“One second, Chloe,” she said. She fished out two shekels and handed them to the driver. It didn’t seem like much, but she couldn’t keep spending so much on transportation. When she was working, she could take this money out of petty cash. Now, with Bassam’s job threatened and her own nonexistent, she had to get used to planning her trips more carefully.
“I talked to Ron last night,” Chloe said.
“I wish you had called me sooner,” Rania said. “I already talked to Benny.”
“Sorry. I was out kind of late.”
“It’s okay.” Chloe was undisciplined, Rania thought. She did whatever she wanted and didn’t report promptly. But of course, she wasn’t a policewoman, and they were not working a case.
“He says Daoud ran up to his jeep and said his brother had threatened to kill him.”
“What brother?” Rania took out her notebook and scribbled down what Chloe was saying. With the car jolting up and down over the potholes, she would be lucky to be able to read her own notes.
“He said his name was Issa. Supposedly, Daoud asked Ron to help him get asylum in Israel, because Issa found out he was performing at the club and threatened him. Ron says he barely knew Daoud. I don’t believe him.”
“Neither do I,” Rania agreed. “I am pretty sure he was at the peace camp with him. There is a photograph of them together—at least, I think it’s him.” She quickly ran down for Chloe the details Benny had provided.
“Do you know if Daoud had a brother named Issa, at least?” Chloe asked.
“Um Issa, his mother is called. That means Issa is his oldest brother.”
“Ron wouldn’t know that unless he knew Daoud pretty well, or else his story is true,” Chloe said. “Do you think it could be?”
“I wish I could say no,” Rania said. “But sadly, such things do happen.” She had reached the Qarawa blocks.
“I’ll try to talk to Ron again,” Chloe said. “But he’s probably gone back to the army today, since it’s Sunday. You’re more likely to see him than me.”
“If I do, I doubt he would talk to me,” Rania said. The thought of having a conversation with an Israeli soldier gave her chills. Before Prison, she hated what they stood for, but she had not been afraid of them. Now, she trembled just thinking about being close to one.
“I’ll call you back if I find out anything,” Chloe said. “What did you say his last name is?”
Rania told her and said goodbye.
“Do you know a guy named Ron Binyamin?” Chloe demanded as soon as Avi answered his phone.
“I’ve met him. In a workshop at Neve Shalom.”
“You went to a dialogue group?” Neve Shalom-Wahat al-Salam was a mixed Jewish-Palestinian community in Israel which conducted an array of peace-building activities. Many Israeli activists got their start there, but Chloe would have judged it too touchy-feely for Avi.
“Shut up. I was young then.”
“You’re still young,” Chloe said. “Can you get in touch with him?”
“Of course.” Dumb question. There was no one in Israel Avi could not get in touch with, likely including the prime minister.
“Set up a meeting,” Chloe instructed. “But don’t tell him I’ll be there.”
Avi called back in five minutes. “He’s at Ariel. He gets off duty at three o’clock. He will meet us at the entrance.”
“What did you tell him it was about?”
“Organizing army guys to refuse illegal orders.”
“You could just say that on the phone?”
“Sure. You think the government cares about that? People have been trying to do it for years. Besides, they don’t think their orders are illegal.”
Chloe caught a bus from Ramallah and met Avi at Hares junction. They walked the two kilometers to Ariel. Ron was pacing back and forth between the stone pillars that surrounded the little metal bus stop, his gun looped over his shoulder like an unwieldy purse.
“I am not talking to you,” he said when he saw her.
He started to walk up into the settlement. Avi ran after him, putting a brotherly hand on his shoulder. They huddled for a few moments, their lips moving rapidly. Then they came back to the bus stop, Ron dragging slightly behind Avi. Chloe perched on one side of the metal bench inside the shelter, Ron on the other end, leaning into the frame. Avi stood between them, legs apart, like a sentry, or a referee, which was more like his role here.
“He met Daoud at Abraham’s Garden,” Avi said. “They became friends, and, after they came back, they met frequently at Neve Shalom.” He took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offered one to Ron, who accepted. Avi didn’t smoke. He must carry cigarettes around for the purpose of putting soldiers at ease.
“They became lovers,” Avi said.
“But Daoud had another lover, in one of the villages, right?” Chloe said.
“Yes. But Ron doesn’t know his name. Daoud refused to choose. He said he loved them both.”
Chloe couldn’t quite decide if she was having a conversation with Ron through Avi or talking to Avi about Ron. “Where would they meet?” she asked.
“Sometimes in Tel Aviv, at Lior’s apartment.” He saw her quizzical look and asked a question in Hebrew. “Other times, they would meet in a house in Kufr Yunus. It is a big house owned by a Palestinian American. He built it in the nineties, during the Oslo years. It was finished only a year or so before the Second Intifada began. He never came to live in it. It sits empty all the time. Daoud’s uncle did the electrical wiring, and he had a key. Daoud made a copy of the key and hid it outside the house, and they would meet there.”
“How often?” Chloe asked. It was getting to be late afternoon. Cars were zooming by with more frequency as settlers returned from work inside Israel. Ron looked increasingly nervous as the traffic picked up. She had better speed up the questioning. It would be easier to just talk to Ron in English, but he seemed to feel better about talking to Avi in Hebrew. If she changed the arrangement, he might stop talking altogether.
“Once, twice a month,” Avi said, after repeating her question for Ron. A flood of words poured out of the younger man. “Daoud was in Ramallah all week and only came home on Thursday night. The last time was the Friday before he died. Ron was on duty, but he said he was sick and had to go back to the base. His friend Yonatan covered for him. He spent the afternoon with Daoud in the house. Just before dark, they heard someone coming into the house. They got up and looked for somewhere to hide, but they did not manage to get away in time. It was Daoud’s friend from the village, who had come to look for him. He screamed at Daoud. Daoud told him to go away—at least, that’s what Ron believes. They spoke Arabic, and he doesn’t know Arabic.”
After all those dialogue groups, he didn’t know any Arabic? Chloe was constantly amazed by the arrogance of Israelis, even Israeli peace activists. But she supposed she should not be so judgmental. After all, her own Arabic was no great shakes, and she had lived in Palestine for almost a year.
“What did the other guy look like?” she asked. A description wouldn’t tell her anything, because she had never met any of Daoud’s friends except briefly that day in the restaurant, but if the guy was distinctive enough, Rania might get something out of it.
“Like a movie star,” Avi translated. “Like the guy in the film Titanic.”
“What happened then?” she asked.
“Ron was afraid, so he collected his clothes and ran out of the house half-dressed, wearing only his pants. He put on his shirt in the yard and walked out of the village through the olive groves. Only when he got to the road did he realize that he did not have his gun. He ran back to the house, but Daoud and his friend were still there, fighting.”
“Fighting how?” Chloe interjected.
“Arguing, and shoving,” Ron said in English, not waiting for Avi to translate.
“So, you didn’t go back in?” she asked him directly.
“No. I went back to the base and told Yonatan that a Palesti
nian had grabbed my rifle on my way back to the base. He found me another one to use,” he touched the one hanging down his back. “This is the old type, the Uzi that many of the settlers carry. Yonatan borrowed it from someone in his family. The ones we were issued are M-16s. One day, they will inspect us and find out that I lost my weapon. You have no idea how much trouble I will be in.”
“Why didn’t he go back to get it?” The two young men consulted for a minute.
“He did not know where the key was,” Avi said. “He tried to find it, and he could not. He called Daoud and said he needed to get the gun, and Daoud said he did not have it. He would not say where it was.”
“Is that why you killed him?” Chloe asked. Ron looked at her in horror. Avi rolled his eyes, presumably thinking about all the useful ways he could have spent his day.
“Go away,” said Ron. “I don’t have to talk to you.”
He started to walk quickly toward the entrance to the settlement. Her and her big mouth. What, did she think he would just admit it? It had worked for her before, but only because the person she accused intended to kill her.
“Wait,” she called. She started to run after him, but the sentry moved out of his box and started toward her, his hand on his rifle. She wasn’t interested in any more visits to the Ariel police station. She turned and saw Avi shaking his head, presumably over her ability to screw up every situation.
Chapter 32
“Mama, look!” Khaled ran to the little carousel outside the grocery store. He hopped onto the neck of a giraffe and held out his hand for a shekel, to make it go around. She handed him a coin. He leaned over to drop the coin into the slot, and the little wheel began to turn.
“You ride too, Mama,” he called out.
“I’m too big, sweetheart.”
“I’m too big, too.” He was, in fact. With his feet in the stirrups, his knees were almost under his chin. He was going to be tall, like his father. He seemed relieved when the ride stopped.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“No.”
“That’s too bad. So, you do not want an ice cream?”
“Ice cream! Of course I want ice cream.”
“Well, then, come on.” They walked through the old city, competing for sidewalk space with merchants pushing heavy, hand-drawn carts loaded with wool blankets or cotton shirts. She bought a fleece blanket printed with lions and tigers for the new bed Bassam had ordered for Khaled’s room. He had outgrown his little boy bed and needed a full mattress. She steered her son into a shop where two other families sat drinking milkshakes from tall glasses through long straws.
“What would you like, habibi?” the waiter asked.
“Vanilla ice cream with strawberries and chocolate syrup,” he answered.
“Anything for you?” the young man asked.
“Coffee, half-sweet.” The ice cream and the coffee came, and mother and son satisfied their cravings in quiet. As Khaled was spooning the last melted ice cream drops from the bottom of the glass, Yusuf and Elias entered the shop. They stopped by her table, and Yusuf greeted her enthusiastically.
“Ustaz Yusuf, this is my son, Khaled,” she said.
“Hello, Khaled,” the teacher said. “Your mother is a brave and intelligent woman. You are very lucky to have such a mother.”
“I know,” Khaled said. Rania beamed. She guessed there was nothing like the approbation of men to facilitate a son’s approval.
“I was about to call you,” Yusuf said. “Can you come on Tuesday to speak to my class?” Today was Sunday, so that would be the day after tomorrow.
“It is not much time to prepare,” she said.
“No need to prepare much,” he said. “Just talk from your experience. Come at eleven o’clock.”
“Okay,” she agreed. He wrote the room number, along with his mobile, on a napkin for her. She folded it and put it in her purse.
“Elias,” she said. “I need to ask you something about Daoud.”
“Why?” the young man said.
“I am trying to find out what happened, to help his family sue the army,” she said, ignoring his rudeness. “I wondered, since you were his roommate, if you had noticed whether he had received any injuries in the day or so before he died.”
“Injuries?”
“When he died, he had a cut on his head,” she explained. “We are trying to ascertain whether he received it at that time or whether it had happened earlier.”
“Who is we?” Yusuf asked. He did not look as friendly as he had a minute ago.
“I guess I should have said I,” she said with a smile. “But my colleague Abdelhakim went over the police report with me.” She wondered what Abdelhakim would tell him, if he asked about where she got the report.
“I never saw any cut on his head,” Elias said.
“When did you see him last?” she asked.
“That morning, at the apartment. We were supposed to go together to Ahmed’s engagement party, but he said he needed to do something first. So, he went up earlier, by himself.”
“Do you know what it was he needed to do?”
“No.” The men at the table next to hers paid their bill and left. Yusuf and Elias settled into the vacated chairs as the waiter cleared the dishes.
“Mama, can we go now?” Khaled asked. Rania looked at him guiltily. In her enthusiasm to continue her investigation, she had almost forgotten he was there. She held out a hand to him.
“Come, habibi,” she said. “We will buy some fish to cook for dinner.” They walked out into the cobblestoned street.
“A moment, Um Khaled?”
She wheeled around, looking for the person who had spoken. A small man with a narrow handlebar mustache was walking toward them. Kareem, Khaled’s teacher.
“Ustaz Kareem,” she said. “Nice to see you.” She had known Kareem since he was in high school, but she wanted Khaled to learn proper respect for teachers, so she addressed him by his title.
“I noticed you talking with those two men,” he said quietly.
“Yes?”
“Yusuf is a good man,” he said. “But his brother is another matter.”
“What are you saying?”
“You should be careful,” the young man said. “Someone who has just gotten out of prison should not be too friendly with people who cannot be trusted.”
“Why do you think that Elias cannot be trusted?”
“I know certain things,” Kareem said. “You should be careful, that’s all.”
“Thank you for the advice,” she said. She took Khaled by the hand and walked quickly away from the shop. She felt the teacher’s eyes on them until they turned the corner. She wondered what he meant about Elias and if there was any basis to it. She had a moment’s terror that Kareem would take it out on Khaled that his mother seemed too friendly with possible collaborators. But there was nothing she could do about it.
Chapter 33
Chloe felt like she almost had her old Palestinian life back. She had been running around all week doing useful, if self-made, work, and she decided she deserved a day off. She took a longer-than-normal shower, still short by American standards. She started out the door, but dashed back inside when she saw Um Malik coming out of the other side. She didn’t know if it was true, but, when she was preparing for her first trip, someone had told her that if you go out with wet hair, people will assume you’ve just had sex. If only! She found Tina’s blow-dryer and made sure her hair was bone dry before venturing out.
She would buy some vegetables, cheese, and pasta to make a nice dinner for Tina and treat herself to lunch at Enrico’s. Maybe some of the guys she had seen with Daoud would come back, and she’d be able to ask them about him. Maybe there was a group for gay men, like the one Tina went to for lesbians. If so, they might let her write an article about them for one of the gay papers in the States. Men rarely said no to publicizing themselves.
She grabbed a handful of paper bags, even though she knew it would horrif
y the merchants she patronized. More than once, she had had to snatch vegetables from someone’s hand to keep them from putting it in a new plastic bag.
When she reached the Manara, she browsed in the busy produce market, loading up on delicacies like avocados and spinach. Strawberries were starting to be in season, and she bought so many she would probably have to make jam. She located the good cheese shop with cheddars, goudas, and bries stacked in artful pyramids. Some were local, some from Europe. Some were bright orange, some snowy white. They all looked wonderful. She scooped some grated parmesan into a paper bag. That would go nicely with her pesto. Now, she wanted some grilling cheese and some cheddar for sandwiches. Her cheese dreams were rudely interrupted by her phone’s distinctive melody. Reem, said the little screen. Chloe’s chest tightened. This could not be good news.
“Hi, Reem,” she said. The answering voice was barely audible.
“Chloe, can you come quickly?” Reem croaked. “I think I need to go to the hospital.”
“Of course I will come,” Chloe said. “But I’m in Ramallah, and I have no car. Wouldn’t it be better to call the Red Crescent for an ambulance?”
“Too expensive,” she had to strain to hear.
“But, if your life is in danger, you need an ambulance. It could take me hours to find a car and reach Salfit.”
“No ambulance,” Reem mumbled. “Please come.”
“All right, I’m on my way.” Chloe hung up, wondering how she could get to Salfit in a hurry. Fortunately, Rania answered on the first ring.
“I need to borrow the car,” Chloe said. “Reem’s very sick.”
“Chloe, I’m sorry,” Rania said. “Bassam had to go to Tulkarem for work. He took the car with him.”
Rats. What was she going to do now? She had an armful of groceries, no car, and she had somehow become responsible for a possibly dying woman she hardly knew. This day had gone downhill rapidly. She thought of Nehama. Maybe she was doing checkpoint watch in Nablus and could pick up Reem herself. Reem would be unhappy to be passed off to a stranger, especially an Israeli, but it would get her to the hospital much quicker.
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