Until Sweet Death Arrives

by Amnon Binyamini

  “Oh. Your daughter!” he said in disbelief!

  Gilat was also embarrassed and Nahum decided to put an end to this unwelcome encounter. He still had to get back to the office and, above all, he wanted to concentrate on his obviously distressed daughter. The man remained standing beside their table, looking at each of them in turn.

  “Do we know each other?” the journalist enquired in an unfriendly tone.

  “Nahum, you must be joking. Two years ago… we spent a week together…a post graduate course for journalists…at Kibbutz Shoresh. Remember?”

  “Remind me, what’s your name?” Nahum remembered no such course. He was not interested in the man’s name and was only searching for a suitable sentence to get rid of this nuisance and attend to what was troubling Gilat.

  “I`am Yaacov Rubenstein”.

  “Oh, right!” Nahum said with false enthusiasm. All he wanted was to see the back of this Rubenstein.

  “May I join you?” the man persisted.

  Not hesitating for an instant, Nahum answered, “Excuse us. My daughter and I have a family matter to discuss. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “I understand,” said the man, stealing a glance at Gilat as he went and sat at a nearby table.

  The cafe was rather small and Gilat and Nahum realized that they had no hope of any privacy. She whispered in Nahum’s ear, “Do you know that man, Daddy?”

  Also whispering, he replied that he had never seen him before. Gilat blushed when she heard this.

  “Daddy, do you think Dov is paying someone to follow me?”

  Nahum completely rejected the possibility and urged his daughter to confide in him. For the sake of caution, he made a note of the man’s name and promised Gilat that he would find out all about him to prove that the meeting was coincidental and had nothing to do with Dov. Gilat gave her father a full account of what had happened that morning. They spoke quietly, casting occasional glances at Rubenstein, who was absorbed in his newspaper, apparently having lost interest in them.

  After pouring out her heart, Gilat looked inquiringly at her father. Nahum’s face was serious. He did not try to hide his feelings. The things he had heard from his daughter required thought. He hesitated. Gilat waited to hear what he would say. She would do whatever her father said. He never failed to give her good advice.

  “Go home,” he said at last. “Wait for me there. I’ll get back to you later on. It’ll all work out. Don’t worry, my girl.”

  Without a word, Gilat stood up and Nahum accompanied her to her car. When she drove off, Nahum got into his car and drove off, too, instead of returning to his office. On his way past the cafe, he looked to see if the man was still there. The place was deserted.

  11.

  Sharon and Yaniv had just woken from their afternoon nap and Gilat was tidying the house when there was a long ring at the door. Her father was standing on the doorstep. He was in a good mood - better than when they had last seen one another.

  “First, I have something to tell you. The man we met in the cafe this morning really was with me in that course. I checked. I don’t know how I could have forgotten him; after all, we were at Shoresh for a week. Anyhow, “ he added happily, “you can relax. It isn’t what you feared.”

  Still smiling, he commanded, “Now close your eyes!” Going along with the game, she closed her eyes, only to open them nervously when Yaniv shouted, “Daddy! Daddy!”

  Dov was there, smiling and holding a huge bunch of flowers. Her father stood next to him, also smiling, but somewhat less cheerful than before. She focused her attention on her husband, unsure of how to react. Dov proffered the flowers with a smile. He kept the other hand behind his back.

  “He’s powerful, very powerful,” she thought at the sight of him silently looking at her, smiling, holding only with hand the flowers and hiding his other hand.

  She turned to look at her father, perhaps asking for a lead from him. This time she would not be spontaneous. She needed a reliable solution that would lead her to a future that was less bleak than her present lot. She had a life of her own to live. It was time she took charge of it. She was not going to take her father’s advice if it meant giving up her independence. She would not listen to anybody on earth who would try to rob her of one shred of freedom.

  Dov went on smiling at her. His eyes were kind and loving as he suddenly took his hand from behind his back. He was holding a bright, flowery blouse in a transparent wrapping. Gilat could not believe her eyes; she could not believe it was actually a stretch blouse. Dov was now in a flurry of movement. His hands moved; he paced from one place to another; he put the flowers on the table; he handed the blouse to his wife; dashed out of the room and came back with another blouse like the first, and another and yet another, grinning with love from ear to ear. He was delighted to see his wife beaming happily as she clasped the blouses to her chest, because each blouse was another shred of liberty, a segment of independence, another layer of fulfilled wishes.

  Her father did not stay to see them laughing and embracing, but drove quickly back to his study. He had much to say into the black microphone that had so faithfully recorded all his hopes, doubts and fears - and the journalist had many fears that had nothing to do with Gilat or Dov, but with himself, Nahum. The kind he did not want to share with Gilat or Dov, but with himself. The kind he did not want to share with Edna lest she worry too much. The kind he did not want to share with Gilat, in case they made her unhappy. The kind he could reveal only to this instrument that was incapable of experiencing fear or hurt and could not betray him.

  Nahum parked haphazardly and bounded up the steps. Today, he had no patience to spare for anyone, not even poor disabled Michael, who was waiting for him to reach the second floor. “Sorry, Michael,” he thought to himself, “we’ll talk tomorrow; I’ll have more time tomorrow. Got lots to do tonight. I need to be alone. With my microphone. No, I don’t need company. Listen, why don’t you stop calling me Mr. Nahum whenever you see me. If only you knew how I hate the labels they stick to my name. Do me a favor, Michael, call me Nahum. Just plain Nahum.”

  12.

  May 1994

  Nahum arrived at the Rotem family’s house in order to give Ronnie, who was deputy head of the town council of a development town in the south, a fair chance to respond to an article he was about to publish containing serious accusations of irregularities in unfreezing land in the town. Ronnie had not tried to hide his anxiety on hearing that the journalist wanted to interview him, but he agreed to be interviewed at home at ten-thirty in the morning, two days after the phone call.

  Nahum was familiar with the country’s roads and he also knew the area from his days in the army reserves. He set out at about eight o’clock, estimating that the drive would take about one and a half hours. On principle, he preferred to arrive early and wait, rather than risk being late for an appointment.

  “Everything you see here I earned by very hard, honest work. Honest work,” said Ronnie Rotem. “Life hasn’t pampered me. I started with nothing. We were a family with many children. There was nothing to eat. Bread was what we ate. We used to dip our dry bread in warm oil and gobble it. For me it was a delicacy.”

  He was a short man in his sixties. His starched shirt was adorned with a cheap floral tie. His pale suit hung on his body. Next to him sat his wife, who was even shorter and had a double chin that hid her throat. Her hair was gathered in a glittering band with a colorful plastic flower peeping from it. She was heavily made up and the lipstick blazed on her thick lips. She uttered not a word throughout the interview.

  The three boys that Nahum observed from the corner of his eyes while interviewing their father both amused and saddened him. Sitting motionless deep in heavy armchairs, they were dressed in what twelve-year-old Kobi described as their Sabbath clothes. They had been sitting there for over half an hour already, dressed in their finery as if they were posing f
or a family portrait, rigidly expecting the flash of the camera. By now, their confined energy was beginning to express itself in coughs, groans and silent, stealthy glances at their father. Nahum was barely listening to Ronnie, he was so intent on holding back a laugh that threatened to burst out any minute.

  “Never, never have I been involved in unfreezing the town’s land. I am the honest, respectable deputy head of the town council. In addition to which – no land has been listed under my name or my wife’s name, or anyone else in my family. It’s all a conspiracy.”

  “How do you explain the fact that exactly now, during your term as deputy head of the town Council, all the land bordering on your property has been unfrozen?”

  Ronnie’s wife transferred her gaze from Nahum to her husband. The boys’ heads turned in the same direction, not understanding a word of what was being said. Nahum was sure that she also understood nothing.

  “It’s all a matter of coincidence. A matter of coincidence and that’s all,” Ronnie replied with a confidential air. “I gained nothing by unfreezing the strip of land next to my house. From my personal point of view, a green strip would have been better than the concrete monsters that will spring up like mushrooms.”

  He stopped talking suddenly. His sharp silence was well-timed. It impressed itself on the room. After a long moment, the journalist shot another question at his host. “And what,” he asked, “became of the half-million shekels that arrived from the Interior Ministry before Passover?”

  The question took Ronnie by surprise. His face turned chalk white. He gulped: “What half a million…shekels…do you mean?”

  His wife gave him a worried look. Nahum thought the boys looked a little confused. Maybe because of their father’s stammering speech, or because of their mother’s worried eyes.

  As planned, Nahum’s drive to the development town that morning had lasted about one and a half hours. The landscape was a uniform dark brown, the green had not bloomed yet and spring was late in coming to the district. It had been a dry year for the southern part of the country.

  He remembered turning right at the town center, as directed by Ronnie and driving to the end of the street, where he found the Rotem house. However, when he looked at his watch he was stunned to see that the time was eleven thirty.

  He had apologized profusely to his hosts, but simply could not explain where he had been for two whole hours in the center of such a small town. The Rotem family did not comment on his lateness, even though they were not very impressed by his unexplained apology. As far as they were concerned, the main thing was to get safely through the interview or, more correctly, the anxiously anticipated interrogation.

  Ronnie said, “Whether you believe me or not, I must tell you, this is the first time in my life that I’ve heard of any missing half a million shekels…I…I don’t handle money. We have a treasurer for that. I’m not the one who makes decisions on money matters. Maybe you should check with the treasurer.”

  Nahum stood up, gathered his papers and stuffed them into his briefcase. He could not decide whether or not Rotem was telling the truth. He consented to give him some more time to prove his case. They agreed that Rotem would present his proof in one month and Rotem promised to check the relevant sources and document his evidence. The journalist assured Ronnie that if everything was satisfactorily explained concerning the unfreezing of the land and the missing money, he would show it in his article.

  Ronnie walked Nahum to his car. His nervousness had left him and he felt relieved enough to allow himself to say, “Allow me to explain how to get out of the town and onto the highway so that you don’t go wrong on your way back to Tel Aviv, like you did when you came. It’s very simple.”

  Nahum cut him short. “Don’t bother,” he said, “I’m not going to Tel Aviv yet. I’ve got an appointment with the head of the town council at twelve thirty. Show me how to get there.

  “Why are you meeting the head of the town council for? You never even mentioned his name all morning!”

  Nahum hesitated before answering. Then he said, “We’ve accumulated a lot of material about him. He’s actually the main reason I came. By the way, there have been a lot of changes in the town since my last visit a few years ago, even though I don’t remember exactly when that was.”

  Ronnie gave him a thoughtful look. “This town hasn’t changed in twenty years. Nothing ever changes here. It’s all exactly the same as a year ago, two years ago, ten…”

  Then he pointed eastward and said, “There’s the town council. Over there. You can even get there on foot.”

  Nahum was not sure if Ronnie Rotem’s hand was shaking when he pointed the way to the town council or if he was imagining it.

  13.

  When he entered the head of the town council’s office, Nahum saw that a table had been laid with a red cloth, white napkins, cold drinks, sandwiches, salads, cutlery, plates and glasses. His stomach rumbled and his mouth watered, reminding him that he had not eaten since the night before.

  “I thought you might be hungry, so I asked Aviva to prepare a little lunch for us.”

  The head of the council was a handsome, direct and jovial man in his early fifties. Nahum liked him on sight. Before he had time to consider whether it was proper to share a meal with him under the circumstances, Nahum was led to the table.

  “My name’s Gil. Actually, everyone calls me Gillie. What can I offer you to drink? Please remind me, what’s your name? I have a real problem with names. I meet so many people every day. As a matter of fact, we haven’t actually introduced ourselves, have we? You can interview me while we eat. Most of the important things in my life happen to me when I’m eating.”

  Nahum barely opened his mouth. The head of the town council spoke most of the time. The journalist munched a cheese sandwich and listened attentively to his chattering host. He gave an occasional, encouraging nod, but was not at all sure that Gil noticed. The head of the town council did not need encouragement. He talked and talked and talked.

  “This town has changed since I was elected. You have no idea how much - an upswing in building, new factories. Since I’ve been in office, people walk with their heads up, with a smile on their lips. Aviva, could you order us some more coffee?

  Have you tasted the schug? Believe it or not, I made it with my own hands. Yes, I myself. I know I don’t look like someone who makes schug. But one of my weaknesses is – and this will surprise you – the kitchen! Would you like the recipe? It’s really simple. May I smoke? Not a cigarette. Lately, I’ve started smoking cigars. You’re sure it won’t disturb you? Thanks. Actually, what are we going to talk about? I mean, what are you going to ask me? Should I begin by telling you how I defeated all my opponents in the election”?

  Nahum relaxed in his chair, sipping coffee. It had become clear that the man sitting opposite him had no idea why the meeting had been arranged. He felt it necessary to put his host in the picture before he proceeded.

  “Didn’t your secretary tell you why I’ve come?”

  “Are you referring to Aviva? She’s just come back from maternity leave. Which secretary did you speak to? Just a minute. Yafit replaced Aviva, but I had to fire her because she wasn’t up to my standards. Just a minute. Maybe it was Abigail. Was it Abigail you spoke to”?

  He was silent for a moment and Nahum hastened to answer him before he launched another verbal volley. He said, “I don’t remember who my secretary spoke to. However, I’m certain she explained the purpose of the interview.” He opened his briefcase and began to sort through the documents and mumbled, “By the way, you’re very pleasant company.”

  “Thank you very much for the compliment.” said Gillie, taking a long draw on his thick cigar and eyeing the smoke rings as they rose to the ceiling.

  The journalist began to read from one of the documents in his case. “Over two years ago, you accepted a bribe from a building company call
ed Century Construction in return for granting them unwarranted benefits in connection with a big project for the new sector of the town. The bribe was two apartments registered in your name. Don’t bother to answer till you hear all the facts. The director of Century Construction signed a statement in a criminal charge against you. Now, can I have your reaction to that?”

  Even if he wanted to, Gillie could not answer, his busy mouth now hung open, speechless.

  At this, Nahum continued reading after a pause. “Six months ago you granted the Goren family a license to open a market bazaar, for which they ‘tipped’ you one hundred thousand dollars, deposited in your name in a Swiss bank. Don’t answer till you’ve heard all the facts One of the Goren brothers, who refused to go along with this, in spite of pressure from his older brothers, signed a statement to the police. Now, are you prepared to respond to these accusation?”

  Gillie’s lips were sealed. He stared blankly at the journalist.

  “You permitted your associate to build an irregular, unlicensed structure of more than 150 square meters and instructed the engineering department to cancel a complaint against the illegal builder. Please don’t answer before I have laid the whole array of facts before you. Your signed letter to the engineering department was handed to the police. I have a copy. Your associate’s wife, who is in the process of divorcing him, had laid a complaint against you in this matter. She handed the police a note, signed by you, that she found among her husband’s papers, saying that you were waiting for the promised compensation for the special treatment you gave him. Are you prepared to respond to these claims? This is your chance to do so.”

  Gillie folded his arms around his head, as if attempting to protect himself from the next blow, which was not long in coming. “The town council’s comptroller has issued a complaint about the disappearance of five hundred thousand shekels received by the council on the eve of Passover. Have you any idea what became of the money?”