The Night, The Day

by Andrew Kane

  Steve reappeared with a glass of red wine. “Merlot, I believe.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Martin seemed to pay attention only to his drink.

  Steve quickly departed, and the two of them sat in an awkward silence.

  “Look, Marty,” she said. “We have to talk.”

  “Talk? Us? What could we possibly have to talk about?”

  “You’re drunk?”

  “Not yet, but I’m working on it.”

  She took a large sip of her wine, as if she needed it. “I’m leaving for Israel tomorrow.”

  “Have a nice trip.”

  “Damn it, Marty, there are things we need to say to each other!”

  “I’ve already said all I have to say.”

  “And that’s it for you? You just want to let me go like that?”

  “I don’t see that I have any choice.”

  “You do have a choice, Marty. Ask me to stay and I will.”

  “I can’t ask you that.”

  “You mean you won’t ask me that.”

  “It all boils down to the same thing.”

  She stood and set her glass down hard on the bar. “You know what, Marty? To hell with you! If you want to sit there like a pathetic little victim and drown yourself, then forgive me for interfering. I must have thought you were someone else.”

  He turned and stared at her angrily. “You have some nerve to come in here and talk to me like that after what you’ve done.”

  “What I’ve done? That’s ironic, coming from you.”

  He looked at her, wondering what she was talking about.

  “What I’ve done, Marty, is my job. What I’ve done is follow my convictions, my morality, everything inside me that tells me what is right and what is wrong. I’m sorry – and you can’t imagine how sorry – that you got caught in the middle, that we got caught in the middle. I never intended to fall in love with you, or for you to fall in love with me. It just happened.”

  “You did intend to use me.”

  “Yes, and I’m not sorry for that. Sometimes, it is what I have to do. Our choices are not always pleasant ones. You, of all people, should understand that.”

  “I should understand? Why is that?”

  “Because of what happened to Benoît.”

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

  “Yes you do. You might pretend to others, but you can’t with me. Whatever went on between you and Benoît, you somehow manipulated him into killing himself. You know it and I know it, so let’s stop the act. You saw what he did and you wanted him to be punished for it, so you used all your shrink know-how and figured out just what to say to make him go home and stick that gun in his mouth. All the things you’ve always professed, your so-called professional ethics, none of that mattered. You as much as pulled that trigger yourself, and you did it because you believed it was the right thing to do. Think about that the next time you feel like condemning me.”

  “Benoît made his choice, he killed himself.”

  “Yeah, right,” she said sarcastically.

  He stared at her silently.

  “You figured that suicide was fitting for Benoît because it gave him a way out of being exposed and humiliated publicly. You took into account his so-called benevolence these past few years, and meted out the perfect merciful punishment. You played judge, jury and executioner, Marty. Only, you won’t admit it. And that’s the sole difference between you and me.”

  “If you have such a high opinion of me, why are you here?”

  “Because I do have a high opinion of you, and I know that you believe in what you did. The only reason you won’t tell me is because you’re angry and you don’t trust me. And you have no idea how much I wish that wasn’t the case.”

  “What about you? You mean to tell me that you’re not angry that you didn’t get your man?”

  “Angry? I don’t think so. More like disappointed. I suppose if I wasn’t directing all my anger at you for being so stubborn, I might have some left for not getting Benoît. But in the end, Benoît is gone and we are still here. I can be content leaving Benoît’s fate in God’s hands. But our fate still belongs to us.”

  Martin looked at her, surrender painted on his face. He wasn’t surprised a bit that she had figured it all out. He had even expected as much. The only surprise he had was with himself – how, in his mind and soul, he was at peace with what he did. It was a side of himself with which he had previously been unacquainted but would now have to get used to.

  She noticed his face soften. “By the way,” she said, “we found a solid piece of evidence supporting our case against Benoît. It was a brooch that was in his hand when he died. One of our eyewitnesses, a man named Henry Saifer, has identified it as having belonged to his mother. Benoît, or Lemieux as he was known then, confiscated it from Henry and his sister when he caught them trying to flee during the roundups in Lyon. Henry’s mother and father had given the children a suitcase full of jewelry to help them buy passage to a safe place, only Benoît had other plans for them.”

  Martin swallowed hard.

  “I wonder why Benoît had it with him when he shot himself?” she asked.

  “Good question,” Martin said under his breath.

  “Still don’t trust me,” she said.

  “It’s sometimes best to let sleeping dogs lie.”

  “I hate American clichés. Most of them are pretty stupid, you know.”

  “We live our lives by them.”

  “I suppose you do.”

  They looked at each other.

  “You’re going back to chasing Nazis?” he asked.

  “I doubt it. I don’t even think there are many left, and the few that are, well, people are tired of this. Even my own government is tired of it.”

  “Then what will you do?”

  “Anything else, maybe even a desk job.”

  “Doesn’t sound like much fun.”

  “It is what it is.”

  She stared at him, waiting for him to say something to make her stay.

  “Well,” she said, “I should be on my way. I have a debriefing at the Israeli Mission in the morning, and my flight is right afterwards.”

  “They going to give you a hard time?”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  “Well, good luck,” he said.

  “Yes, Marty. Good luck to you too, and to Elizabeth. I hope she grows up to know what a brave man her father is… what a good man he is.” She reached out and touched his cheek. “Goodbye, Marty.”

  He held himself back from grabbing her, and sat stoically as she walked away, muttering under his breath, “Goodbye, Galit.”

  chapter 55

  Galit Stein stood patiently on line at the El Al check-in counter, her ticket and passport in hand, her bags on the floor, Arik and Kovi beside her. It was Mossad policy for agents to fly as regular travelers – unarmed, no preferential or diplomatic privileges, nothing that might help a terrorist identify them. Aside from the obvious benefits of having well-trained people incognito on board, it was also for their own safety. The Mossad was the archenemy of virtually every terrorist organization in the world, and an identified agent would be an immediate target for execution during a hijacking.

  She had been silent since the three of them left the consulate, and she knew that Arik and Kovi understood why. They had been together long enough to read one another without words. In fact, aside from the five-hour grilling from Jacob Lipton, the financier and PR mogul, and a few higher-ups at the consulate, there hadn’t been much said among them about the case.

  She knew that Arik, in particular, was disappointed with the way things had turned out, especially concerning her feelings for Martin Rosen, but she also realized that he was glad it was over. In her heart, there was no doubt tha
t she loved Arik. He had been her guardian, her source of strength through so much. But she was also certain that she could never be with him. He represented her past, and she needed to find a new future.

  Jacob Lipton, on the other hand, was irate and appeared as if he would never get past it. He had financed this operation with the intention of a successful trial and international publicity. Galit, who for years had been his wonder girl, was now and forevermore on his shit list. In her world, that was not a good place to be.

  Notwithstanding all this, the most prominent thing on her mind was Martin Rosen. She knew there would be more grilling in Israel, and she had already done as well as she could explaining how the Benoît suicide had nothing to do with her actions. Whether anyone bought it was of no consequence. She wanted out anyway; she wanted a different life. Only, she was suffering from a very clear sense that she’d lost her best chance for it.

  This was what was running through her mind when she was jolted by a hand on her shoulder. As she turned and saw who the hand belonged to, she wondered for a moment if she was dreaming.

  “Marty,” she said, puzzled.

  “Hi.” He was panting and it was obvious he’d been running. “I thought I might not get here in time.”

  “In time for what?”

  “In time to say what I have to say.”

  She turned to Arik and Kovi and looked at them. They ignored Martin, but listened as she muttered a few words in Hebrew. Martin guessed that she said something akin to I’ll be right back, as she led him away.

  “Your comrades in arms?” Martin said.

  “You could call them that.”

  When they were out of earshot, she said, “What are you doing here?”

  “I couldn’t let you go, not with the way we left things last night.”

  She looked at him, thinking, But you still can let me go.

  “I don’t want this to be it, not forever,” he said.

  “Why not?” she responded, also wondering what he meant by forever.

  He swallowed hard. “Because I see now that I was wrong, wrong about you, wrong about myself, wrong about a lot of things.”

  Hearing this, and seeing how difficult it was for him, she softened. She took his hand.

  “I guess what I came here to say is that I need some time.”

  “I know,” she responded tenderly. “I need time too.”

  With their eyes, they shared an understanding that they couldn’t be together until they were both completely sure about it.

  “Last night, you said some things,” he said. “They were all true. But there is more.” He stopped to gather his thoughts. “When I met you, I was a wreck. For two years, since Katherine and Ethan died, I hadn’t lived. Sure, I went through the motions, but inside, except when I was with Elizabeth, I was dead too.”

  He saw tears on her cheeks and wiped them with his fingers. “I’m telling you this because I have to.”

  “I know.”

  “With you, everything changed.”

  She squeezed his hand tighter.

  “The moment I learned the truth about you, I felt dead again. I was convinced I had fallen in love with an illusion, and that the feelings you had professed weren’t real. Last night, when you came to see me, I realized that all that was wrong. I know now that it’s you I love, not an illusion, and I believe that you love me too. If anything, I had my doubts about Cheryl Manning, reservations all along that there was something not quite right with her. I don’t have that sense with Galit Stein.”

  “What sense do you have?”

  “That we’re alike. We’re both very strong-willed, and each of us will do whatever we have to if we believe in our cause.”

  “But I did deceive you.”

  “And I didn’t give you what you needed.” He hesitated. “I knew about the brooch. He had given it to me out of some need to repent, and I gave it back to him.”

  She looked at him as if she wasn’t surprised. “Are you saying that we’re even?”

  “I’m saying what you said last night, that we each did what we believed was right and neither of us could have done anything else.”

  “You believe that what you did was right?”

  “I guess I’ll have to let God be the judge of that.”

  She looked at him inquisitively. “God?”

  “I told you I realized I’ve been wrong about a lot of things.”

  She smiled. “Through all this you found God?”

  “Through all this I have been forced to find myself. I have been worshiping some false gods for a very long time. They weren’t able to help me here, so I had to look inside for something else, something I’d lost a long time ago.”

  “You’re a complicated man.”

  “Life’s complicated.”

  She hesitated. “So, where do we go from here?” she asked softly.

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  They looked at each other awkwardly.

  “Part of me wants to grab your bags and take you home with me,” he said. “The other part tells me it’s smarter to wait and sort it all out. I’m not alone in this world. I have a daughter.”

  Through her sadness, she managed to brighten up. “It’s been quite a whirlwind,” she said.

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “You’re probably right,” she agreed. “The dust does need to settle before we make any lifetime commitments.”

  He nodded.

  She heard her name called, turned, and saw Arik waving her over. “Looks like I have to go check my bags.”

  He took out a pen and piece of paper. “Where can I reach you?”

  She smiled as she grabbed the pen and jotted down her particulars.

  “Have a safe flight.”

  They shared a tender hug, each knowing that anything more would only intensify the pain of parting.

  “I guess… I’ll hear from you,” she said.

  “You will.”

  epilogue

  Martin Rosen looked at the house across the street, then looked down at his daughter standing by his side. It had been more than two years since he’d last stood in this spot, and he wondered if this time he would once again lose his nerve. He had promised Elizabeth that it would be a special day, that he was going to take her to meet the grandparents she’d never known. She was so excited about the prospect, she had insisted on wearing her nicest dress. And now he didn’t know if he was going to disappoint her.

  Earlier that morning, he had considered calling his sister to discuss the idea, then decided against it, though he wasn’t completely sure why. Maybe he feared she might deter him, or maybe he just didn’t want to put her in a position where she might feel torn between her loyalty to him and a sense of obligation to inform their parents of his plans. In either case, he was glad that he hadn’t made the call, especially now that he wasn’t certain if he was going to go ahead with it.

  “Daddy, is that the house?” Elizabeth asked, pointing directly across the street.

  The eagerness in her tone made him realize that he was indeed stuck with his promise. Just as well, he thought. Although he had some vague sense of how the events of the last few weeks had brought him to this moment, he was at a loss as to how this was all going to play out in the end. In any event, it was time for him to face his past, and it was time for Elizabeth to learn about hers.

  “Yes,” he muttered.

  “You grew up there?”

  “Yes.”

  “It looks like a nice house.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” he said, turning once again to gaze at the Brooklyn brownstone. It was a simple edifice, similar to every other house on this Borough Park street, probably at least ninety years old, perfectly square, and possessing little distinction or charm. But he was flattered that she liked it and
he understood why: because it had once been his home.

  “Daddy, the people around here dress funny. The girls all look like Aunt Esther and cousin Michali and Devorah.”

  It was a Sunday morning and the street was crowded with pedestrians walking to and from the main shopping strip, which was only one block away. Most of the men had beards and virtually all were similarly garbed in black suits and black fedoras. The women, too, dressed in a like fashion, with ankle-length dresses and either hats or kerchiefs covering their heads.

  Martin wondered if Elizabeth had actually seen many Orthodox Jews, aside from her aunt and cousins. It was something he hadn’t thought about before. In any case, he was certain that this was the first time she’d seen so many in one place. “They dress that way because they’re Orthodox Jews,” he said.

  “And why do Orthodox Jews have to dress so funny?”

  “That’s a long story.”

  “Do Grandma and Grandpa dress like that?”

  “Yes, they do.”

  There was a brief moment of silence in which Martin considered whether any of the pedestrians noticed them. Elizabeth could pass in her dress, but surely he, in his tweed blazer and khakis, looked out of place. Suddenly, he began to feel uncomfortable. He reached into his breast pocket, took out the Yarmulke he had brought, and placed it on his head.

  Elizabeth looked at him inquisitively. Before she could ask, he explained, “When a man goes into the home of an Orthodox Jew, it is polite for him to cover his head.”

  “What about a girl?”

  “That’s another long story, princess.”

  “Will you tell it to me?”

  “Maybe, but I think your grandfather would be able to explain it to you better.”

  “Is that because he’s a rabbi?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Can I ask him to tell me today?”

  He thought for a moment, weighing his response. Part of him wanted to tell her to leave that particular topic for another time, but he also didn’t want to inhibit her. “Sure,” he said, “why not?”

  They looked at each other and shared smiles.

  Martin took a deep breath and asked, “Are you ready?”