by Joan Hess
“So I see,” Theo said with proper awe. “Your assessment is accurate; Dorrie would not enjoy the army. But I must go to bed now, so good night.”
“One further question, Mr. Bloomer,” she called to his back.
Theo considered a comment on her lack of vigilance during lengthy conversations held at ungodly hours, but instead turned around with a patient smile. “One final question.”
“What of Judith Feldheim? Will she too leave the kibbutz to return to her decadent life in America, or will she stay to marry Hershel and have babies?”
“That I do not know, Ilana. She seems to feel a strong attachment to the kibbutz, although I cannot comment on her relationship with Hershel. You could ask her, I suppose.”
“I grew up with Hershel,” Ilana continued, “and am much like a sister would be, even if he is a klutz. I do not wish to see him hurt; he is unhappy already. But if Judith marries him and brings much money, then he would be happy again.”
Theo swallowed unhappily at the necessity of further gossip, but he felt he ought to correct her fallacy. “Judith is not from a wealthy family, nor does she have money of her own.”
“That is not right, Mr. Bloomer. She and Dorrie attend a very expensive school where tuition is high. When Gideon and Hershel met them, the girls were staying in a fancy-shmancy hotel. The coffee in the café cost several dollars for one cup. How else could Judith do such things?”
“She attends her school on a scholarship, Ilana. The tour was financed by a small annuity, which I fear has been depleted. Hershel surely knows about Judith’s personal history and doesn’t expect her to send for a suitcase of money. Her dowry won’t buy any tractors for Kibbutz Mishkan.”
“You are teasing me?” Ilana said, the smile a distant memory. Her expression was cold, as though she suspected him of ulterior motives or a streak of viciousness. “Judith must be rich to go about Europe instead of working. American girls are all rich. Dorrie is rich, too. I myself have seen her luggage and clothing.”
Theo shrugged and tried once more to leave. “I really don’t know any more about it. Good night, Ilana.”
A growl drifted out the door with him, but he did not stop to comment. Ilana could believe what she wished. Theo believed in sleep.
The next morning after breakfast, he went to the lobby ostensibly to browse through the gift shop. A dozen postcards and a scarf (which Nadine would profusely thank him for and immediately give to her maid) later, he caught himself drifting toward the office for a chat with Miriam. He might be leaving within a matter of days, he told himself righteously. He could at least say good-bye.
Miriam was on the telephone when he stopped in the doorway. The swirl of freckles on her cheeks contrasted harshly with her white face, and her eyes were bright with desperation. She snapped a word of agreement, then replaced the receiver with a clatter.
“That was the insufferable Gili,” she told Theo. “He’s coming back this morning and wants everyone to wait in the dining hall. I can hardly bear to face another general assembly.”
“Does he have further information about Essie’s accident?”
She shook her head. “He wouldn’t say what it was about, but he oozed sarcasm. Oh, Theo, this is turning into a nightmare! Why can’t we just bury the girl and let her rest in peace?”
The night-blooming cereus no longer rested in peace. The deep orange interior began to struggle against the gray-green prison walls in a slow but persistent rhythm.
12
Lieutenant Gili reminded Theo of a plastic punching bag, inflated with hot, moist air and swelled with importance. One swift prick with a pin and he would rocket to the ceiling in a wonderful whoosh. The dining hall buzzed as he swaggered to the front of the room, trailed by the omnipresent bevy of uniformed attendants.
“Is everyone here?” he barked at Miriam. When she nodded, he looked at them with withering contempt. “Then I shall tell you what our medical examiner has determined from his careful and professional autopsy of the body of Ester Kelman.”
The buzzing grew louder, then fell off under Gili’s cold stare. Theo, in a corner with Miriam, searched for Dorrie and Judith, but could not find them among the two hundred or so people hunched at tables or shifting uneasily along the walls. He had knocked on his niece’s door and told her of the meeting. Her muffled response had seemed to imply she understood and would appear. Perhaps, he told himself with a sigh, he should have persisted.
“Ester Kelman,” Gili announced, pausing briefly to relish his momentary power over the open-mouthed audience, “died of internal injuries from a fall of approximately one hundred feet. Although there was much damage during the fall, there was also a bruise on the back of her neck that cannot be explained by the impaction. A black and blue mark, the size of the base of a hand.” Gili raised his hand and slapped the indicated area. “Therefore, I have decided to investigate further, here at Kibbutz Mishkan, to see if anyone might have had reason to wish the girl dead. I no longer accept that her death was an accident. It was murder.”
This time the buzz could not be contained. Theo wished he could take Miriam’s hand in his own; her eyes were squeezed closed and her shoulders trembling. But Yussef’s sharp gaze from across the table warned him that an innocent display of support would be misinterpreted, at best. Theo did not want to be responsible for stirring up gossip, even if it were baseless. Regrettably baseless.
Gili ordered them to be available to be questioned, and then dismissed them with a snort. Most of the kibbutzniks hurried away to tend turkeys, children, dirty laundry, or whatever they tended within the complex. No one was smiling.
The occupants at the corner table dallied. Yussef had selected a bright yellow shirt and a gold chain for his morning attire, a gaudy dandelion that would soon go to seed, and noticeably incongruous among the more dignified hybrids. The woman next to him was more of a thistle, Theo decided after a brief survey. Her face was long, her nose hooked at the end, her upper lip quivering with contempt at some inner thought. A bristly thistle (Carduus acanthoides), he amended to himself, wondering if this were the errant Sarah who had, presumably, finally returned from Jericho. Miriam confirmed his hypothesis with a belated introduction.
“So you’re little Dorrie’s uncle,” Sarah said. Her voice was as contemptuous as her eyes, as if his relationship constituted a particularly heinous crime. Before he could apologize for the inadvertent consanguinity, she turned on Yussef. “That police person has lost his senses. I am sorry about Essie, but I have no time to answer a lot of stupid questions about her accident. I know nothing.”
“How true,” Yussef agreed sweetly. “But, my dearest, we must all cooperate with the little man so that he can satisfy himself and leave us to our work. The accounts are scheduled to go into the computer at the end of next week, but they won’t be ready if I don’t finish them. I will have to work late for the next few nights.”
“And also on the accounts.” She gave him an icy smile.
Ilana appeared behind Miriam. “Sarah, what am I to do about the duty roster if everyone must return for interrogation? Someone must remain with the children, and also with the turkeys. The factory has an important order that must go out today, and the line supervisors are grumbling with resentment over the disruption. Likewise the agricultural supervisors.”
Sarah stood up. “Come to my office, Ilana, and we’ll see what we can do about it. Essie is as much trouble dead as she was alive.”
On that irritable note the two disappeared out the door. Yussef patted Miriam’s hand and said, “You are taking this much too seriously, my darling. Your shoulders are taut and your sweet, graceful neck so tense with worries. Why don’t you allow me to give you a private massage in my office?”
“No, thank you,” she answered in a distracted voice, to Theo’s relief. “Gili’s command performance is going to drive the guest house staff absolutely crazy, and I have not yet found someone with time to clean the lobby and rooms.” She turned to Theo. “When
did Essie last do your room? Are you knee-deep in dirty towels and dust?”
Pained at her assumption that he might coexist with squalor, Theo assured her that he was not. “Essie brought towels the day I arrived, but not since then,” he added. “When was she last seen at the kibbutz?”
Miriam sighed. “She dropped a tray in the dining hall the night you arrived, and I spoke to her about her behavior with guests later in the evening. She was not seen the next day. She never appeared to clean the guest rooms, nor to do the floors in the lobby.”
Yussef made a strangled noise, as if he had inhaled an insect. It might have been a sign of internal amusement, but Theo heard himself mentally opting for a tsetse fly. Yussef finally managed to clear his throat. “You ought to ask Gideon when he last saw the girl. They had quite a lengthy conversation that night outside the dining hall.”
“That is absurd,” Miriam said. “No one has had a conversation with Essie in ten years. I made an effort every now and then, but her responses were inchoate at best, and more often completely incomprehensible. How could anyone, including my impatient son, have a conversation with her?”
“I saw them together on the night in question, well after midnight. Gideon was doing most of the talking, but Essie was flapping her hands hard enough to take off, and offering obscure observations about hers being less than his. If they were discussing IQs, I would have been hard pressed to argue the point with her. Or genitalia, as improbable as it seems. Why don’t you come to my office, darling Miriam, so that I can relate the precise words?” The eyebrows wiggled up and down.
“I think not,” Miriam said. “At the moment I need a maid, and I’d better see to it before Gili catches up with me.” She wandered out with a worried look, leaving Theo and Yussef at the table.
Yussef converted his leer to a man-to-man smile. “The women are upset that their schedules are razed. It’s difficult for them to be as flexible as we are.”
“Miriam found the body yesterday, as I’m sure you know. She has every right to be distraught. If we hadn’t happened to climb down the hillside to find a particular cave, the body might have been undiscovered for several weeks. Miriam was very aware of what might have happened to it. Aware—and appalled.”
“She’s more worried about Gideon. She told me a few days ago—before you arrived—that he was becoming more and more agitated about the political situation with the Arabs. There was violence in Hebron earlier in the summer, and she said he still growls about it.”
“Surely she doesn’t think that Gideon …?”
“Blew a wall down on a group of children in Hebron?” He ended the sentence with a snort of derision. “I doubt it. Miriam’s too devoted a mother to think such thoughts about her only offspring. She’s concerned that his idle talk will get him into trouble. That’s all.”
Theo pursed his lips. “You saw Gideon with Essie the night she disappeared?”
“They were outside the dining hall and making a great deal of noise. I went to my office window to watch because I was concerned. Gideon sounded frustrated, but I could sympathize with that. It must have been as gratifying as a conversation with a bedouin.”
“Essie kept insisting ‘hers was less than his’? You had no idea what they were talking about?”
“No.” Yussef yawned and stood up. “To tell the truth, I wasn’t interested in Essie’s ravings. Everything about her was less, in one way or another. Gideon seemed to agree, so I returned to my diligent efforts to balance the books and pay the government its just dues. Render unto Caesar, and so forth.”
“Why were you there past midnight?” Theo asked with a mildly interested smile. “That seems rather late to be working on the accounts.”
“It does, doesn’t it? Oy vey, the work never stops. See you at the inquisition, old man.”
Yussef sauntered away, leaving Theo to simmer at the “old man” remark. Yussef was as old as he, or within a year or two. His anachronistic choice of clothing did give him an appearance of youth, but it was a flimsy, pitiable façade. Theo looked down at his pale gray suit and discreet tie. Starched white shirt. Shiny shoes. Creased trousers. The perfect image of a retired school teacher or an accountant.
“Or a florist,” he murmured as he started for the door.
Lieutenant Gili stepped into his path. “Mr. Bloomer, I must have a word with you. I do not like the necessity, but there it is. It is out of my fingers. Follow me.”
They went into a small room. The walls were hidden behind shelves filled with paper supplies and crates of condiments for the dining hall. Gray-headed mops and blond brooms were propped in the corner. It smelled of detergent, ammonia, and dust. As Gili sighed, the aroma of an Allium giganteum, a.k.a. garlic, infused the mixture. Theo considered utilizing his handkerchief as a primitive gas mask, but reluctantly left it in his pocket.
Gili held out his hand. In it lay the locket and chain. “Return this to Miss Caldicott. I have given it much thought, and I no longer require it as evidence in my investigation.”
“Of course, Lieutenant,” Theo said, putting it in his pocket as quickly as possible. Out of sight, out of Gili’s mind, or so Theo hoped. “Then you do not intend to speak to Dorrie in person?”
Gili sullenly studied a mop in the corner. “No, Mr. Bloomer, I do not require further assistance from her. Ester Kelman took the locket like a common thief, and Miss Caldicott is no longer considered a suspect in the case.”
Theo wondered if telegrams had flown across the ocean all night, or if a telephone call to the American Embassy in Tel Aviv had sufficed. Charles was not one of Theo’s more cherished in-laws, but he did have his uses. Dorrie had not exaggerated her family ties.
“I am delighted to hear that,” he said, edging toward the door. “Then, if you have nothing further to add, I’ll take this to Dorrie and tell her the good news.”
“Before you do so, Mr. Bloomer, you yourself must answer a few questions about your involvement with Ester Kelman,” Gili said. “Your statement will be written down so that you may sign it in front of witnesses.”
“My involvement? I had no involvement with the girl,” Theo protested. “I saw her once in the lobby, and again in my room, but I hardly exchanged more than a few words with her.”
Gili’s mustache resembled an agitated caterpillar. “In your room, yes. The girl was seen entering your room at approximately four o’clock three days ago. What exactly happened in your bedroom, Mr. Bloomer?” He leaned forward.
On one hand, the insinuation was flattering; on the other, it was monstrously insulting. Theo opted for the latter. “Essie was nearly forty years younger than I, and only a few years older than my niece. Your remark is offensive—and pointless. You have yet to produce any evidence that Essie did not fall off the ledge because of a twisted ankle or a loose rock. She certainly might have bruised her neck on the way down. On a rock the size of the base of one’s hand.” Theo did not slap the indicated area, despite an urge to do so.
“You do not expect me to share my professional acumen with a civilian, do you? You would be unable to utilize, or even understand, the nuances that have led to my conclusion,” Gili huffed. His khaki breast brought to mind a belligerent rooster atop a fencepost. No one would sleep through the impending crow. “In any case, you must give a statement to Corporal Amitan. I can no longer waste my valuable time by speaking to you.”
Theo found himself in the company of mops. After a farewell nod, he left the utility room and, conveniently unable to identify Corporal Amitan amidst the troops, returned to his room and sat down on the edge of his bed to think. The trip to Israel was not at all what he had anticipated, or what he would have preferred, given options. A quiet talk with Dorrie and a quick round of the tourist sights in Jerusalem had been the extent of his expectations. Murder had not been included in the abbreviated itinerary.
Could Lieutenant Gili be correct? Had Essie tumbled off the ledge in a burst of mystical revelation, or had someone been near enough to add a bit
of impetus? And if so, who would bother? Essie was a blithe spirit with a brain of gossamer. Hardly a threat.
Driven by instinct, Theo made the bed and tidied up the room, returning the glass on the bedside table to the bathroom, where he paused to rinse it out and leave it upended to dry. Essie’s death was nothing more than an accident, he concluded as he lifted his eyes to gaze at the hairless circle on the top of his head. It glinted as eagerly as the wet glass on the counter.
“Old man!” he grumbled to his reflection, then went back into the bedroom. He was still grumbling when he heard a tap on the door.
Dorrie and Judith entered, both looking worried.
“Uncle Theo,” Dorrie said, “what happened in the meeting at the dining hall? There were all sorts of veiled comments in the restaurant, but nobody would talk to us. Has someone decided that Essie’s death was not an accident?”
Theo repeated what Lieutenant Gili had said, then took the locket from his pocket and returned it to Dorrie. She smiled at Judith.
“I told you it wasn’t important,” she said lightly.
Judith slumped down in a chair. “I suppose you’re right, Dorrie. Essie probably came in during the night and took the locket. Now you can pack and hurry back home in time for a shopping spree at Bonwit Teller and the dances at the country club.”
“Shall I make reservations?” Theo said, encouraged by Dorrie’s indecisive frown. “Your mother called earlier to ask which flight we would be on.”
Dorrie’s forehead smoothed as she arrived at a decision. “No, you can’t make reservations until Judith agrees to come with us. Mother won’t mind sitting at the airport for a few days; she can rope in strangers for a bridge game while she waits.”
“Dorrie!” Judith and Theo said in unison.
“I won’t go without you,” she said to Judith. Despite the dulcet tone, the Caldicott jaw was extended to its utmost.
Judith glowered. “Damn it, Dorrie, why not?”
“I’m just too worried about the situation.” Dorrie was still serene, with a gracious, forgiving smile for the frustrated outburst. Judith snuffled menacingly, like a bulldog with a choice bone. Dorrie’s dimples deepened.
