by Rose Fox
O R A T O R I A
They waited for a long time till Jalal returned to his boat. When he climbed on board, he tottered as if he was drunk and when he steadied himself he signaled to his friends to begin transferring the cargo. The team started working and rushing about the deck and Jalal approached Karma and whispered to him hoarsely:
“They told me that someone would soon be coming to speak to you.”
Suddenly he faltered, grabbed hold of Karma to steady himself and slipped on the deck. Mohammed hurried over to him and he raised his arm as if to say ‘everything is fine’ and whispered that he was just resting for a moment. He gestured with his finger that he was dizzy and a minute later he crouched, leaned over the railing and threw up into the sea.
A long arm of a crane was extended from the tall “Oratorio” and its enormous scoop hovered over the small boat. Six sharp metallic claws grasped the steel plates and picked them up in the air as if they were made of cardboard.
They were all busy moving cargo while Karma remained alone near the railing, listening to a melody that came from nowhere he could identify. The screech of a bird tore through the air and Karma shivered.
Suddenly, he saw a figure coming towards him and he drew back. The figure extended a hand towards him, which he shook uncertainly.
“Hello, I’m Bill.”
A flashlight was turned on and blinded Karma. Its beam was projected at the opening going below the deck and signaled Karma to descend.
They both climbed down the rope ladder and when Karma’s foot rested on the floor of the ship’s hold, he heard the man ask:
“How did you get here?” but Karma remained silent.
He remembered Jalal’s terrifying response and was frightened to confide in this new person, who had just arrived and was still a faceless figure to him.
“I’m American,” he laughed. “I was told you are familiar with America.”
“Yes, that’s right. Someone said there was such a country.” And, they both laughed.
“Listen, I’m planning to go back there in two days. Do you want to come with me?” And even before getting a response from Karma, he continued:
“And if I take you to America, where will you go? It’s a gigantic continent, you know, and it’s easy to get lost there.”
Karma tried to guess how sure he could be of Bill, the American. He almost felt like turning down the offer because he was not sure he could cope with another failure.
*
Cover Story
“Look, can you see the mountains in this picture?”
“Sure, I can even recognize the place. Those mountains are the border between Russia and Iran.”
Jacob had undertaken to prepare Abigail for her cover. They told him to train her to be a tourist guide in Eastern Europe and Asia and that was all he knew.
While Abigail sat in the room with Jacob, her thoughts wandered to an entirely different place. Two days earlier, she had done something, she could never dare tell anyone about, because it was dangerous and irresponsible. It happened because her longing was so painful that she could no longer restrain herself.
At dawn on the day before yesterday, she got into her car and just decided to take a ride, a ride that was tantamount to a suicide trip. From the outset, she knew it was a pointless journey that was likely to ruin everything even before her assignment began. Abigail drove to the tent encampment in the sands of the Negev, where she was born, to the Ka’abiah tribe. She just wanted a glimpse of members of her family for the last time in her life.
It was important to see Arlene, her little daughter, to gaze once more at her mother Leila and, if she was lucky enough, to see her Bedouin brothers and sisters. She was certain they were all convinced that their Abigail had been murdered and buried more than six months ago.
Almost all the way there Abigail muttered to herself that her journey was crazy and stupid and that she, Abigail Ben Nun, was behaving irresponsibly, but she continued, as if possessed. She promised herself:
“Halas (enough), just one more time, that’s all.”
By the time she reached the encampment, the sun had risen but no one was up and around yet. She drove quickly to the junk repository of old car chassis and rusted metal that lay in mounds from way back, doused her car and looked around. The tent flaps were still closed, but she was sure that none of these tent-dwellers even dreamed that their ‘departed’ was so close to them at this moment.
A transparent haze rose from the sands, blurred and caused the air to shimmer and Abigail discerned small figures, far away in the area of the dunes. She supposed that they were her brothers going out with their herds. They looked tiny as if they were drowning in a sea of sand.
Two women made their way out of two adjacent tents and for a moment, she was startled when she thought one of them was looking at her but immediately calmed her fears. Even if she were discovered, they would not recognize her with her different hairstyle. She smiled as she recalled how her original name had been returned to her, Naima, the name her father had given her. She glanced at the large dark women’s tent that was still there, the tent in which she was born, assuming that her mother, Leila, was inside.
Standing close to the tent was the light colored camel cow with her young camel doe trailing behind her.
It was the season for broom bushes and they both grazed on buttons of tiny white flowers and thin twigs. The camel cow snorted loudly and its young doe bent its long neck and pushed its mother’s white belly as it sucked.
Abigail leaned back and closed her eyes. She drew in her breath, savored the familiar smells and tried to identify them. The smell of fire prickled her nostrils and the smell of burning dung serving as fuel reminded her of her childhood. The wind bore other aromas she was unable to name and she opened her eyes and that was when she saw her.
A little girl skipped and ran among the lambs. Abigail’s leg muscles cramped her as she forced herself back into the seat, not allowing herself to jump out and run to her. She clamped her lips together to stop a cry of love that threatened to burst out of her throat.
“Come to me my little girl, come to Mother, my sweetheart, come and touch me.” The voice inside her spoke, but Abigail would not allow it to escape and slapped herself on her cheek.
Arlene, her beloved child, came closer; almost the distance of an arrow’s shot from the car and ran after two frisky kids that had broken away from the herd of goats. Abigail leaned down till she was almost lying on the passenger seat beside her. She listened to her daughter chasing the sheep and goats and she cried. A thin wail escaped her lips and she got a fright. She covered her mouth with her hand, wiped her nose and pulled herself up a little to peek at the child. It was so difficult to hold back from opening the car door. She followed her with her eyes, afraid to miss even a second of seeing her and watching what she did. Abigail even managed to see her blue eyes, breathed in her sweetness and held her breath.
Liraz, her sister, came out of the women’s tent and a weak cry of surprise burst out of Abigail. She held a dark-haired baby in her arms but, she was followed by a fair-haired toddler tottering on tiny legs as she hung on to her mother’s skirts. Abigail stared at the little one, who looked like her when she was born here. She had also been fair-haired like her.
“I wonder what they call her,” she wondered and gazed at her sister, Liraz, who was busying herself around the fire, preparing to cook the family meal.
When her tall, statuesque mother, Leila, walked out of the tent it seemed to Abigail that the end of the world had come. This woman was entirely different from the person she remembered. Her mother had been beautiful and always stood tall and erect. Instead, she now saw a stooping figure, whose face was wrinkled. Abigail was willing to bet that the shawl wrapped around her head that fell on her shoulders covered gray hair that had once been as black as coal.
She mumbled: “Come, Mother, come here, I’m Naima, your daughter, and I’m here beside you, alive and breathing.” She put her hand out to the wind
screen, leaving her handprint on it as she caressed the image reflected in it of her mother, who had aged before her time.
“Hey, Naima, are you listening to me? Did you hear me?”
“What? Yes, Sure, something else just crossed my mind,” she admitted in embarrassment. Pictures of landscapes and newspaper cuttings were spread on a table beside her.
“Perhaps we should take a break and continue, say, in a quarter of an hour,” Jacob suggested and knew that she would refuse. Dimples deepened in her cheeks she asked him apologetically to repeat what he had told her.
“Fine, then I’ll question the way a teacher does in the classroom,” he said, placing sections he had prepared from an article about a site located beside the snapshot.
“Where do you think this place in the photograph is?” And, he immediately covered the item with his hand.
The photograph was a view of forest trees. At the bottom of the hillside, the trees were broad-leafed and higher up the mountain the trees had coniferous trees with thin needles. Two types of trees were growing on the mountainside. A snowy dome at the top of the mountain and darkly robed shepherds tended their flocks on it. Abigail racked her brain to think where a place, on which these two different types of trees grew, could exist. She knew that they never grow alongside one another. She talked to herself, as she pondered the matter.
“It is a strange combination of two sections of the landscape types. Strange, it just cannot be. How can broad-leafed trees grow lower down and coniferous trees to grow higher up on the same mountain?”
She stuck her bottom lip out, passed her finger over the trees in the photograph and continued talking to herself.
“Broad-leaved trees are only found in areas of high humidity, like the Black Sea,” she muttered. “There, the air is really moist and the rainfall is heavy. But when the leaves bloom, there is no snow on the mountains and, besides, what are the coniferous trees with their needles doing there?” And she grew silent.
“Good, you’re on the right track. Now, let’s solve the riddle together,” Jacob suggested. Abigail hadn’t seen how his eyes widened in amazement at hearing her line of thinking as he listened to her murmuring.
“I brought this photograph of the enclave in the heart of the mountains intentionally because I knew you had never been there. The truth is that it’s a place that no one has visited for many years because traveling there is so arduous. The way to get there really is along the Black Sea, northwards up the mountains. As you go higher, the vegetation changes from forest to bare alpine landscape.”
He stared at her and added:
“To tell the truth, you surprised me. I took this photograph from a distance. The lens of my camera was able to capture both these sections of the landscape; the end of the forest with its mountain background as well as the beginning of the coniferous area and… Wait, did I already tell you how pleased I am with my new student?” He clapped his hands in excitement and she applauded him in return, as they laughed.
Last week, she met people, whose names and professions were not revealed, but who did everything to instruct and prepare her for her assignment. The entire week was spent training and teaching her about arms and ammunition. She was given written material and could recite details from memory about types of bombs and explosives.
Yesterday, Abigail was trained in weaponry, types of ammunition and means of sabotage.
Early in the morning, she fired rifles and revolvers. Afterward, was given and handled explosives and detonators and from this point on theory turned into practice. She dissembled and assembled weapons, connected fuses to explosive devices and learned to practice safety measures.
“For the present, this is a dry run,” the fellows training her, explained.
“So, when do we practice blowing up buildings?” She inquired.
They gave her army fatigues and a training session was fixed for Tuesday, two days ahead, on the sands of the Wingate Beach near Netanya.
When she reached the appointed meeting place, she was received by a pair of screeching seagulls flying over the water. One of them dived into the surf but came up with nothing in its beak and remained on the water, bobbing up and down on the waves. The sea was calm and the little waves chased one another to lap the sand.
A group of soldiers gathered at the light-colored ridges that served as a wall to their right and a soldier with the rank of Captain shook her hand and introduced himself as Yoav. He got to work immediately.
“Go to that structure over there in the distance, do you see it?” he instructed and pointed in the distance. “I will watch you from here, through these binoculars.”
She went ahead and heard him say.
“Hey, wait a Sec. Do you remember the rules?” he asked and continued, “I’ll repeat them, look: after you attach the explosive to the wall, only then will you connect the appropriate fuse.” He waited and watched her.
“Do you remember it’s vital to calculate the time you’ll need to get to a safe place?
He looked at her again, checking if she was listening to him.
“I hope you haven’t forgotten how to calculate the time precisely.”
“Yes, yes, I remember, Sir.”
“Okay, on second thoughts or even third ones, I’m putting off this exercise until tomorrow. You will present yourself at six in the morning, but this time we’ll meet on the beach at Palmachim,” he decided, “In the meantime, refresh your memory of the rules and techniques.”
On the following day Abigail arrived at the Palmachim Beach. She was impatient when they reviewed the rules and after an additional explanation Captain Yoav pointed to a partially ruined two-storey structure about a hundred yards away.
“Walk there, I said walk, don’t run. The windows of the building have been sealed and all you have to do is set the explosive device beside it. Connect the fuse and that’s it, is that clear?”
“Yes, Sir.” She looked at him very earnestly.
“Good luck,” he wished her.
Abigail carried on walking and entered the structure, laid the explosive device, calculated the time that would allow her to get away safely and connected the fuse to it. She brought a lighted match to the end of the cord and ran as fast as her legs would carry her.
When the explosion was heard, it happened earlier than she planned and she fell on the hot sand, covering her head with her arms and waited with her eyes closed for the waves of impact to stop. They hit her crouched back again and again and she cried out in pain.
When she reached the group of soldiers, huffing, and puffing, Captain Yoav spoke to her:
This time, you got away with just a little pain, but you should know that you were very lucky today. It could have ended very differently."
“Yoav," she said, "what happens if the spark I light the fuse with, is extinguished?”
“Ah, an interesting question,” he replied, feigning solemnity. “You could return to the site and examine what happened to your explosive device if you wish. But there is always a chance it will explode, POUF, in your beautiful face. Or, you can leave and never ever return.”
“Why? Isn’t it important to find out what happened?”
“Naima, I thought you were smarter than that. Listen to me, and listen well. A place where you leave a bomb that doesn’t detonate is out of bounds for you. Anyone who comes there, after you, will know that there has been an attempt to sabotage.”
“So, what’s to be done?”
“Oh! You simply get away from there as fast as you can and plan something else instead.” He smiled at her, examining her almost transparent eyes, which he had already heard of.
“Any more questions, Madame Saboteur?”
“Yes, how does one deal with fear?” And without waiting for an answer, she ran to the sea.
“Exactly what you’re doing now!” He yelled after the figure that was running away, but his voice was carried away by the wind and did not reach her ears.
Captain Yoav stared at the
waves covering Abigail, laughed and waved to her as she came up out of the water, her clothes soaking wet and the wind blowing her dripping hair.
Two days earlier she received a light brown backpack with camouflage spots that reminded her of American army fatigues.
Abigail was not supplied with an identifying document. The organization was careful not to equip her with any false registration that might tempt someone to try and verify it. They did not want to risk arousing even the slightest suspicion about her.
“There will be someone who will register you, your place of birth, your parents’ names and address, which will change according to where you live, or course,” Barak told her.
“But I have no document or registration of any kind on me,” she countered.
“You are an Iranian woman, who lives in Azerbaijan and that has already been established and documented.”
She did not know that even before her arrival it had been arranged next to whom she would sit on the plane. Since Abigail was supposed to land in Azerbaijan, the Ambassador of that country in Israel, Karim Kodor, had already been approached. Apparently, his wife was taking a family holiday, following a miscarriage.
“What do you think, should she be part of the entourage?”
“No, I think it would be more natural if they were to become friends on the flight."
And with this the matter was closed.
The last few minutes before Abigail left, she glanced at the image reflected in the mirror before her and saw a Muslim woman. She ran her hand over the abaya robe that hung loosely on her body, covering her entirely, and the scarf that covered her hair and she grimaced and stuck her tongue at her reflection. From behind her ,reflected in the mirror, was the painting she had unrolled and spread out on her bedcover and she turned to it.
The members of her family gazed out of the eyes she had created. She lovingly caressed their images and then decided. She rolled up the painted canvas and slipped it into the corner of her backpack. At that moment, she felt as if she had put her ID card in her bag.
This was a moment of tremendous mistake, a giant one which will cause a damage that she could not imagine. Untold damage.
