Until Sweet Death Arrives

by Amnon Binyamini

  Although some four months had passed since Eviatar’s visit to the office, Nahum remembered the address. He had a particularly good memory that stored even casually observed details. Eviatar’s manner of speech, his frantic plea, surfaced in Nahum’s mind. He felt a mounting distress.

  “Consider me dead…” The voice echoing through the corridors that day now returned to trouble him, sounding as clear as if he had heard it only hours before. Nahum folded the newspaper containing the item and put it in his pocket. He stacked the morning’s newspapers on a corner of his desk. He felt a need to get out of his office. He was experiencing pangs of conscience as he started to walk aimlessly through the streets. A yellow taxi came to a halt next to him at a traffic light. He opened the door before the light changed and told the driver to turn on the meter.

  “Where to?” asked the driver.

  “To Ra’anana, please,” he said and gave the address.

  The driver had difficulty finding the street. He consulted a map and asked passersby for directions. Finally, after a long time, they found the place and Nahum stood on the sidewalk surveying the white facade in front of him. It was a relatively new, four-storied building. A multicolored profusion of geraniums tumbled from the railing of the roof apartment. Nahum assumed this was where Eviatar used to live. A little girl was pushing a baby carriage containing a doll wrapped in a woolen blanket. She walked down the path from the entrance door to the sidewalk, then turned, walked back to the door and then repeated the whole maneuver again and again. She did not seem to grow tired or bored by the monotonous, pointless activity. When she noticed Nahum at the locked entrance door, she started talking to him. He observed that she was interested in communicating with people even though she was little more than an infant. He had no doubt that he was not the only one she spoke to as she played outside the apartment building.

  “Are you here for Eviatar?” the child asked, adding “D’you know that he died?”

  “Yes,” Nahum answered. “Can you show me where he lived?”

  She let go of the carriage, took Nahum by the hand and led him to the path, where she pointed up to the roof apartment.

  “See the flowers? That’s Eviatar’s apartment. But he’s not there. They took him away An ambulance and police came and lots of people; but now they’re gone.”

  Nahum was uncomfortable about holding the child’s hand. What would he say to her parents if they saw their little girl hand in hand with a strange man? With some effort, he managed to free himself from her firm grip and continued to question her.

  “Tell me, sweetie, does somebody called Nimrod live here?”

  Her answer came at once, “Mimi and Nimrod?” Without waiting for his answer she said,

  “They live on the second floor.”

  “Is there another Nimrod in your building?” Nahum persisted.

  “No, silly! There’s Shulman and Edward and Eviatar who’s dead and two Yosefs and my daddy, who isn’t a Nimrod, and only one Nimrod,” she said in a rush.

  Pleased with the wealth of information, Nahum walked to the entrance door, preoccupied with finding a way to get into the building.

  As if reading his mind, the child asked, “Do you want me to open the door?” and pressed one of the buttons next to the mail boxes.

  A woman answered at once, sounding irritated, “Now what do you want, Efrati?”

  Nahum wondered how she knew that she was talking to Efrati.

  “Mommy, open the door,” the little one said.

  A metallic buzz announced to Nahum that the way was clear for him to enter. He patted Efrati’s short hair, thanked her and rapidly climbed the stairs. On the second floor, in response to his knock, an eye peered through the peephole in the center of a steel door. He bent his head and waited. Nothing happened. He raised his eyes. The peephole was still blocked by the eye, which continued to examine him. Time passed. The door remained shut. Muffled whispers could be heard on the other side. The sound of footsteps made him look directly at the peephole again. Light appeared. He pressed the bell and kept his finger on it till he was answered.

  “Who’s there?” came the response, at last. It sounded like the voice of an elderly woman.

  “My name is Nahum,” the journalist answered.

  An interval of silence and then, “which Nahum?”

  “You don’t know me. I’m from Today newspaper.

  “The Today newspaper,?” she enunciated the words in surprise, adding imploringly, “There’s nobody here. What do you want?”

  “Could you please, just for a moment, open the door?”

  “Just a minute,” she said and let him wait for a long time before opening the door. Only half of her old face appeared. She clung to the door handle firmly to keep the door only partly open, which prevented Nahum from seeing anything at all of the apartment’s interior. They surveyed one another. Nahum spoke first.

  “Is Nimrod at home?”

  Instead of answering his question, she said, “You said you’re from the newspaper, right? What do you want Nimrod for?

  “I want to talk to him in private,” he replied.

  Sounding completely unconvincing, she said, “There’s nobody home,” and unceremoniously slammed the door in his face.

  Nahum prepared to press the doorbell again, but stopped midway, turned on his heel and hurriedly left the building.

  The little girl with the carriage was still walking back and forth when she saw Nahum and asked, “Are you going to your house? Why did Perla bang the door closed?”

  “Who is Perla?” Nahum wanted to know.

  “Don’t you know Perla? She cleans for Nimrod and Mimi.”

  “And where’s Nimrod, do you know?” he decided to ask.

  “He’s home,” she answered without hesitation. “He came just before you. I was here with my doll and my carriage when Nimrod came. What, didn’t you talk to him?”

  The journalist smiled broadly.

  “Why are you smiling?” the little girl asked.

  Nahum hesitated before answering. He was not sure if he was smiling at the child’s manner of speaking or in response to the information she had given him.

  In the end, he said, “I’m smiling because I’m so happy to meet such a nice little girl.”

  Nahum could have sworn he detected a faint blush on her cheeks.

  “Can you do me a favor?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She waited eagerly to hear what he wanted her to do for him.“I want us to wait for a while and then I want you to buzz Nimrod’s apartment and ask him to open the door for you.”

  “I’ll ask my mommy to open,” she said, her finger almost on the button.

  Nahum stopped her before she pressed, “I want you to ask Nimrod or Perla,” he said “not your mommy, OK?”

  The little girl understood and quickly found the button next to Nimrod and Mimmi Geffen’s letter box. Nahum gently intercepted the little finger again and said, “Not yet, sweetie. Wait till I tell you.”

  After a moment she prompted him, “So? Now can I talk to Nimrod? Now?”

  Nahum raised his finger to his lips, indicating that she must still wait and a moment later, with the child’s eyes fixed on his face, he gave her the sign to go ahead and press the button.

  She pressed the black button with all her might, as though afraid someone else might carry out the task that she had been given. Nahum looked at her with an amused expression, letting her carry on undisturbed. Perla’s growling voice halted the child’s insistent pressure on the button.

  “Who’s there?” The voice emerging from the intercom was tinged with anxiety. Even the child noticed it.

  Her eagerness dissolved immediately. She did not answer, but looked wide-eyed at Nahum as if to convey how difficult it was for her to take part in this strange game that had started out so enjoyably, but was now becoming
less fun and maybe even scary. On his part, Nahum looked at her expectantly, hoping she would play her part and answer Perla as directed.

  “Who’s there?” Perla’s voice cut through their hesitation.

  “Open the door. I want to come in.” said the child and Nahum suppressed a sudden surprised grin.

  In a bored, but fairly calm voice, Perla said, “Aha, so it’s you, Efrati.” The buzzer sounded and the door was opened. Nahum motioned the child to follow him as he entered the building; and before she knew what was happening, she found herself at Nimrod’s door.

  Nahum stood aside and the little girl knocked on the door. The peephole darkened for a moment and the door opened to reveal Perla. Efrati said she wanted to speak to Nimrod; and with an indifferent glance at the little girl Perla told her to wait and disappeared into the apartment. Nimrod appeared in the doorway.

  “Did you want to talk to me?” he asked politely.

  “No,” she answered at once, turning her head towards Nahum. “It was him. He said to knock on your door.”

  Nimrod stepped into the corridor and saw the journalist.

  “Who are you, mister?”

  “My name’s Nahum. I’m on the staff of Today. I have a few questions I’d like to ask you.”

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  The sidewalk in front of the Tel Aviv District Court was bustling with news-hungry people. The band of journalists tightened around Nimrod and Nahum. Nimrod found this encouraging; the more he spoke the more enthusiastic he became. His self-confidence returned completely and he began to exploit the situation.

  “Take a look at this reporter,” he said pointing at Nahum. “He’s been chasing me for a whole year, publishing lies about me, complaining to the police about me and what not. Now , now that I’ve been found innocent , white as snow , he’s still got the nerve to tail me and ask questions. What? A whole nightmare year isn’t enough? Not enough, eh?”

  The onlookers gazed at Nahum. A fledgling reporter near the two hawks decided to get involved. Turning to Nahum, he said, “There’s logic in what he says, you know. Don’t you think you’ve exaggerated?”

  Before he had a chance to reply, all the microphones were shoved at him followed by a barrage of questions, such as, “Are there no limits?” “Isn’t this a personal vendetta?” “Why don’t you leave him alone?” “Don’t you think we journalists should set some limits for ourselves?”

  However, although the mood had swung and the arrows of criticism were now being shot at him, Nahum stood calmly looking at Nimrod as he recalled their first meeting in the doorway of Nimrod’s Ra’anana apartment.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  The little girl with the cropped hair was bewildered. She had carried out all the stranger’s instructions and did not know what to do next. She peeped at the two men who stood staring at one another. The light on the stairs went out automatically. She pressed the timer switch and the light came on again.

  Nimrod spoke after a long silence, “I don’t remember inviting a journalist. What do you want?”

  Perla appeared and her face blanched at the sight of Nahum standing in the doorway. She managed to mutter, “Nimrod just this minute came home,” but neither of the two men paid any attention to her. She reminded Nimrod that he was late for a very important appointment, gave Nahum a disapproving look and withdrew. They didn’t bother to look at her.

  “I’ve come about Eviatar.”

  Nimrod’s face was stony. After a while, he replied in a relaxed, even bored, voice, “Eviatar? Never heard of him.”

  Another silence, while Nimrod looked indifferently at Nahum. Searching the other man’s face, Nahum waited for a flicker of concealed feeling. None came.

  “Didn’t you know your neighbor in the roof apartment?” Nahum pressed.

  Nimrod ignored the question. Nahum sensed that Nimrod had a question of his own to ask and, indeed, it was not long in coming.

  “Can you explain why you’re addressing these questions to me in particular?”

  After some consideration, the journalist replied, “I’ve come to you because Eviatar Birnbaum visited my office about four months ago and asked me to protect him by publishing an article in my paper. I didn’t agree to his request and I’m now making up for ignoring his pleas. I’ve come here four months too late, only after he was found dead.”

  Nimrod’s eyes brightened. Somehow, he did not look alarmed by this news. Almost giggling, he said, “You must be mistaking me for someone else. There’s been a terrible mistake. It’s true, I heard that one of the neighbors had died. I didn’t know him and never spoke to him. You must be mistaking me for someone else. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m in a hurry.”

  “One last question,” Nahum said.

  “As you wish.”

  Perhaps the knowledge that this forced interview was coming to an end allowed Nimrod to be polite. He smiled serenely. That is, until he heard the question.

  “Did Eviator ever testify against you in court?”

  Nimrod’s face froze, reddened. His eyes narrowed and then widened in fear. Nahum hoped he would take his time about answering; he wanted time to concentrate on this new sight and store the impression in his brain cells, which were always ready to receive scenarios of this kind.

  Eventually, Nimrod mumbled rather hoarsely, “I told you. I told you, you’re mistaking me for someone else. Eviator, or Mr. Birnbaum, as you call him, has never testified against me in court. I’m not a man who hangs around law courts. I think we understand one another. This meeting is over.

  Suddenly remembering the exact words of Nimrod’s threat, as quoted by Eviator, Nahum now recited them back to Nimrod, “If you did not exist, I would not have lost two hundred thousand shekels…” he quoted, adding, “I’d really like to hear that laugh of yours.”

  The journalist turned to the stairs and as he was leaving the building, he heard it: a wild, rolling laugh, magnified by the stairwell. Nahum was grateful that he had not had to hear that terrifying laugh when he was standing face to face with Nimrod.

  The little girl was still pushing the carriage along the path. He patted her head gently in passing, realizing that he had even not noticed her departure during his conversation with Nimrod.

  At the gate, he turned when he heard her say to her mother on the intercom, “That Nimrod’s laughing again. I’m scared. I want you to come and walk up the steps with me. I want to sleep in your bed tonight. I’ll have bad dreams again. Mommy, come on I want you to come down now. Now!”

  4.

  The police refused to act on Nahum’s request for an investigation into Eviatar’s death. They told him that the medical report clearly stated that the cause of death, however regrettable, was natural. Nahum consoled himself with the decision to employ his professional skills to expose the matter in his paper. The public outcry, he hoped, would oblige the police to investigate the case; he was absolutely sure of the result. However, he encountered unexpected obstacles when the crime reporter, Yitzhak, vetoed his colleague’s interference in his territory.

  “I absolutely agree with the police,” he said. “It’s a case of death by natural causes. The medical report is sound.”

  Avraham, the editor-in-chief, agreed with Yitzhak. He said, “If Nimrod stated so confidently that the deceased never testified against him, it must be a case of mistaken identity. Mistakes can happen.”

  “And if Eviator’s story about the testimony turns out to be true?” Nahum persisted.

  “In that case, I’ll be ready to reconsider my stand, “ said the editor-in-chief.

  Although it was already late morning, Nahum hurried to the court house. He had no idea how to proceed. In the end, he decided to ask his wife, Edna, who was a lawyer, to use her good connections with the court clerk. In no time, he was plodding tirelessly through the records of the past year’s cases, but found no record of the file he wanted.<
br />
  It seemed hours later when, to his relief, he heard a pleasant young voice at his shoulder, “Your wife phoned to tell me to come and help you.”

  Nahum explained what he was looking for. The girl nodded, told him to stay where he was and left the room. He leaned back in his chair and surveyed the lawyers milling around the clerks’ counters, all uniformly dressed in white shirts and black ties. They looked hurried, impatient and tense as if they were caught in a maze with no exit. He caught sight of the girl coming towards him, smiling broadly and waving a brown file. She did not have to say a word. Nahum snatched the file from her hand and opened it feverishly. On the first page of the protocol he read, “Civil File Skornik Yosef vs Gefen Nimrod.”

  Nahum paged impatiently through the file till he reached the last page, where he found what he wanted in clear print: “In accordance with the testimony of Witness no. 2, Mr. Eviator Birnbaum, which was contested, I rule that the defendant, Mr. Nimrod Gefen, must pay the claimant the sum of two hundred thousand shekels.”

  The journalist returned the protocol to the file as if it were very fragile. He thanked the girl, who suggested that he make a few photocopies of the document. Before they parted, he asked her to call Edna and let her know about their findings; then he hurried back to his office.

  Avraham was not in his office. Nahum spread the pages of the protocol on the desk and had not quite finished laying out the white sheets of paper when Avraham appeared. Nahum ignored his boss’ enquiring look. “You promised that you’d publish an article if I brought proof that the deceased, himself, had actually given evidence against Nimrod Gefen,” he said with gritted teeth. “Well, here, laid out on your desk, is the court protocol. The absolute proof you wanted.”

  It took Avraham some time to remember what Nahum was talking about. Then he collected the scattered pages, sat in his armchair and proceeded to give them his full attention. Nahum stood watching him read.

  “This Nimrod is a liar,” declared Avraham.