Murder Under the Fig Tree

by Kate Jessica Raphael

  Being Ramat Gan, the street also had the requisite sidewalk café offering lattes, fourteen types of herbal tea, mint lemonade, and bits of tomato and mozzarella with a tiny strip of basil on half a baguette for the equivalent of eight dollars. Given the din created by the traffic, Chloe opted for an inside table. Maya frowned. She was a Tel Avivit, and a punk musician at that. Her eardrums were permanently desensitized, or maybe cars backfiring sounded like lullabies to her.

  Chloe ordered the overpriced Caprese sandwichlet and a mint lemonade. Maya had a tofu salad sandwich, which looked a lot like wallpaper paste on cardboard, and a soy chai.

  “How are things between you and Avi?” Chloe asked.

  “Fine.” Maya sipped her chai and didn’t meet Chloe’s eyes.

  “Are you still upset about Germany?” Chloe figured she might as well pry.

  “Sort of.”

  “Don’t be,” Chloe said. “Avi loves you.”

  The younger woman stirred her chai over and over, fastening her eyes on the swirling patterns the spoon made in the milky, tan liquid.

  “I wish I could be sure,” she said. “Inge has way more political experience than me. She’s a lot smarter about all that stuff he cares about, like Gramsci and Bookchin.”

  “He’s here with you,” Chloe said. “If he wanted to be with her, he’d be in Germany.”

  “I guess.” Maya turned her violet eyes to the window. Chloe couldn’t think what else to say. When you were that age, these relationship hurdles seemed so daunting. She followed Maya’s gaze.

  And dropped her lemonade glass onto the floor. Sticky, icy liquid poured everywhere, but Chloe continued to stare out at the sidewalk, her eyes glued to the two perfect butts and model-length pairs of legs.

  It wasn’t just that they matched perfectly: same statuesque height, same slim build, same flowing dark curls, same jeans and skimpy T-shirts. Nor was it just that they strode perfectly in sync with one another, or that their heads were inclined and nearly touching, as if what each woman was saying was the most fascinating thing the other had ever heard. It was that Tina was doing with Yasmina what she would never in a million years have done with Chloe—walking down the streets of Ramat Gan arm in arm. And Chloe was sitting here in a position she had sworn up and down she would never be in again, wondering how she got here and how she was going to get out.

  She should have known she didn’t stand a chance once the Palestinian dykes were on the scene. She had seen this train wreck a mile off, but there had been nothing she could do about it. Now, her heart was lying smashed on the floor along with her lemonade glass, and she felt the ghost of her old, solitary life creeping back over her like a shroud.

  “Can I have the check?” she said to the waiter, who had arrived at their table with a hospital’s worth of white towels to mop up the mess.

  She pulled out her ATM card and waved it at him while he attempted to contain the spreading disaster.

  “What happened?” Maya asked.

  “Nothing,” Chloe said. She wasn’t going to risk having her humiliation whispered all over the Israeli peace movement. “My hand must have been wet. Let’s go see if the car’s ready.”

  Chapter 39

  When Rania got out of the university building, she realized she was starving and wired from the coffee. She headed for a small café where she often stopped for a snack when she was working in the city. She ordered her usual, falafel and tea, and headed for her usual table in the very back corner, where a woman could eat alone without being too conspicuous.

  Too late, she saw that Captain Mustafa and Abu Ziyad were seated at a table, picking at the remains of grilled lamb shawarma.

  “Abu Ziyad. Captain.”

  Abu Ziyad just nodded, his habitual frown deepening.

  “Yaa binti,” my daughter, the captain said.

  Rania felt the warmth of that between her ribs. No matter what Abu Ziyad thought of her or how he and Abdelhakim schemed to put her in her place, she knew Captain Mustafa was on her side. If he didn’t defend her vigorously to his boss and friend, it didn’t mean he was colluding in their plots against her.

  “I was coming to see you as soon as I finished eating,” she said to the captain. She hoped his meal with Abu Ziyad was not preparatory to knocking off work for the day.

  “Then please, join us,” said Abu Ziyad.

  Rania hesitated. She would have preferred to talk to Captain Mustafa alone, but she didn’t want him to have to choose between her and Abu Ziyad. Even if she suspected he liked her best, she knew whom he needed more. She pulled over an empty chair, as they rearranged to make room for her.

  “I was talking to some young women at the university today,” she began. “They are interested in joining the police. I thought I could make a training course for them.”

  “Then you are agreeing to head the women’s force?” said Abu Ziyad.

  “I don’t know. I would like to know more about it.”

  “Your role will be to make sure that women are not behaving in ways that get them into trouble,” Abu Ziyad said.

  “Would be,” she corrected.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You said my role will be. But I have not agreed to take the job.”

  “I see.” He saw and he didn’t like. What else was new?

  “What type of behavior did you have in mind to prevent?” she asked, directing her words to the captain.

  “Well,” he said, but lapsed into silence, concentrating instead on blowing perfect smoke rings.

  “Say a young woman is acting inappropriately with men,” Abu Ziyad jumped in. “You would talk to the girl and to her parents, before she becomes pregnant and ruins her life.”

  “If we do that, her parents will beat her, and maybe her brothers will kill the young men she was with. So, then, the police will have twice as much to do,” Rania objected.

  “It would also be the policewoman’s job to talk to the parents about the proper way to respond,” Abu Ziyad replied.

  “What if a man is beating his wife?” she said. She had been the go-to person for such cases when she was working under Captain Mustafa before. She had hated them, but at least she agreed that it was probably easier for the woman to talk to another woman. “I assume it would be our responsibility to intervene in that situation, too?” At his nod, she continued, “What would you have us do then?”

  “Find out what she had done to provoke him and talk to her about how to avoid it,” came the expected response.

  Mustafa’s walrus mustache twitched. He knew what Rania thought of that approach.

  “I need to think about this more,” she said. “Abu Ziyad, can you excuse us for a moment? I need to talk to the captain in private.” This was extremely rude to say to a man who was both her elder and her superior. It gave her a surreptitious joy.

  “Of course.” He gulped the half glass of tea in front of him and stood. “I will see you later, Abu Walid,” he said to the captain. He did not say goodbye to her, nor she to him. When he was gone, she leaned toward the captain to be sure that no one nearby could hear them.

  “I wanted to talk to you about Daoud al-Khader,” she said.

  “The martyr in Kufr Yunus?”

  “Yes. I have been looking into his death. As I told you earlier, I thought if I could prove that the army killed him, it would help his family in their lawsuit. But now,” she said slowly, “I am not sure what to think. The gun that killed him came from the army, but I do not necessarily think the soldiers killed him.”

  “Why not?” He finished his tea and motioned to a passing waiter for a refill.

  “Apparently, a soldier lost his gun in the village.”

  “So, you believe that a Palestinian might have found it and killed the young man with it?”

  “This soldier says the gun was left in an empty house belonging to a Palestinian American.” His tea arrived. Please, please, don’t ask how the soldier got into that house, she prayed. She must have been in Allah�
��s good graces, because he didn’t. He put his pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket and, in its place, extracted a cigar. He took out a little instrument and cut off the tip. Then, he focused on lighting it for some minutes.

  “We should search the house to see if the gun is there,” she said.

  “That’s going to be difficult,” he said. “This is not a police case.” His cigar was lit to his satisfaction, and he puffed on it deeply. She leaned back to get as far away as possible from the horrific stench.

  “But, surely, if there is a loose gun in the village, we should remove it.”

  “It would perhaps be easier for Benny to search there. It is against the law for a soldier to lose his gun.”

  “You would ask the Israeli police to search a village?”

  “It’s just a thought.”

  “Forget I brought it up,” she said. “Please don’t call Benny. I will think of something.”

  “Mish mushqele,” no problem, he said. “When do you think you will decide about the women’s squad? Abu Ziyad is anxious to get it started.”

  “I am meeting with the women the day after tomorrow. After we meet, I will know more.”

  “Good. I will call you on Thursday for a report.”

  “A report? As if I am working for you again?”

  “Abu Ziyad wants me to follow up with you. He thinks you do not like him.” They both grinned at this. She almost felt the old comfort with him, but not quite. “Um Khaled,” he added as she swung her purse over her shoulder. “If you need more time to attend to family matters, it is no problem. We can find someone else to train the women.”

  “What family matters are you referring to?” Her face felt hot.

  “Oh, who knows?” He shrugged. “Another child, perhaps.”

  “Thank you.” If her voice had been colder, it could have substituted for ice cream. “I think I can handle it.” Not only was she being consigned to a second-rate job, but they were already preparing to take that from her, she thought as she watched him walk back to the police station. She ached to follow him, but she had no place there now.

  Chapter 40

  Chloe picked up the report on the bullets and shell casings from the Red Cross and took it to Rania’s house.

  “I made bamiya,” Rania said, placing a bowl of rice and steaming vegetables in front of Chloe.

  Okra. Chloe’s least favorite vegetable. At home, it was the only vegetable aside from beets that she refused to eat. But, here, she could not refuse anything, especially when Rania had made it specially for her. She knew that Chloe didn’t eat meat and had probably racked her brain for something to make. You always made chicken and rice for an honored guest.

  “Delicious,” Chloe said. She managed to get enough down that her hostess would not be offended. Rania studied the report while Chloe ate.

  “The bullets matched the shell casings, and both were from an M-16, consistent with those used by the Israeli army. Traces of blood and bone suggest that they shot someone through the heart and exited into the dirt. The condition of the shells indicate that the gun had been fired at eye level, not down into the ground or up into the air. This proves the gun that killed Daoud was from the army,” Rania said.

  “It doesn’t prove a soldier fired it, though,” Chloe said.

  “No. Tell me again what the soldier said.” They had only talked on the phone since her meeting with Ron. Chloe repeated what she could remember about their conversation. As she had before, she omitted the part about why it had ended so abruptly.

  “How did he describe the man who interrupted them?” Rania asked.

  “Like a movie star.”

  “Elias,” Rania said. “There is no doubt.”

  “But he denied it, right?”

  “He hasn’t denied or admitted it. He slipped out the window or something when I went to talk to him.”

  “You can’t force him to talk to you, right?” Chloe said. “I mean, if you are not the police, what power do you have?”

  “I have none. But in my experience, if someone has a secret like that, they want to tell someone.”

  “If he wanted to tell you, why would he have run away?”

  “Good question. But his roommate was there. Perhaps if I can find him alone… I know,” she burst out. She reached for her mobile phone.

  “Ahmed?” she said after dialing. “Can you meet me this afternoon? Oh? What time? No, that is too late. Okay, tayeb, I will call you after that.” She was smiling broadly when she hung up.

  “Ahmed has class all afternoon. So, he will not be there.” She covered the uneaten okra and rice with plates and grabbed her purse.

  “But how do you know Elias doesn’t have class, too?” Chloe asked as they left the house.

  “I do not. But at least if he is home, he will be alone. If he is not, I will go to the conservatory to find him.”

  Chloe thought her friend was being awfully impulsive, but she had learned it was pointless to try to talk her out of a course of action when she had made up her mind. They walked out to the road and flagged down a servees heading toward Ramallah.

  “Is it okay if I tag along?” she asked. “Tag?”

  “Come along,” Chloe amended.

  “I do not see how it could hurt. You could not make him less interested in talking to me.”

  That gave Chloe an idea. When they got out of the taxi outside the apartment building, she pulled a necklace out from underneath her shirt. It was a little silver charm, two circles and two crosses intertwined.

  “I remember that,” Rania said. The first day they had met, it had gotten caught on the corner of Rania’s hijab when they kissed goodbye. “Did you say it is something religious?”

  “I might have said that, but it isn’t,” Chloe said. So much had happened since that day. She had had no idea then what Rania would become to her. But, still, she felt a little bad at having lied.

  “This,” Chloe traced one of the little woman signs with her finger, “is an international symbol for women. I’m not sure where it comes from—the Greeks, I think. The female has a cross, and the male an arrow. Two together like this symbolize two women together—gay women.”

  As she explained it, she recalled the day Alyssa had bought her the little charm at a women’s bookstore in Atlanta, where they had decided on a whim to spend a weekend. Alyssa, her last love before Tina—she wasn’t going to think about Tina right now. Fortunately, she didn’t have to. Rania was opening the door to the apartment building, not bothering with the buzzer. They climbed the two flights to number ten, and Rania knocked.

  “Naam?” came the response.

  “Elias? Iftah, lo samaht.” Open the door, please. After a second, the door opened.

  “T’faddalu,” he invited them in.

  Chloe recognized Elias immediately. He was the one who joked about marrying Daoud that day in Enrico’s. He hadn’t seemed too closeted that day. Then, Chloe thought about what Tina had said about SAWA—they needed to meet where they wouldn’t run into anyone who knew their families. She supposed Enrico’s was a such a place for Elias.

  “Could we have some tea?” Rania asked when he did not offer. He went to the kitchen to make it and brought in a nice china teapot on a tray. Chloe leaned over to pour, letting her necklace swing before her into his field of vision.

  “Do you mind if we speak English?” she asked. He shook his head. Good. She had a feeling it might be easier for him to discuss the subject at hand in English. Less like talking to a family member.

  “Do you remember me?” she asked. “We met at Enrico’s a few weeks ago.”

  “I remember,” he said.

  “Then you know I understand about you and Daoud.” A tiny nod of his head, and he cut his eyes at Rania.

  “How long were you and Daoud lovers?” Chloe asked. At her casual use of the word, he looked instinctively at Rania again. The Palestinian woman sipped her tea, her neutral expression testimony to her years of police training.

  �
��Two years,” he said. “Since we both began at the conservatory.”

  “And sometimes you would stay together in Lior’s apartment in Tel Aviv and other times at the Palestinian American’s house in Kufr Yunus?” Rania said.

  “That is right.” Elias’s long fingers played riffs on the coffee table.

  “Why didn’t you use your own apartment?” Chloe asked. He gave her a look that she interpreted as, You foreigners don’t know anything.

  “We lived with Ahmed,” he said.

  “But Ahmed knew,” Rania said.

  “He knew we were gay, but that doesn’t mean he wanted us making love in his house.”

  “When did you find out Daoud was also meeting an Israeli soldier at the house?” Rania asked. Elias’s eyes narrowed to little slits. He had underestimated Rania, Chloe thought.

  “The week before he died, Yom il Jumaa,” Friday, Elias said. “We were both home for the weekend, and we met there in the afternoon. His brother found us there together. He yelled at Daoud and said he would kill him.”

  “How did Issa know you were at the house?” Chloe asked.

  “He had heard rumors about Daoud performing at Adloyada. He followed him from his parents’ house.”

  “That’s what Daoud told Ron,” Chloe said to Rania. “Or at least, Ron said he did.”

  “Do you know where Issa heard those rumors?” she asked Elias. He shook his head.

  “What did you do after Issa found you?” Rania asked.

  “I went home, to Jamai’in. Later, I called Daoud but he did not answer. I went to his house, and he was not there, so I went to look for him at the Palestinian American’s house. I was afraid that something had happened to him.”

  “You thought Issa might have killed him right then and there?” Chloe asked.

  “Yes. The key was not where we always left it, so I knew that Daoud was still inside. I knocked on the door, and no one answered. I opened the door, and I saw him with the soldier.” Tears were starting to well up in his eyes. There was no doubting that he had been in love.

  “Ron says he ran out half-dressed into the garden,” Chloe said. “And left his gun behind.”