He had never mentioned the number again. Her life resumed its barren, dark, but steady course. Or so she thought. The months ticked by slowly. Sharon was already in first grade. Yaniv was in pre-school and Gilat went where they led, where her husband led. She went where she went.
At times, there seemed to be disturbances on her phone line. Quite often, the voices on the other side sounded blurred and she heard rustling noises, dull clicks. It occurred to her that perhaps her calls were being monitored, but she brushed this aside, wondering who could possibly want to know what she or Dov spoke about. She calmed her fears by asking herself, with a touch of irony, “Who’s interested in us?”
Clutching her damp towel, Gilat lifted the receiver, “Yes?”
“Gilat! It’s me, Mother. We’re back.”
“How was it?”
“Nothing beats coming back to Israel,” Edna said, avoiding a direct answer.
“And how’s Daddy? Did the trip help him? Gilat persisted.
“I’m sorry we went. It was a mistake. Far from improving Daddy’s condition, it made it worse.”
The droplets from the shower became a cold sweat on Gilat’s face. She had tried so hard to persuade her mother against the trip overseas, but Edna had listened to Avraham, who warmly recommended the holiday.
Lately, her father had become restless. Edna told Gilat that Nahum was depressed and quick to vent his anger on her for no reason and that he scowled at everybody. His interest was entirely focused on the approaching international conference. He went for many night walks, during which he committed his taped speech to memory. He frequently shut himself in his study and he spoke ceaselessly into the microphone. The tapes piled up on his desk. He often arrived late at the office and even missed days without giving a reasonable explanation for his absences. His output dropped sharply. It was Avraham who had suggested a vacation.
“Two weeks in Switzerland will do him a world of good,” he told Edna, “he’ll come back a new man. Your husband has been through a lot in the last year; his work is very demanding. Take a rest in the brisk mountain air and bring him back ready for the conference. We need Nahum there, at full strength!”
Gilat heard the weariness in her mother’s voice as she said, “It was an exhausting trip.”
“Where’s Daddy now?”
“Sleeping.”
“I’ll come and see you this evening,” said Gilat.
It was time to prepare the children’s lunch. In less than half an hour she would have to fetch Sharon from school.
Just as she was leaving, having made the lunch, the phone rang. The usual clicking and rustling accompanied Tziporah’s voice when Gilat answered. Tziporah and Gilat were friends from their high school days and she was calling to say that she had returned to the country after two years in the USA. She was looking forward to seeing Gilat and wanted to introduce her to Ami, her fiancé.
Actually, Gilat and Ami used to live next door to one another when they were children and she was happy to have a chance to renew their friendship. For a moment, she felt light and free of restraint, more like the mischievous girl that Tziporah remembered and happily agreed to meet them anywhere, anytime. Gilat noticed that Tziporah’s voice was becoming indistinct as the noises in the receiver increased. For some reason, her excitement died down and she became evasive about setting the time and place for the meeting with her old friends. Tziporah insisted, however, saying that Gilat would hardly recognize her, she had changed so much. Time had been kind to her. Ami would also love to see Gilat again, and so on. Gilat finally agreed to meet them later that afternoon in a cafe on Sheinkin Street. No, Dov would not be able to join them, he worked all day. They would get together with him some other time.
She hurried to fetch Sharon from school; Yaniv would come home on the pre-school bus later on. She spent a lot of time getting ready for the meeting. It was the first time in ages that she was going anywhere without Dov. She decided not to tell him about the meeting with her friends. She admitted to herself that she preferred to see them without him, to be the free and natural person they knew. In any case, he was working late and she would be home long before him.
The stretch blouse did not have to be hidden anymore. Since Dov had presented them to her with his own strong hands, they occupied a place of honor in the bedroom closet. She chose one of them and began her makeup ritual under the fascinated gaze of the children. Then she kissed them, promised that she would not be away longer than two or three hours and extracted their promise to be good and listen to the babysitter. She left the house in a happy mood.
Ami, Tziporah and Gilat hugged and kissed one another. “How you’ve changed!” “You, too!” “I’d never have recognized you!” “Me, too, if we hadn’t arranged to meet!” “You’ve also changed a lot; you’ve grown up to be a real man!” “How time flies!” “You want to tell me that’s your natural color?” “Listen, it’s great to see you!” “It was worth coming all the way from the States, just to see you!” “Did anyone ever tell you that you look like Marilyn Monroe?”
They sat down. Ordered coffee. Nescafe. There was no Nescafe in the States. How they missed Nescafe over there! No, Dov couldn’t leave the office in the middle of the day. He worked so hard, was very serious about his work. Dov was a wonderful father. Devoted family man. Really, it was a pity they’d never managed to meet over the years. Still, perhaps they’d get around to it.
Suddenly, Gilat gasped and her eyes widened in amazement as she looked past Tziporah’s shoulder.
“Dov! What are you doing here?” she exclaimed.
Tziporah turned around and saw a young man sitting at a corner table, serenely eating toasted cheese.
“As you see, Gilat,” he answered after slowly chewing and swallowing a mouthful, “I’m eating toasted cheese,” He gave a little smile before adding, “What a coincidence!”
“There’s no such thing as coincidence,” Gilat said. “My mother says there’s no such thing.” The words seemed to float out of her mouth. Dov stood up and approached their table and she asked again, “Really, Dov, what are you doing here today?”
“I happened to be in the area, so I dropped in for some coffee and toasted cheese. May I join you? Said he, pulling out a chair.
Gilat made the introductions. Dov was interested only in Ami. He wanted to know what he did for a living, how long he and Gilat had known each other, when he had come back from the States. Charming, was Dov. Ami eagerly answered all his questions. Tziporah glanced at her watch and said she had to go to another appointment. They had only just arrived back; they had a lot of people to see. They left in a hurry. Gilat also stood up and started walking to the door and Dov joined her after paying the bill. He got into the driver’s seat of his wife’s car and started the engine. Gilat did not bother to ask where his car was parked. They sat withdrawn and silent all the way home.
Gilat was alarmed to find that the children were not at home when they arrived. “Where are the children?” she almost screamed at Dov.
“I took them to my parents.”
He gave her no chance to ask why he had done so. He glared at her and said, “The moment I turn my back, you run out to meet another man.”
“Man?” What man? What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play the innocent. Were you or were you not sitting there with Ami?”
“Oh. Is that how you see it?”
“Sure. Do you think I don’t know you? You only went there to meet Ami. Don’t try and sell me any stories.”
She froze. Her eyes were fixed on his moving lips, but her ears were blocked to his voice. Her mind raced. The more she watched the soundless movement of his lips, the more her mind raced. Suddenly released from her paralysis she looked straight into his eyes.
“Tell me,” she said as if waking from a revealing dream, “What were you doing there? No, don’t tell me. I understa
nd everything. You listen to my phone calls. You’ve bugged my phone!”
She stared at him and waited. She did not have to wait long.
He laughed heartily and said, “What do you think? I don’t trust you for one minute! All your calls are bugged!”
Her response was swift. She went up to him, giggled and said, “D’you want the truth?” Then after a deliberately long silence in which his eyes darted about in nervous anticipation of her next words, she said, “D’you want the truth? I only went there because of Ami!”
She watched as he raised both hands, his supportive, good hands, watched as they changed into fists and descended onto her face, her shoulders, her heart and her head. Gilat held her ground, staring all the while at the strong hands she had trusted so much, the hands he was now using to vent his fury on her. She fell on her back with her eyes open while he punched her like a boxer fighting for his life, trying to get in as many blows as possible before the gong sounded. Nor did he stop when she lay helpless, her eyes now closed as if she could no longer bear to see his bottomless anger.
When she revived, she was alone in the living room, with no idea of the time that had passed while she lay helpless, with a coagulating pool of blood under her head. “I mustn’t look in the mirror,” she warned herself as she staggered to the door. “Must get out of here, fast as I can, to Daddy, quickly to Daddy,” she muttered through cut lips while her shaking hand fumbled to lock the front door.
Dragging herself behind the steering wheel, she realized that her left arm was useless, but she managed to insert the key in the ignition and drive away, steering with one hand. The seat was covered with blood by the time she reached her parents’ apartment. She leaned on the doorbell until she heard rapid footsteps approaching. Her father opened the door.
“Gilat! What have they done to you!?” he said, staring at her battered face. Then he folded her gently in his arms and stroked her disheveled hair.
Drops of blood were falling to the living room floor. Gilat was sobbing quietly, “Did you see what Dov did to me, Daddy, did you see?” she groaned.
“Dov?” he queried, “who is Dov?”
27.
“The right of the public to know and the individual’s right to privacy are constitutional rights in Israel. They are precious to Israeli democracy and represent rights that are equal in status and, therefore, one does not take precedence over the other. By virtue of this equality, the existence of one cannot essentially harm the other… The most severe example of the invasion of privacy is to be found in the various kinds of paparazzi, who…”
Edna lay on her bed holding the receiver close to her ear, listening to Avraham reading the text of Nahum’s gripping lecture on the balance between the public’s right to know and the right to privacy.
“Very nice,” Edna said, adding on a note of pride, “Somebody very close to me wrote that lecture and tonight he’s going to deliver at an international conference of journalists.”
“You can compliment me on knowing who to recommend to make that speech tonight,” Avraham said.
They were playfully competing for the honor of being first to shower compliments on Nahum.
“May I speak to him?” Avraham asked.
“He’s still asleep.”
“Tell him I called and we’ll see each other this evening. Don’t be late,” he said, quickly adding, “The whole Today staff will be holding thumbs up for him. His success is our success.”
Then he asked if they had enjoyed the trip to Switzerland, what the weather was like, what the flight was like and if the place was worth a visit. Edna answered that Switzerland was beautiful, the weather pleasant, the flight tiring. Yes, it was always worth traveling. Yes, the place they visited was fascinating.
The place was fascinating, but what she did not tell him was that for Nahum and herself, the trip was exhausting. Her husband’s condition had worsened by the trip. He had changed. He had deteriorated. This was not the Nahum they knew. He was forgetful. Often forgetful. He grumbled a lot. Got lost. Failed to connect. He was confused. And as for her, she was under siege. In need of advice. But Avraham had already hung up, leaving her to her troubled thoughts.
She let Nahum go on sleeping and left him a note in a conspicuous place to say that she was going to her office and would see him at home in the evening. She reminded him that they would go together to the Hilton, where the conference was taking place.
As she was bending to place it on the coffee table in the living room, she noticed a red stain on the floor. She rubbed it with her finger. It was dried blood. There was no doubt about it. How could it be explained? She considered waking Nahum to ask him, but decided against it. He had an important event ahead of him this evening and the sleep would be good for him.
She tiptoed to his bedside and gently examined his body. There were no wounds. Her lawyer’s mind began to search for a logical explanation for the crimson stain in the living room.
Somebody bleeding from a wound had visited Nahum last night while she was sleeping, she thought. Nahum was opening his eyes.
“Nahum,” she could not help asking, “did you see bloodstains in the living room? Do you know how they got there?”
“Blood?” He got out of bed and followed his wife to the living room.
“Whose blood is this?” She pointed to the floor.
Nahum cast a sleepy glance at the stain and returned to bed. He was not particularly interested.
“Sleep, Nahum,” she said partly to herself and partly to her husband, who was so distance and detached from her. “You must conserve your strength for tonight. I’m off to the office. I’ll be back this afternoon and we’ll go to the conference together.” She looked at him sadly and added, “I left you a note.
Before leaving, she wiped away the bloodstain with a damp tissue and took a last look at Nahum in the bedroom. His eyes were wide open, staring sideways. She asked him, worriedly, “Did somebody visit you last night while I was asleep?”
“Nobody was here last night, Edna” he said, turning over and closing his eyes. He was unaware of her drooping shoulders and distraught face as she left the room.
Nahum dozed for hours. The rays of the sun that crept across the room failed to catch his attention; nor did the ringing of the telephone.
He was awakened by ravenous hunger later in the afternoon. He ate what he found in the fridge and read Edna’s note on the door: “Good luck at the Conference tonight at the Hilton.”
At dusk, when the rays of sunlight had withdrawn, he left the apartment, got into the blue car and drove away.
28.
The guests began to stream into the main auditorium of the Hilton Hotel at eight o’clock that night. Shiny cars delivered elegantly dressed people to the main entrance, the men in dark, tailored suits and the women, bejeweled, in formal dresses. Many of the guests were from abroad and the sound of many languages blended with the discreet background music in the main auditorium. Waiters and waitresses flitted among the guests, bearing trays of snacks and drinks. Media personalities, journalists and technicians, accustomed to attend such events with their cumbersome equipment, now mingled with the guests, drinks in hand. Today, they were the focus of interest.
The Today staff was well represented. Over twenty senior journalists and office workers were invited to the glittering event. Rikkie was there, beautiful in a revealing dress, waiting eagerly for Nahum to appear.
Avraham, the experienced newshound, was already mentally composing the next day’s headline: TODAY OPENS INTERNATIONAL CONFERENCE WITH FIERY ADDRESS BY SENIOR CORRESPONDENT NAHUM PETERSON. Pleased with it, he grinned and rubbed his hands together.
Padded chairs and a table with the usual microphones and glasses of water were arranged on a platform at the end of the auditorium. It was eight thirty and the dignitaries were already taking their seats on the platform. The central chair, desi
gnated for the main speaker, Nahum Peterson, was still unoccupied.
The paper’s crime reporter, Yitzhak, went over to Rikkie and suggested that she phone Nahum to find out why he had not arrived. She went to the reception desk and was dialing Nahum’s number when she saw him hurrying towards the auditorium. She could not believe her eyes.
Although he was wearing a jacket, Rikkie recognized it as the shabby one he wore to work on ordinary weekdays. It was creased and faded to the point that she was not sure whether it was washed-out blue or grey. The jacket, however, was the better part of what Nahum was wearing. What bothered her most was the shirt. It was buttoned askew and was not tucked into the trousers, but bunched negligently at waist level. With growing horror, she saw that his fly was unzipped.
“Nahum! she cried sharply. He turned in search of the owner of the voice and saw Rikkie.
“Was it you, calling me?” he asked with a blank expression.
Rikkie felt as it her legs would not carry her. The way he was dressed ceased to matter as she was struck by the irrational idea that he did not know who she was.
“Yes, I called you,” she replied, still hoping that the idea that had come to her was indeed irrational and mistaken.
“What can I do for you?”
“What can you do for me?” she answered in amazement. “How can you ask? You can explain why you’re late and why you’re dressed like that! That’s what you can do for me!”
“You’re right. I am indeed late.”
Rikkie released a deep sigh. “What a relief. For a moment, I thought you didn’t recognize me.”
Nahum looked at her with a forced smile and said nothing.
“You should be on the platform already,” she urged and added, “Nahum, you look awful. I suggest you first go to the toilets and tidy yourself. But hurry up; they’re all waiting for you!”
He ignored her and began to press through the guests who had not yet entered the auditorium and were standing around, still sipping their drinks. He bumped into a small, slant-eyed woman who was smiling between taking sips of the drink in her hand.
Until Sweet Death Arrives Page 11
