ABIGAIL_SPY & LIE

by Rose Fox

Naim drove all through the night and at dawn, drew up beside a sparse row of trees in order to eat. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the coolness of the shade. An hour later, fully rested, he continued on his way.

  * * *

  He reached his destination at noon.

  “Welcome, Sir,” Ashraf greeted him with a slight bow, “we’ve been waiting for you. But first, of course, you will want to wash your feet after your long journey.”

  Naim took off his shoes and bathed his right foot in a bowl of water beside the dry cloth that had been placed under his foot. He did the same with his other foot and when he finished, he was handed a small bowl of water, in which he dipped his hands and passed them over his eyes, his forehead and his neck and wiped them with a small towel that was white as snow. He mumbled words of gratitude to Ashraf and asked him, as he turned his gaze to the room on his right.

  “Is the Rais (the leader) sitting there, in his usual place?”

  Ashraf nodded, collected the bowls and cloths, bowed several times and disappeared, all the time facing the guest. Ashraf always took care never to turn his back on any man.

  After the handshakes, greetings and small talk about the oppressive heat outside and the family came the turn of the question Naim had most feared for the past weeks.

  “When will we sign our deal?”

  “Listen, Omar”, Naim said immediately, “I have brought you a much better deal.”

  “Why would I want a better deal? What’s wrong with the one we have?”

  Omar was extremely obese. A large cloth girdle encircled his gigantic belly. The room he sat in was air conditioned yet the sweat poured off Omar’s brow in large drops, which he constantly wiped with a cloth folded in his hand in a kind of routine.

  Naim cleared his throat and spoke slowly as he measured every word before he mouthed it.

  “You know, Omar, I think there is something wrong with the girl. Her eyes are colorless and she appears to me to be ill. She may not have long to live.” He grew silent, then bent down and came closer to the enormous man sitting in front of him and added, almost whispering, “I would not sign a deal like this, nor would I suggest that anyone pay for such goods.”

  A rustle was heard behind him and when Naim quickly turned his head, he noticed a slight movement but saw nothing clearly. He very much hoped that no one was listening in to them now. Therefore, he said to Omar. “I understand that we are here, alone.”

  The enormous man wiped his brow again and didn’t reply. He didn’t seem to be listening to what Naim was telling him or perhaps he didn’t know.

  “Are you sure of what you’re saying?” he asked. “Wait, what exactly is wrong with her?”

  “Look, Omar, up to now, I have always brought you girls who were beautiful and interesting and they all appeared to be fine.”

  “But, she is rumored to be a really beautiful baby.” Omar insisted. “A little Bedouin with golden hair and eyes like a hungry coyote.” He narrowed his eyes and Naim recoiled at the sight of them but, continued his effort to convince him.

  “Omar, ya’Omar, listen to me, I tell you she’s not worth the trouble. What if I am right?”

  “Did you speak to her father?”

  “I didn’t dare.”

  “Could you bring me … say …a photograph of her?”

  Now, Naim felt sweat covering his neck and slowly running down his back. He swallowed hard and said nothing.

  A few seconds later, Omar asked wonderingly, “Why didn’t you call to inform me the deal was cancelled? Do you want to tell me, ya’Naim, that you came all the way here just to inform me that the goods were damaged?”

  “Of course! One doesn’t say things like that on the phone. I also didn’t want it to reach other ears. It’s always worth protecting oneself from the ears of others and till now, only you and I know where I travel each year,” Naim immediately replied.

  Omar wiped his face and neck and spoke into the cloth:

  “Am I hearing you complaining?”

  “God forbid!”

  “After all, we all know that you make a fine living with us, don’t we?!” and then added, “I want you to know Naim, that we know how to show appreciation for fine goods here. Your girls, those who’ve come to us, are treated well and bear healthy strong children.”

  Naim, humbly lowered his head, rested his hand on his heart and said, “With all my heart,” and he folded his arms ceremoniously across his chest.

  Although the conversation had reached its end, for the moment, Naim had no illusions that they would get off his back and leave it at that. Those two never gave up, but, this time, he was making an effort to wrench from their grasp a baby they wanted very much, a daughter of his family, which he loved and was refusing to bring to them.

  Omar clapped his hands twice and Ashraf appeared so quickly that it was obvious he had been waiting behind the door and probably even overheard everything that had been said. Omar addressed Naim.

  “I have a request and an order to place. Of course, you know Ashraf. He needs a good woman and I am placing an order for her with you, knowing that you will take pains to bring her soon.” Ashraf nodded in agreement as he grinned sheepishly.

  “Certainly, with pleasure. No problem.” Naim replied and turned to Ashraf.

  “Ashraf, dear friend, don’t you already have a wife?”

  “Of course I do, I have two!” he said and proudly held up two fingers. He explained at length.

  “I need another woman, but she must be unusual, not like the ones I have. I want someone new, something different.” He smiled shrewdly and added:

  “I’m not old yet and I need something good. I will take care to give the woman you bring me a home of her own and everything a woman could want.”

  After hearing that speech, Naim grew silent and thoughtful and the two men stared at him.

  “What! Is there a problem?”

  Naim roused himself. “I have something special to offer you. This time, I will bring you something really new. I have received an offer to bring women from distant Asia and they are really different”.

  “How are they different?”

  “Some of them have fair hair and blue or green eyes and they have a light colored complexion, not dark. They speak Russian and as well as a Caucasian language, sometimes.”

  Ashraf responded like an excited child, who had been offered an interesting new game and his master hurried to agree with him.

  “Take this as a deposit,” Omar said, waving a roll of banknotes secured with a rubber band. He grinned with pleasure and his huge stomach quivered and swayed as his robe moved around him in long white waves. Naim stopped the hand that held the roll of banknotes.

  “Please, Omar, I won’t take anything on the account today, not this time.”

  “Why not?” Omar was insulted.

  “Because this will be my first time there. To tell you the truth, I’ve heard there are problems with this market and I have not yet mastered trading with them so I can’t be sure when a deal will be made.” After a moment, he added:

  “There is also a rumor going round about new traders that led the authorities to enforce restrictive laws that give our trade a bad name. In short, there are new problems with that net.”

  An insulted expression spread on Omar’s fat face and Naim spoke to him in an apologetic tone, “you must understand that, Omar, please.”

  “Net? What net are we talking about and who belongs to it?”

  Omar rolled his eyes and his cheeks were bright with sweat.

  “That entire net belongs to us,” he added, angrily.

  “Someone in Israel joined this net and if I’m not mistaken, there are two of them. You know that if there is more than one in the business, the likelihood of a leak is much greater, right?”

  Omar wiped his brow and took Naim’s hand in his own fat hand, pressing the roll of banknotes into Naim’s palm.

  “Let’s say that this isn’t an advance payment, but, rather, something for yo
ur trouble. Let’s say it’s for the long journey you’ve made,” he added as a smile spread over his thick lips, “And also, because I want you to have it.”

  Naim lowered his head in surrender, understanding that taking the roll of banknotes was tantamount to a handshake and his consent to deliver little Naima to Omar, but then he was confused when he heard him declare,

  “I want to say here that this has nothing to do with the little Bedouin girl. Everything here is ready and awaits her arrival. Dir-Balak, (watch out), Naim.” He burst out laughing, causing the hair on Naim’s neck to stand on end in fright as he understood very well that he had been trapped.

  Naim journeyed home and began planning how to violate his unspoken agreement with Omar.

  There was peace and quiet for a month.

  Naim felt cold. He woke up and sat in his tent. Outside, the embers of the fire also had almost faded out; flickering in the hole he created yesterday in the sand. Naim went out and sat beside his tent enjoying the warmth of the dying embers when the phone rang and roused him from his dreams. The day was only just beginning and he could guess who was calling him at this hour of the morning. He decided not to answer and let the ringing continue. He muttered a curse under his breath and deliberately turned his back on the ringing phone.

  The truth of it was that he feared dealing with the matter again. He was so afraid that his heart beat only returned to normal when the phone stopped ringing. Naim put his hands behind his head and thought to himself:

  ‘My two daughters and a firstborn son, Walid, are motherless children. Perhaps I should also take a wife from among the women I plan to send to my Saudi bosses?’

  The phone began ringing again and Naim understood he could no longer avoid answering and decided to take the call.

  “Hello,” he answered reluctantly.

  “How are you?” the voice asked.

  “Praise be to Allah. What about you?”

  “All will be well, now I am waiting.”

  Naim ignored his remarks on purpose as he hoped to discourage the speaker from aiming in that direction, so he said:

  “All is already good, ya’Omar,” trying to change the subject.

  “No, nothing will be well until the matter of that girl is finalized.”

  Naim did not discern any threat in the voice so he responded:

  “It isn’t a good idea to talk about such things on the phone, is it?” he said, hoping to put an end to the matter or, at least, delay it.

  “Naim, listen to me and listen well. I am only going to say this once.”

  This time the suggested threat in his tone, made Naim’s stomach turn. He well remembered the scene when the obese Omar became angry with one of his wives, and ever since Naim had made every effort to avoid arousing his anger. He tried to persuade himself that Omar was only violent with women because he scorned them and only they had reason to fear him. “That Bedouin baby will not be left to grow up in her parents’ home. Am I making myself clear?”

  “But Omar, she’s still an infant and her days are numbered,” he begged.

  “That may be so, only it’s important to manage to get her before they reach an agreement with some other man. That’s what I have decided,” he said angrily and hung up.

  Naim threw the phone in the air and it landed in the sand near the tent. He sat down and punched in the sand beneath. After this conversation many days went by peacefully, but Naim knew that trouble was brewing and decided that he had to take action. Clearly the quiet time was temporary and new ideas and sad thoughts crossed his mind.

  There had been an arrangement between them for many years. Naim would receive orders from Omar and fulfill them without giving them very much thought. Till now, he never paused to reflect on the type of employment destiny had chosen for him, never delved into considerations of whether the work was honorable and it never disturbed his peace of mind.

  This time, because the merchandise concerned his infant niece, he found it difficult to continue. His heart bled because he knew the people involved in this dangerous business.

  Clearly, he was endangering his life and that of the whole Ka’abiah tribe by objecting to or delaying the order for the infant Naima.

  * * *

  Chapter Three

  Justice Adam Ayalon lived at 10 Frishman Street in Tel Aviv, but loved wandering round the old Florentine neighborhood of south Tel Aviv. Here, he didn’t feel like a Judge and could rub shoulders with his fellow men, who had no idea who he was.

  For some years, Adam’s life had combined his work in the state’s Secret Service with that of his work on the Bench of the Regional Court. He kept his work in the service completely secret. That secrecy was in his very blood and he did not even share it with his wife, Sally. She knew nothing of the nature of his trips abroad for the Israeli ‘Mossad’, and he was satisfied that she understood they were all connected to his work as a Judge.

  More than once, he exulted in his quiet and small successes. It was an especially great pleasure to listen to the news reports that an arms convoy had been caught or that a complex political affair had been unraveled. Knowing he had played a part in these events gave spice to his life.

  Till now he had been a lone operator, except when he had to infiltrate places where his Western appearance interfered with his secret affairs; there were times when he had to enter an Arab country or attend meetings with various collaborators in places where his appearance and language were a disadvantage.

  For a long time, Adam had been searching for a Middle Eastern person he could rely on, whom he could trust and with whom he could feel secure.

  In South Tel Aviv he frequented a restaurant called Yigal the Greek, located between the many stores on a road called Hatahana Street, which had been changed to ‘Cordovero’ Road.

  One day, on entering the restaurant, a dark-skinned youth caught his eye and he felt as if he had found the person he had been looking for.

  Sharif was an Arab youth of sixteen. Dark curls crowned his head and he had the face of a young girl. The boy did not notice the judge was observing him. He moved round the tables between the regular customers, wielding a double-tiered tray of cups of tea and coffee with a sure and practiced hand.

  Adam came to the restaurant as usual today, but, not to eat this time. He approached Yigal at the counter where he was being paid by a customer. Adam waited for him to finish putting the money in his till.

  “Yigal, I have a question to ask you.”

  Yigal looked up. He knew Adam and recognized him, but, in all those years, Adam had never approached him. For his part, Adam was satisfied to order, eat and drink at his leisure, look around calmly and then pay before leaving the restaurant an hour later.

  “Yes, Your Honor, what’s the question?” Yigal asked him brightly.

  “That young boy of yours, the one who serves tea and coffee to everyone, is there any chance of taking him to work with me for a while?”

  Amused, Yigal smiled and looked at Adam.

  “Let me understand,” he said, “do you intend turning him into a lawyer? Or, will he be your apprentice?”

  “Something like that.” Adam replied with an amused smile, but his eyes grew serious immediately as he said:

  “No, I’m serious; I want to employ the boy. I’ll pay him, of course.”

  “See here, Adam, you know that Sharif isn’t my son, so why don’t you ask him, himself?”

  “Listen, Yigal, I’ve got eyes in my head and I see he regards you like a father and honors and serves you with all his soul.” Ayalon touched Yigal’s hand.

  “That’s why I thought I should ask your permission.”

  “Adam, I’ve known you for a long time and since I know you are an honorable man, I believe you won’t do the boy any harm. It’s important not to exploit his innocence because I love that boy as if he were my own son.”

  Yigal’s eyes welled up and this did not go unnoticed by Adam. He placed a one hundred shekel note on the counter.


  “What’s that for?” Yigal asked.

  “For the meal,” Adam replied and turned to leave the restaurant. Yigal stared after him, held the banknote and glanced across at the table at which the Judge usually sat. The table was bare. He crumpled the banknote in his hand and stuffed it in his pocket. When he looked up Adam was nowhere to be seen.

  * * *

  Sharif was indeed very young, but he learned a long time ago that, in order to survive in Israel, as an Arab, he had to speak with two tongues and walk carefully on the seam between two worlds.

  He was the ninth child of older parents of a family that lived in Shechem. He had never suffered hunger, but he also never had everything he wanted. When he was four or five years old and could already express his opinions, he saw how tired his mother was when she came home from a long day’s work cleaning other people’s houses.

  As a little boy, he would spend many days of his vacation at his father’s stall in the Shechem market. He would join his father, and sit on the small wooden cart, drawn by the donkey he loved, which he treated like a pet. He would ride in the cart with his father and the little boy would listen to the cries of “Alte Zachen” Old Things from his father and added his childish voice, “We buy furniture, refrigerators and old clothes.”

  Sharif had a good head on his shoulders, but he didn’t like going to school very much. When he turned twelve he started spending whole days outside his home. He would sleep wherever he found a place in the summer, on public park benches, in warehouses and basements of apartment blocks. There, he would rummage around and come up with all kinds of objects which he would offer for sale.

  Sharif never recalled anyone from his family ever bothering to look for him, but, when he was hungry or it got too cold for him to sleep on sidewalk benches, he would return to his home.

  His drifting brought him to South Tel Aviv, to the Florentine neighborhood. Here, he worked as a messenger for small change, which more than sufficed for food, drink and even visits to the cinema, where he sat watching movies for hours. He wasn’t picky and watched all the movies that were screened.