew closer, she expected to hear him speak gently and was surprised by the subdued tones of his voice.
“Hello, my name is Khalil and I know that you’re called Rania.
Abigail noticed his brown eyes and tried to recall what was so familiar about their expression and suddenly remembered. He resembled Sharif, who had rescued her from captivity and died in the operation to release her. She would never forget that expression.
“Mush mumkin!” (It’s impossible!) Burst out of her mouth in Arabic and she saw it sparked a reaction in the man’s eyes.
“What is your connection to Sharif?” She asked quietly.
“I’m his brother.”
“What?! Good God! Why didn’t you say so?”
“I didn’t think it would matter to anyone.”
“I don’t believe it!” she cried out, hugged him then immediately withdrew in embarrassment and asked:
“Did you know who I am and what your brother, Sharif, did for me?”
“Yes.”
“Is
that why you’re here?”
“That’s almost right.”
“Then why, exactly?”
“He contributed in his way, and I contribute in mine.”
“Wow! Seeing but not believing!” she said emotionally and was insulted when he announced:
“Enough, we’re wasting time,” and pushed her. She fell flat on the floor and yelled:
“Are you crazy?!”
“No,” he said and stared down at her.
“I also don’t understand how you managed till now,” he said in his deep bass voice.
“Is that the way to fall?!”
“You’re insane!”
She got up and dusted off her clothes.
“Sharif would not be proud of you,” she claimed, “he didn’t save us just to have us meet his idiot brother. What’s more, he would never hit a woman.”
Khalil laughed out loud and even appeared to enjoy the situation. At that moment, Barak approached them and saw how angry Abigail was.
“I see you’ve become acquainted. But that’s all for today. You will meet again, same place, tomorrow morning.”
“That’s out of the question!” Abigail sputtered.
Barak turned from Abigail to Khalil. Then Khalil spoke in his deep voice:
“Perhaps it is unfortunate that I came today, but I know that Sharif would not have tried to save people who weren’t intrinsically moral. I’m certain of that.”
“Who is intrinsically moral?” Barak expressed surprise, and Abigail looked deep into Khalil’s eyes as she declared:
“Sharif sent Khalil to me and tomorrow morning, I intend to be here at precisely eight o’clock.”
On her way back Abigail tormented herself about the unfortunate encounter. It reminded her of the painful days that she had not been able to recover from till now. Tears choked her throat, but she managed to control herself until she came home and the moment she opened the door she ran and collapsed on her bed.
Suddenly it was as if the smell of the moldy wet sand she had forgotten about for months, overpowered her again and the pain that plagued her ankles exactly where the ropes had bound them, returned. The ring she wore sent a tiny stream of shocks up her finger and turned dark green, giving expression to her stirred emotions.
It was difficult for her, and she yearned to speak to someone. She pulled the telephone closer and dialed Adam’s number. Without giving her actions much consideration, she listened to the ringing of the phone but there was no answer and she replaced the receiver.
Her father’s image gazed at her from the portrait she had painted of him from memory over a period of weeks because she had no pictures of him. It happened after his murder in an explosion in the desert, and it had been important for her to memorialize him. She examined the eyes of the image of her father and recalled piling black paint onto his irises to deepen his gaze so that it focused on her and accompanied her everywhere she moved in the room.
Just then, the phone rang and she picked up the call.
“Who is that?” The caller asked. She recognized the voice of her partner on the mission and their imprisonment, Justice Adam Ayalon.
“It’s me, Adam. It’s me.” She yelled, happy to hear his voice but, suddenly, he screamed crazily in her ear:
“Abigail?! Wait, how can you call me? Good God! How can you talk to me after I attended your funeral and saw them burying you?”
At that moment, she grasped what a grave mistake she had made, and banged down the phone in a panic. She beat her face, stared at the painting and murmured:
“Oh, Ya'Baba,” (Oh, Father) and she shook her head from side to side. She realized she would have to deal with her error, and she called San at once. When he answered, she burst out emotionally:
“Oh, San, I made a mistake and called the judge, I called Adam.”
“You're not serious! Why?”
“I don’t know what happened to me. I was weeping, I remembered and that’s what I did, without thinking. God, what do we do now?”
“Just tell me if he recognized your voice and what you talked about?”
“Yes, he did. He called me by my name, and when he began to ask questions, I put down the phone without answering anything.”
“Try again and remember. It’s important; repeat the whole conversation. What did you say to him?”
“I told Adam it was me, without mentioning my name, but he recognized my voice and shouted my name.” Her voice rose anxiously: “He also asked how I was speaking to him after he saw them bury me! San, what will happen? Is all lost?”
“Just a second, let’s stop and think. If you didn’t tell him, then nothing is lost. There’s a good chance he will think he made a mistake, and that is why she terminated the call.” She heard San continue:
“The mistake was ours.”
“Was it your mistake? Why? I don’t understand.”
“Of course, we made a mistake. Listen, disconnect the phone right now. You will have a new number tomorrow. And, Abigail, ah…Rania, from this second, don’t answer the phone again until the number changes.”
When she put down the receiver, her hands shook, and the phone immediately began ringing again. She was startled, and she reached out for the phone as if she’d been bitten by a snake, but then stopped. Adam was calling her, still dumbfound after recognizing Abigail’s voice, wondering if he hadn’t imagined it. When she didn’t answer, he called San, who had just finished talking to a very distressed Abigail.
“Yes, Adam” San greeted him, having recognized the caller’s number.
“Listen, something strange happened to me. Unbelievable, but someone called, and I realized it was our Abigail. Yes, I know it’s impossible and no, San, I wasn’t dreaming. Say what you like, I am sure it was Abigail!”
“Really?! How could she call you?”
“Come on, San, I’m not joking. It was Abigail. I would know her voice anywhere in the world. I believe it was Abigail!”
“Okay, if you insist. Who am I to tell you anything different? Just so long as it’s clear, you’ll have to check out whether it was a call from heaven or hell.
“Enough! Come on, really. I’m deadly serious.”
“Adam, please be logical, what do you want me to say, that you’re right?
Adam sighed.
“I’m prepared to swear it was her and no one else. If only I could meet with her just one more time.”
Adam heard a deep sigh on the other end of the line.
“And what would you say if you were to meet with her?”
“Ah, that…perhaps we should go on a mission of vengeance, on an operation that…Well, that’s enough, I’m talking nonsense.” He guffawed briefly and continued. “I can’t get over the stupidity of her death.”
“Did you say ‘stupidity,' Adam?”
“Yes! Because Abigail lay tied up on the wet sand for years and now, after such an incredible rescue operation – boom, a shot in the head and it’s all over.”
There was silence on the line, and Adam said,
“Well, at least, let’s wish one another a good night.”
“Yes, pleasant dreams, Adam,” San said, terminated the conversation and immediately called Barak.
“Hi, Barak, guess what! We have another bug.”
“What is it, this time?”
“She called the Judge.”
“What?! Tell me it isn’t true!”
“Yes, in a moment of weakness and without thinking.”
“Oho,” a whistle escaped Barak’s lips. What did they say? Where was she making the call, in hell?”
“That’s what I said to him.”
“Said to whom?”
“Look, she called him, he recognized her voice and she hung up. Of course, he called her back but she didn’t identify herself. When he began to ask questions…”
“Ah, so did he only recognize her voice?”
“Yes, she was frightened and desperate when she called me but completely convinced that she hadn�
�t spoken and hadn’t identified herself. I told her it was good she hung up so he would think it was a wrong number.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“The Judge called me now and said it was clear that it was Abigail that he would recognize her voice anywhere and argued that there was no chance it was someone else.”
“Okay, so let’s think our way out of this.”
“Look, I agreed with him that perhaps he did recognize her voice, and he realized that was absurd.”
“Listen, Barak, this incident proves that she’s not ready to go out into the field. I told her to disconnect the phone and tomorrow we will get her a new line.”
“Ah, good job and good night then.”
The following morning, Abigail came to the meeting with Khalil and before he responded to her ‘Good Morning’ he asked her if she was familiar with Krav Maga.
“It’s meant for self-defense, of course, but I haven’t practiced it for years.”
“Really?” Khalil was surprised. “Did you ever use it? When did you need it?
“Twice. I used it once when a woman attacked me on the street and a second time when I was followed by a woman and had to hit her, ah, kill her.” And she ignored Khalil’s response.
Abigail recalled the two-slant-eyed women she had fought, who had been sent to kill her and at the same moment she heard Khalil order her:
“Defend yourself!”
He pushed her back but, this time, when she almost fell, he put out an arm to slow her fall and clicked his tongue with feigned concern.
“Move Out! That wasn’t good,” he declared: “Rania, listen, you must always be prepared to respond. Krav Maga is street fighting. Anyone can turn on you and attack you.”
“Really? And what about turning the aggressor’s strength against him?
“Listen, I don’t know what they taught you, but you can’t always depend on force. We will learn about weak points to aim for with a kick, punch or anything you like.”
“Good, I’m ready.” She declared but even before she had readied herself, he surprised her with a shove, this time without supporting her. He laughed and looked at her expression of disappointment, and when she sat up, he stood over her with his arms folded across his chest.
