Until Sweet Death Arrives

by Amnon Binyamini

  “Where are you?” she asked with a deep sigh of relief.

  “Just a moment. I’ll ask Dov... Dov, tell me, where are we? Edna’s asking. What? At the corner of Geulah and Hayarkon? Geulah and Hayarkon,” he repeated his son-in-law’s words.

  “Corner of Geulah and Hayarkon?” Edna asked, puzzled. “But that’s by the sea. It’s by the sea. What are you doing by the sea”?

  She was bewildered.

  “We arranged to meet at Shaul’s cafe in Ramat Gan. Remember?”

  Nahum was silent. Edna was not sure if anyone was listening on the other end of the line. She called Nahum’s name over and over, but nobody answered. Nevertheless, she asked again, “Geulah corner of Hayarkon? By the sea? What were you doing there, by the sea, Nahum?”

  17.

  Dov accompanied his father-in-law to his car. They could hear waves rustling ashore as they walked in silence, preoccupied with their own thoughts. When they reached the car, Nahum’s face – expressionless until then – gave signs of growing irritation as he patted his pockets in search of the car keys. They had simply vanished. He smiled with relief when Dov opened the unlocked door on the driver’s side and found the keys in the ignition.

  “Just as I thought!” Nahum crowed happily. “They must have been trying to steal the car. Lucky we came in time! This explains everything. Well, what do you know, eh?” He patted Dov’s shoulder.

  Dov wondered what Nahum was doing alone in this dark alley near the beach. He admired and respected Nahum and, therefore, he was surprised at his own boldness in asking, “What were you doing in this part of town at this hour?”

  “What?” was all Nahum said.

  “I suppose you made an appointment to meet someone here, to get information,” Dov prompted.

  “How did you know?” Nahum exclaimed, hurriedly starting the engine and driving away.

  There was a speculative look on Dov’s face as he watched the car go out of sight.

  18.

  Nahum slowly opened his front door and remained standing for a moment, his head lowered in thought.

  “Thank God! Here you are at last,” Edna hurried over to him and laid her cheek against his chest. “I was so worried!” She embraced him, looked into his eyes and kissed him.

  Nahum stood passively staring at the wall behind her, allowing her to kiss and embrace him.

  “I’ve spoken to Dov,” she said, detaching herself from his body. “He told me they tried to steal your car. Lucky they didn’t succeed.”

  Unaware that her husband was not taking part in the conversation, she continued, “What were you doing in that alley in Tel Aviv when you were supposed to be meeting me in Ramat Gan? Yes, I know, work! Dov told me. Why did you make two appointments at the same time? I suppose you expected to finish the first one quickly and still make it in time to meet me, right?”

  He did not answer, but she did not mind. It all seemed perfectly clear. She hugged him again. The telephone rang and she went to answer it.

  “Yes?” There was no response. She tried again, “Edna Peterson speaking. Who’s calling?”

  The line went dead. She replaced the receiver and returned to Nahum. The phone rang again.“This is the Peterson residence,” she said, and waited.

  “I want to speak to Nahum.”

  Something in the speaker’s voice drew Edna’s attention.

  “Who wants to speak to him?”

  “Tell him it’s Aharon. If he wants to or not, he’s going to meet me in the end. He won’t manage to avoid me.

  Edna’s hands were shaking when she handed the receiver to Nahum.

  “See who it is,” she said.

  “Yes?” Nahum asked and waited.

  “It’s me, Aharon. Why don’t you pick up the phone when I call, hey?”

  The voice changed rapidly from normal to a loud barrage of shouts.

  “Who are you?” Nahum asked worriedly.

  “I am Aharon. Aharon, hear? You’d better meet me if you know what’s good for you, d’you hear me?”

  “What do you want of me?” By now Nahum was also shouting.

  “I’ve told you a number of times, you’ll know when we meet.”

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Nahum replied, “Listen, if you don’t stop bothering me, I’ll go to the police. Is that clear?”

  A metallic buzz informed Nahum that Aharon, or whoever he was, had hung up.

  19.

  Michael put on his tracksuit and tied the laces of his new sneakers. Today was his birthday. He was forty-five years old. For the time being, he did not notice the changes that came with age. Apparently, the time-stations in his life did not always make themselves known right away, Michael mused.

  Michael took action that morning. He made up his mind, went outside and strolled past the shops on his street. He knew very well where he was headed. He was going to the store at the end of the street. He had observed this store many times from the window of his room, promising himself that he would go there one day. And today, this very morning, he fulfilled his dream. He entered the store. He was not in the least embarrassed when he approached the salesman. His voice was firm and decisive, in spite of his fears and anxieties. Once inside the store, everything was suddenly, unexpectedly easy.

  “What can I do for you?” the salesman asked.

  Michael answered with calm assurance. Even later, sitting by the window of his apartment, when he replayed the scene in his mind, he could not find any fault in his demeanor.

  “I want a dark blue tracksuit, like the one my neighbor wears. Mr. Nahum Peterson. I know he bought it here. I saw the name of your store on the plastic bag.”

  Michael looked anxiously at the salesman’s face. No, there was no mockery, no patronizing questions, such as, “For you? A tracksuit?” So Michael went even further and tried on the tracksuit, like anybody else. The dark blue flattered his pale, sun-deprived complexion.

  He felt particularly heroic as he slipped his feet into the sneakers. Yes, here he was, Michael, sitting on a stool in a store, trying on shoes. Sports shoes. On his crippled foot. The salesman had not even blinked when, in a perfectly natural voice, he asked for a size 42 sports shoe. He had politely handed the left shoe to Michael before turning to attend to another customer without so much as a fleeting glance at the foot. Michael was absolutely certain of this because he had surreptitiously watched the salesman’s every move.

  “It’s a gift,” he smiled at the salesman as he paid.

  “Who’s it for?”

  “Me,” said Michael happily as he left the store.

  He planned to emerge from his apartment wearing his new outfit when Mr. Nahum returned from work in the evening. Mr. Nahum would no doubt be very surprised to see him dressed like this and would most likely say, “What a terrific tracksuit! It’s exactly like mine!”

  Michael wondered at what point in the conversation he should tell Mr. Nahum that today was his birthday. Mr. Nahum would surely invite him up to his apartment to have a drink to mark the occasion and Michael would accept the invitation. He would have a drink with Mr. Nahum and his wife, Edna, in the Peterson apartment.

  No, he will not reveal – even to Mr. Nahum - why he purchased the tracksuit and sneakers. It will remain the exclusive secret of Michael. He will not share this secret with anyone in the world. No one will know when he will use the tracksuit. Because at night, when Mr. Nahum goes down for his nightly walk dressed in his blue tracksuit, he – Michael – wearing a similar tracksuit and sneakers, will watch Mr. Nahum from his apartment window and will walk in place. Yes, as long as Mr. Nahum strides below on the quiet street of their neighborhood he, Michael, will follow the footsteps of the journalist and will walk without moving, in his apartment, in front of the window facing the street below. He will walk for forty minutes. Forty minutes exactly. Because that is exactly what Mr. Nahum does
. And he will raise his feet and lower them on his apartment floor; and he will move his arms in the same rhythm as Mr. Nahum does down below. Here, in his apartment, Michael is master of himself. Here, in his humble abode, he also can stride towards his hidden desires, those that he dare not strive towards in public. True, it is not exactly as Mr. Nahum does. He will not move; he will not gain distance; he will be standing in place. He will not exert himself pulling his body up the steep hill as Mr. Nahum does every evening. But this is also something. And, besides, a person needs to know his shortcomings and flow with them, as much as he can. He read that recently somewhere.

  For some reason, today, on his birthday, time moved slowly. There were days when he would stare out of his window not feel the hours pass by. There were nights when he would just peer at the yellow lights of the adjacent building, enjoying the cool night breeze, wandering far away with his thoughts. Not even once had he looked at his watch discovering that he sat like that, connected to his daydreams, but the time passed by so quickly that he didn’t even feel it. However, tonight everything moved so slowly. Time seemed to be at a standstill and Mr. Nahum hadn’t arrived home yet.

  He had almost fallen asleep when he suddenly heard below him a car door slam shut. Michael looked at his watch. It showed nine-thirty already. That was definitely Mr. Nahum. Michael saw him enter the building furiously. He jumped from his seat and pressed his ear to his front door, counting the footsteps that Mr. Nahum was making up the stairs. He gave one last look at his tracksuit, looked with pride at his sneakers, and continued to count the footsteps of the journalist climbing up the stairs. When he heard the footsteps approaching his apartment, he opened his front door. Mr. Nahum’s head was slouched down. Could he, in such a state, notice his new clothing?’ thought Michael to himself, and called out in a loud voice:

  “Hello, Mr. Nahum, what happened that you arrived late today? It almost doesn’t ever happen.”

  Nahum passed him by, not even lifting his head, and continued climbing the stairs to his apartment. “I see you’re in a hurry tonight, Mr. Nahum,” Michael said desperately before his neighbor disappeared to the third floor of the building.

  He heard Nahum open his apartment door and Mrs. Edna saying in a happy tone:

  “You finally arrived. I was very worried.”

  And then the door above him closed.

  Michael returned to his room. Now he felt a strong urge to get into his bed, wearing his new clothing and sneakers, hug the pillow and go to sleep. To get as much sleep as he could. If he could only sleep like that for many days without waking up. If only he could.

  Something sounded from outside of his open window. Michael turned in bed, grabbed the small pillow to his chest and went back to sleep. Again he heard faint noises. He had no doubt about it. Someone was downstairs below his apartment window. Michael was used to watching and listening. He pushed the pillow away, approached the window silently and peeked at the dark street, without showing his head outside as much as possible. A figure was standing on the street near their building, staring up at the apartment of the journalist. The figure outside made no effort to hide himself but could be easily identified by the wide-brimmed hat he was wearing. He just stood there, not moving nor removing his glance from the Peterson’s apartment.

  Michael knew almost everybody in the street where he lived. He knew that the stranger with the wide-brimmed hat did not belong there. He suddenly remembered having seen him before, following the journalist. What was he doing, in the middle of the night, on the deserted street, Michael wondered as he lay on his bed.

  A pleasant fatigue crept over him. His eyes drooped. Now he would sink into a deep sleep that would carry him on a long night’s journey free of pain and disappointment, far from suffocating loneliness, even if only for a few redeeming hours.

  20.

  When Ronnie Rotem ushered him into the living room of his home, Nahum gasped at the tableau that confronted him. The Rotem family, in their Sabbath finery, were ensconced in their armchairs, waiting for him with folded arms. Ronnie hurried to join his stocky wife and their three children where they sat unmoving, now and then casting tense glances in his direction.

  “This is unbelievable. Unbelievable!” he muttered to himself.

  He broke the silence with a question directed at the woman, “Don’t the children in this town go to school?”

  She looked at her husband, who answered, “It’s a school holiday.”

  The woman jumped to her feet and snapped at her husband, “What are you talking about? What holiday on a weekday? Have you forgotten you said that me and the children have to dress smart and sit in the living room? Because the journalist is coming?

  She realized what she had done. Her hand flew to her mouth to prevent further slips of the tongue. Her flamboyant lipstick emphasized the sudden paleness of her cheeks.

  Nahum smiled at the children and said, “I’m pleased to see you.”

  Nahum’s calm voice dimmed the blaze in Ronnie’s eyes and returned him to his forced pleasantness. However, the remains of his fury could still be seen in the look he threw at his wife sitting frozen in her armchair. He handed the journalist some papers that were on the coffee table.

  In a better mood, he said, “I’ve brought everything you asked for. These documents prove that the unfreezing of the land started before I was elected as deputy head of the town council. There’s a letter from the comptroller of the town council authorizing it.”

  Nahum studied the documents and put them in his briefcase. “And what about the five hundred thousand shekels?”

  Ronnie’s answer was swift and decisive. “Here’s a letter from the council’s treasurer. Look, it’s clearly written that this matter must be referred directly to the head of the town council. He handled the money personally, not me.”

  Nahum read the signed and stamped letter from the treasurer and made his way to the front door.

  “Where are you going to?” Ronnie asked.

  “I’ve got an appointment with Gillie; he’s waiting for me. I can walk there. I remember the way from my last visit.”

  “The town council is in the opposite direction!” said Ronnie, adding quietly, “Are you sure he’s in his office, waiting for you?”

  21.

  Aviva was typing at her desk when Nahum entered and said, “Would you mind informing Gill that I’m here?” He glanced at his watch.

  “Gillie?”

  On hearing the surprise in her voice, he looked at her enquiringly.

  “Gillie isn’t here. He’s on vacation.” she said.

  “Are you sure? I made the appointment myself.”

  He strode in the direction of Gill’s office and opened the door without knocking. The office was empty. He returned to the reception desk.

  “Get hold of him. Wherever he is, inform him that in about two hours I’ll be back at the editorial office of Today. Tell him to contact me there if he’s got anything to say. If not, tell him to buy the weekend edition of the paper. The lead article will be about this town council and the person who runs it.”

  He turned to leave. Aviva was speechless. At the door, he said, “I almost forgot. In the article he’ll find the name Gillie, not Gill. Everybody calls him Gillie, right?”

  In the bright afternoon light he returned to his car, which was parked near the Rotem house-hold, and drove in the direction of the freeway. Although Nahum had expected the traffic to be light, he was delighted to find no traffic at all when he reached the freeway. After driving for over an hour, he noticed that the car seemed to be going downhill. The landscape was monotonously pale. The road was narrow and curved in parts. Bedouin tents on the roadside flashed past him, lean goats led by a barefoot shepherd vanished in the blink of an eye. An arid wilderness stretched endlessly before him, alone on the road.

  A white taxi appeared behind him. The broad brimmed hat of the pa
ssenger beside the driver drew Nahum’s attention; even at a distance it was clearly distinguishable. Nahum had never seen such a wide brim.

  The sun dazzled him in the rearview mirror. He angled the mirror away from him. Time moved slowly in the drab landscape. The sun’s rays began to reappear in the mirror. With his left hand, Nahum tried to change the angle of the mirror to avoid being dazzled again. He was unable to see the wide hat of the passenger in the taxi behind him. A peculiar thought popped into his mind: How could the sun be behind him? It should be ahead of him at this time of day. He increased his speed and searched for a road sign. It was not long before he saw the welcome green sign. It consisted of one word: EILAT.

  “I’ve been driving south, in the opposite direction,” he murmured in alarm and amazement. “How on earth did I get here? I’ve made a stupid mistake!”

  He managed to swing the car around and it somehow reassured him to see that the driver of the taxi had come to the same conclusion and was now following him northwards.

  “Looks like I’m not the only one who got lost,” he grinned and stepped hard on the gas.

  Nobody greeted him when he finally got back to his office. As he was hanging up his jacket, the interoffice phone rang and Rikkie told him that Avraham wanted to speak to him.

  “He wants to see you at once.”

  “Tell him I want a cup of coffee first. I’ll come to him as soon as I revive a bit after my long drive.”

  Rikkie was adamant, “Avraham’s been waiting for you for more than an hour. He says you’re to come immediately.”

  Rikkie looked seriously at him as he passed her. He knocked on Avraham’s door and waited.

  “Yes?”

  He opened the door and entered. Avraham was not alone in the room. A man in a suit was with him. The two men regarded Nahum as he came towards them.